[ She hands it over without ceremony, kind of glad that it's out of her hands and also impressed with her plastic wrap skills, as there isn't any frosting smeared across her palms. As for Darcy, in a weird way she feels a little panicked at the idea of someone actually understanding enough of what's going on with her and with Severus and with them as some sort of collective unit enough to say something to him and then get angry about it. It's very minute, however, as she's acutely aware of how ridiculous it is to feel that way when she can just be feeling sort of embarrassed Darcy would say anything at all. And then sort of annoyed because she can fight her own battles. And then sort of stupidly mad at herself because this isn't a battle.
This isn't even a fight.
This is just. Months.
Claire doesn't say anything for a minute or two, turning the hem of her shirt upside down and collecting a frayed bit of string and pulling at it. She's looking at her hands and her peripheral is all polished furniture and the glare of the overhead light on the floor and her own feet when she manages to come up with something. ]
I did need space. [ Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth, like it's being forced at gunpoint. What follows doesn't come any more willingly. ] I was gone... what, three weeks? It felt like - [ She shakes her head dubiously. ] - months. I didn't know how to reconcile that, any of it. It was easier to just... I don't know. Not deal with it, on top of everything else. I didn't want to not see you. I don't want to not see you now.
[ She'd just spent months wandering in a tangle of dark hallways, having conversations - sometimes helpful, sometimes terrifying - with people and things that weren't there, having bad memories and suffocating fears paraded around whenever Smiley was having a bad day. The last exchange that she'd had with Severus had been the only real thing able to play on a loop in her head, and as it had been a text - good job, Claire - she hadn't even been able to determine how pissed off he was about her just up and bolting. She still isn't sorry about doing what she did, but maybe she is a little bit about her inadequacies when it comes to knowing how to try and fix it all. ]
I'm used to dealing with bad stuff by myself. Compartmentalizing, I guess. I don't really know what I'm doing, here.
no subject
[ She hands it over without ceremony, kind of glad that it's out of her hands and also impressed with her plastic wrap skills, as there isn't any frosting smeared across her palms. As for Darcy, in a weird way she feels a little panicked at the idea of someone actually understanding enough of what's going on with her and with Severus and with them as some sort of collective unit enough to say something to him and then get angry about it. It's very minute, however, as she's acutely aware of how ridiculous it is to feel that way when she can just be feeling sort of embarrassed Darcy would say anything at all. And then sort of annoyed because she can fight her own battles. And then sort of stupidly mad at herself because this isn't a battle.
This isn't even a fight.
This is just. Months.
Claire doesn't say anything for a minute or two, turning the hem of her shirt upside down and collecting a frayed bit of string and pulling at it. She's looking at her hands and her peripheral is all polished furniture and the glare of the overhead light on the floor and her own feet when she manages to come up with something. ]
I did need space. [ Is the first thing that comes out of her mouth, like it's being forced at gunpoint. What follows doesn't come any more willingly. ] I was gone... what, three weeks? It felt like - [ She shakes her head dubiously. ] - months. I didn't know how to reconcile that, any of it. It was easier to just... I don't know. Not deal with it, on top of everything else. I didn't want to not see you. I don't want to not see you now.
[ She'd just spent months wandering in a tangle of dark hallways, having conversations - sometimes helpful, sometimes terrifying - with people and things that weren't there, having bad memories and suffocating fears paraded around whenever Smiley was having a bad day. The last exchange that she'd had with Severus had been the only real thing able to play on a loop in her head, and as it had been a text - good job, Claire - she hadn't even been able to determine how pissed off he was about her just up and bolting. She still isn't sorry about doing what she did, but maybe she is a little bit about her inadequacies when it comes to knowing how to try and fix it all. ]
I'm used to dealing with bad stuff by myself. Compartmentalizing, I guess. I don't really know what I'm doing, here.