He had a long time to think; Susan's weeping went on for what seemed an eternity, ebbing only when her tears finally ran dry. Never in all her life had she known such inner torment--a torment that was half Stephen's fault, and half her own. The things he'd said to her--the sheer vicious cruelty of them--hit even deeper than her heart, but almost worse was the knowledge that, but for the intervention of Fate, he'd be dead by her hands right now. It hurt, in ways she could not have imagined possible, and this time there could be no escape from it; her inhumanity would not hide her now. It hurt, and she didn't know how to make it stop--it was, she thought dimly, the sort of pain that could drive you mad.
She was still for a long while after her crying stopped, still but for her breathing, which hitched unevenly in the closest thing to sobs she was capable of. Stephen's shirt was hot and wet beneath her cheek, soaked through with her tears, but she couldn't bring herself to move, or even to wipe her eyes. Maybe, if she stayed still long enough, merciful numbness would take her--maybe this nightmare would end. How much of this was her fault, and how much his? She too hadn't forgotten a thing--what she'd said about the nature of what she was, and what it meant, were still terribly fresh in her mind. There was a decent chance she'd brought all this on herself, by trying to be something she was not--perhaps, like the nightshade women of legend, she was poisonous.
"Stephen, I'm sorry," she whispered, the words hoarse and broken. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry--I shouldn't have done this to you. I'm sorry I am what I am, and I'm sorry I dragged you into it, conscious or no, and--" Her voice broke again, momentarily silenced by a throat nearly too raw to speak. "Gods, Stephen, I'm so sorry for everything." She couldn't address anything he'd actually said, not yet--she didn't think she could stand to know how much of it he really meant. Not knowing just what had been done to them, she had no idea just how deliberate or unthinking that cruelty had been. All she knew was that the entire world had narrowed down to a focal point of pain that seemed to nail her where she sat.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2007-11-05 10:28 pm (UTC)He had a long time to think; Susan's weeping went on for what seemed an eternity, ebbing only when her tears finally ran dry. Never in all her life had she known such inner torment--a torment that was half Stephen's fault, and half her own. The things he'd said to her--the sheer vicious cruelty of them--hit even deeper than her heart, but almost worse was the knowledge that, but for the intervention of Fate, he'd be dead by her hands right now. It hurt, in ways she could not have imagined possible, and this time there could be no escape from it; her inhumanity would not hide her now. It hurt, and she didn't know how to make it stop--it was, she thought dimly, the sort of pain that could drive you mad.
She was still for a long while after her crying stopped, still but for her breathing, which hitched unevenly in the closest thing to sobs she was capable of. Stephen's shirt was hot and wet beneath her cheek, soaked through with her tears, but she couldn't bring herself to move, or even to wipe her eyes. Maybe, if she stayed still long enough, merciful numbness would take her--maybe this nightmare would end. How much of this was her fault, and how much his? She too hadn't forgotten a thing--what she'd said about the nature of what she was, and what it meant, were still terribly fresh in her mind. There was a decent chance she'd brought all this on herself, by trying to be something she was not--perhaps, like the nightshade women of legend, she was poisonous.
"Stephen, I'm sorry," she whispered, the words hoarse and broken. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry--I shouldn't have done this to you. I'm sorry I am what I am, and I'm sorry I dragged you into it, conscious or no, and--" Her voice broke again, momentarily silenced by a throat nearly too raw to speak. "Gods, Stephen, I'm so sorry for everything." She couldn't address anything he'd actually said, not yet--she didn't think she could stand to know how much of it he really meant. Not knowing just what had been done to them, she had no idea just how deliberate or unthinking that cruelty had been. All she knew was that the entire world had narrowed down to a focal point of pain that seemed to nail her where she sat.