[ she exhales slowly, rolling her shoulders back, trying to get the tension out of them.

there's something crawling around in her ribcage, something bitter and angry and - afraid. sad. but she's so used to swallowing it down that it's instinct to do it here, too. she takes another drink, and lets it hang loosely from her fingers, manspreading a bit on this chair.

at the question, she half-grins. ]

No. She was sooo polite about it. Of course I've wronged you, do whatever you want to me. Like I was going to look like the asshole beating up a sick woman in a brace apologizing to me for fucking mind control or whatever it was she was claiming.

Whatever. She's avoiding me, so good.