Don't paint wonderful lies on me that wash away
Maea had liked that too, once. Being surrounded by family. Having people around that she could trust, that knew her and whom she knew. Even when there were problems, even when they didn't see eye to eye on certain things and it hadn't been perfect - the good still outweighed the bad and it had been so easy to forgive.
She wanted that. Needed it. Had thought she was finding it again, in a way, until it all blew up in her face.
"Thank you," she murmured in response to the offer of bringing flowers to her, unsure what to do with her face if forcing it into a smile was not the right answer. Staring at the ground, apparently. Emotion draining away until only exhaustion remained. Maybe she was grateful for that too, in a way. Awkward and exposing as it felt, not needing to keep up a facade of being alright actually let her admit to herself that she probably wasn't. It really did suck.
"Both yes and no," she admitted in the face of Charlie's concern. "I'm sick of it, but also can't seem to get over it either." Gesturing at the rock wall, she wondered, "Do you need help with this? It feels better to do something when I'm talking. If you're sure you want to listen, of course." If not she absolutely didn't blame the woman. She could keep talking about worship and traditions and maybe pick Charlie's brain on healing - which she probably should anyway at some point - and it would still be better than roaming the tunnels on her own. If running from her problems hadn't helped by now, another week probably wouldn't change anything.
She wanted that. Needed it. Had thought she was finding it again, in a way, until it all blew up in her face.
"Thank you," she murmured in response to the offer of bringing flowers to her, unsure what to do with her face if forcing it into a smile was not the right answer. Staring at the ground, apparently. Emotion draining away until only exhaustion remained. Maybe she was grateful for that too, in a way. Awkward and exposing as it felt, not needing to keep up a facade of being alright actually let her admit to herself that she probably wasn't. It really did suck.
"Both yes and no," she admitted in the face of Charlie's concern. "I'm sick of it, but also can't seem to get over it either." Gesturing at the rock wall, she wondered, "Do you need help with this? It feels better to do something when I'm talking. If you're sure you want to listen, of course." If not she absolutely didn't blame the woman. She could keep talking about worship and traditions and maybe pick Charlie's brain on healing - which she probably should anyway at some point - and it would still be better than roaming the tunnels on her own. If running from her problems hadn't helped by now, another week probably wouldn't change anything.
