#rubyqrtz

This ain't her style: vulnerability. It sucks to feel it, that unraveling of yourself, self-pity and guilt pulling hard at the seams with a vengeance as you sit across a man you got nothing but the utmost respect for. Admire, even. This is miserable. She tries to force a smile, bring in something of a lighter tone, but it falters near immediately as she nods. ❝ Yeah. ❞ She says, a simple word spoken meekly, which is real unlike her. ❝ Ah don't know about that, ❞ she continues, that nodding action turning to shaking, a defiance to her refusal. Hand moves to rub against her nose, a sniffle sounding out as she drags her arm across her mouth. ❝ It's been ... years. An' Ah'm still trying to make good on a past I don't think I'll ever outlive. And it's not that Ah ain't grateful, because I am. Honest, I am. It's –– beginning to feel, just, like that's all Ah am. ❞ She looks up at him with pitiful green eyes, near-pleading. ❝ Like everything Ah do is about saying sorry for what Ah did. Not even that, it's –– saying sorry for what Ah am. What if Ah'm sick of making things right? ❞ It's a weak argument; she knows she doesn't mean it. Tired of it, sure, but she wouldn't stop trying to atone for the villain she used to be for a single second.