Her gaze drops a little bit and she's reminded of past conversations, memories that she wants to slam shut right now because maybe a part of her is afraid of what the answer might be.
Her smile is thin and a little pitiful.
Why does she have to be reminded of that time back then, right now?
...
She laughs. ]
I hope I can get you to trust me more. And...
[ There's a hesitant pause, as if uncertain about actually admitting her own issues. ]
...I guess the same goes for me. But can I ask one more thing?
[ She has to know. ]
Why do you think that we're friends?
[ It's a question she's asked before, to someone else, in another time. But it's one that means so much to her. ]
Edited (/edits this to actually make it more painful bc fuck me i guess) 2019-07-09 21:43 (UTC)
Why would you think something like that? I'm the despicable one here. I keep killing people here, and I have no intentions on stopping. I'm putting all of you through hell, I'm the one who doesn't deserve a friendship from the people I'm being so terrible to.
Because I understand the reasons why. If you were truly despicable, you wouldn't see someone like me as a friend. You say that I haven't done anything wrong, but that's not true at all.
You can absolutely do terrible things even if you don't kill others. You can be a bad person even if you haven't killed anyone. Everyone thinks I'm such a good person, but they don't really see who I am at all.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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also ig nsfw talk escalates from here......
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I'm sorry.
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Maybe she should move away from this topic before she gets too sad— ]
By the way, I almost forgot. I wanted to thank you for earlier.
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[She was holding the cup, so it had to be obvious for her.]
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[ She answers quietly, not looking at him directly. ]
. . . Why did you do it?
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[ She's going to press on to that matter because it's important to her. The reason besides not wanting her to die. ]
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[ no hesitation on that last part ]
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Her gaze drops a little bit and she's reminded of past conversations, memories that she wants to slam shut right now because maybe a part of her is afraid of what the answer might be.
Her smile is thin and a little pitiful.
Why does she have to be reminded of that time back then, right now?
...
She laughs. ]
I hope I can get you to trust me more. And...
[ There's a hesitant pause, as if uncertain about actually admitting her own issues. ]
...I guess the same goes for me. But can I ask one more thing?
[ She has to know. ]
Why do you think that we're friends?
[ It's a question she's asked before, to someone else, in another time. But it's one that means so much to her. ]
1/2
2/2
...just wishful thinking, I suppose. I could be wrong.
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Her expression shifts into one that seems to be clearly out of worry and she wonders if the question she asked was wrong. ]
No, it's not that, I—
[...]
. . . I didn't think I deserved it.
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You haven't done anything wrong here.
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You can absolutely do terrible things even if you don't kill others. You can be a bad person even if you haven't killed anyone. Everyone thinks I'm such a good person, but they don't really see who I am at all.
If anything, I'm the real monster here.
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A terrible person. A person who doesn't deserve anything that she's gotten in the past or the present. Someone that's completely selfish.
Someone who doesn't consider themselves as human--
Because I lost that the moment I appeared in this world.
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also cw suicidal ideation because.... ofc
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