"No. To sound like a fucking cliche, it wasn't you. It was me. It was..."
Lucy trails off. Her mind is a hectic jumble, thoughts crashing into each other as she struggles to come up with something to say. She knows she can't tell Musashi everything yet. But should she come up with something, at least a little bit, to give her? Should she keep it vague? If she hints at it, will that come off like she wants Musashi to try to pry?
She's not ready for that. She knows she's not. All those memories are a jagged bundle that keep digging deeper and causing even worse wounds, and if she tries to pry them loose now, she's not sure she'll be able to staunch the bleeding. She's made it this by desperately suppressing everything.
"Just dealing with my own shit," is what she settles on, apologetic. "Shouldn't have gotten any on you, though."
But Musashi's declaration wrestles a smile from her, and she gently squeezes Musashi's hand.
"Chooms for life." And then: "I think you should buy me a drink for winning that race. Maybe a few."
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Lucy trails off. Her mind is a hectic jumble, thoughts crashing into each other as she struggles to come up with something to say. She knows she can't tell Musashi everything yet. But should she come up with something, at least a little bit, to give her? Should she keep it vague? If she hints at it, will that come off like she wants Musashi to try to pry?
She's not ready for that. She knows she's not. All those memories are a jagged bundle that keep digging deeper and causing even worse wounds, and if she tries to pry them loose now, she's not sure she'll be able to staunch the bleeding. She's made it this by desperately suppressing everything.
"Just dealing with my own shit," is what she settles on, apologetic. "Shouldn't have gotten any on you, though."
But Musashi's declaration wrestles a smile from her, and she gently squeezes Musashi's hand.
"Chooms for life." And then: "I think you should buy me a drink for winning that race. Maybe a few."