𝐌𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐟𝐟, somewhere far, far away. Elbows on her knees, hands extended little out in front of her. Gaze lingered on her palms, and the several scars that decorated them, that was imprinted in her tissue. In her very soul, too. Mind was somewhere so far away that she had not even realized that one of her hands was shaking. Shaking, fidgeting - was this really what she had come to? ... But her train of thought was interrupted by the unexpected feeling of a hand that would claim hers. She recognized the softness of Jean’s skin immediately, every curve of her hand already carefully mapped out and stored in the back of her mind. In that moment, the mere acknowledgement of Jean’s presence was enough to tear her from the terrors that had dared to string her along, hand no longer twitched. ❝ Hey-- ❞ Voice but a mere whisper, even little coarse with her dry throat. Bianca couldn’t even remember how long she had been sitting there for, she’d lost track of time. ❝ I, uh- ... when did you get back? ❞