( she thinks to brush away the apology, and her gaze drifts across the room. settles on the stir of curtains, how the radiator hums into overdrive with the cracked window contesting its efforts—and every inch of her reads tired. the slump of her shoulders, the barely there violet hue beneath her eyes, the disarray of a typically neater apartment. he continues, and it's not that she doesn't believe him, that she can't hear the earnest crawling up his throat with the words. but at this point, it feels a bit too much like old dog, new tricks.

she's heard this before. karen, go. karen, get out of here. karen, stay away from me.

how many times has he told her to leave, and how many times did she listen?
how many times has she asked him to stay, and how many times did he listen?
the answer is the same. )

Can't stay away from what? ( the city? the taste of blood in his mouth? why do they all feel more likely than her? no. he doesn't get to do that, now. he doesn't get to come to her and tell her she's the reason, doesn't get to come here after months and reopen a wound she's stitched desperately shut time and time again. jaw cruxes to the side, lifting a hand to her temple with a vexed breath, bottle ringing against the table as she presses it down to stand back on her feet. )

This is your bullshit, Frank. You run away. ( each word punctuated, that lick of heat returning to her gaze, threatening to well if she doesn't keep herself tempered. ) And then you think you get to tell me what I should be afraid of. What I'm supposed to feel. ( her voice wavers, and it only adds kindling to her frustration, an exhausting combination of defeat and desperation. )

For once, just—let me decide what that is.