The worst part of it is that it's not even the whole story. Even now, there's STILL things she omitted entirely... but now's not the time to get into those, nor does she even particularly want to. In fact, she's sagged back against her seat, jaw set and eyes directed back down at the table.
She'd seen how he was looking at her. The pity. And it's not that pity is a bad thing-- hell, if anyone deserves pity, it's Alessa Gillespie... but somehow it still stings. Because after everything, it hurts to HAVE to deserve pity.
"It's okay," she mumbles a little bit gruffly (and a little bit hastily) when he expresses his loss for words. Dropping the coffee-napkin baby onto the table with a splat, she reaches up to run her fingers through her hair, not really caring that they're covered in coffee and salt. "It's pretty fucked-up. You don't need to say anything."
In turn, that almost sounds apologetic. Like 'sorry for laying this huge mindfuck out on the table. .... Literally'.
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She'd seen how he was looking at her. The pity. And it's not that pity is a bad thing-- hell, if anyone deserves pity, it's Alessa Gillespie... but somehow it still stings. Because after everything, it hurts to HAVE to deserve pity.
"It's okay," she mumbles a little bit gruffly (and a little bit hastily) when he expresses his loss for words. Dropping the coffee-napkin baby onto the table with a splat, she reaches up to run her fingers through her hair, not really caring that they're covered in coffee and salt. "It's pretty fucked-up. You don't need to say anything."
In turn, that almost sounds apologetic. Like 'sorry for laying this huge mindfuck out on the table. .... Literally'.