WESSEX
the wraith
Able to close her eyes and pretend that Dante is Clem - just for a moment - makes fresh tears appear. Her arm tightens around his shoulder until he asks that question. Why wasn’t she there?
How can she work out her own feelings quickly enough, submerged in both guilt for the event itself and fury towards the kid who knew better and the disregarded warning? She wants to plead innocence. She wants this one to not be on her, for someone to finally take responsibility for their actions; but how can you blame a dead kid? You can’t.
“I thought they were safe in here. And I was coming - later.” For once. That maybe they’d listened and avoided opening doors. Wessex had never anticipated that the think keeping everyone safe would be the killer. And she thought Clem would have been here in time. What in the world had he been doing out there? Why was he late? Didn’t he remember? And now they’ll never know why. Not that it matters any more, this is irreversible.
He pulls away and she accepts whatever anger he wants to lay at her feet. Dante can’t say anything worse than what she’d beat herself up with, or so she thinks. The one person who came closest to loving her unconditionally is dead, and that kind of what-iffery doesn’t go away quickly. Her hole isn’t like Dante’s, but it’s there, an she agrees. “I know,” Wessex replies with a hitch in her voice. “I know. I wish it had been.” Clem deserved the world - not this.
Some delusional part of her thinks she might have been able to make a difference, if it had hit her instead of Rex.
she's pullin' the trigger
cause it's me and the moon, she says
and i have no trouble with that
