His hands on her shoulders caused sensitive muscles to fire and protest, but not in a way Fred could object to. Much like the tea, it kept her there. Back in the office with Wesley. Kept her mind from considering a half dozen, far more unbearable what-ifs of how the evening might've played out. Wesley's touch might not've felt good, but it made her feel. And in that moment, it was everything.
"But I don't want to unmake it." The words were quiet. He was standing right in front of her, after all. "I meant it, what I said about making my choice. When I was in Pylea, I saw...just about every horrible thing one person can conceive doing to another, I saw it." Lived it. "I knew what I was getting into when I decided not to go back to Texas. My folks did too. And they still supported my decision. If it's possible I loved them even more for it than I already did. But I can't go back. It's not who I am anymore."
Fred drifted into silence, swallowing hard in a desperate attempt to ease the burning in her throat. It was too many words at once. One ramble too many. But quiet didn't mean still, and her gaze navigated its way downward by shallow degrees. Settled on the raw, jagged line that marred Wesley's throat. It reminded her of the things they still weren't saying. Some hurts you could shield yourself from, mentally protect your mind from whatever was being done to to your body. But Lawson's wire, wrapped so tightly against their necks, had made it an impossibility. Every single breath no matter how restrained had caused it to crush fresh marks against their skin. How all to easily any one of them -- Charles, Wesley -- could die.
"...it's not that I'm not listening Wesley. I am. When you can do things, you should." Her eyes remained on his neck. The places where protesting skin actually faded into shallow cuts with traces of dried blood. It'd been so close. "Is that really what you can do? That's your choice. To ask me to leave?"
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"But I don't want to unmake it." The words were quiet. He was standing right in front of her, after all. "I meant it, what I said about making my choice. When I was in Pylea, I saw...just about every horrible thing one person can conceive doing to another, I saw it." Lived it. "I knew what I was getting into when I decided not to go back to Texas. My folks did too. And they still supported my decision. If it's possible I loved them even more for it than I already did. But I can't go back. It's not who I am anymore."
Fred drifted into silence, swallowing hard in a desperate attempt to ease the burning in her throat. It was too many words at once. One ramble too many. But quiet didn't mean still, and her gaze navigated its way downward by shallow degrees. Settled on the raw, jagged line that marred Wesley's throat. It reminded her of the things they still weren't saying. Some hurts you could shield yourself from, mentally protect your mind from whatever was being done to to your body. But Lawson's wire, wrapped so tightly against their necks, had made it an impossibility. Every single breath no matter how restrained had caused it to crush fresh marks against their skin. How all to easily any one of them -- Charles, Wesley -- could die.
"...it's not that I'm not listening Wesley. I am. When you can do things, you should." Her eyes remained on his neck. The places where protesting skin actually faded into shallow cuts with traces of dried blood. It'd been so close. "Is that really what you can do? That's your choice. To ask me to leave?"