(Clarisse clutches her like that alone can keep her here. Her fingers press inward, nails biting into flesh for seconds before she relents, but Abby wishes she would grip even harder, and make herself an anchor. She wants, so badly, to believe that a bit of rope and a chair could be enough to stop this from happening. She doesn't want to leave.
She leans in, and presses her forehead against her best friend's.)
Okay. (They can get around this. Right? They've faced a lot of shit together before now, so why can't they handle this? Clarisse and her, they'll come up with something. There's a foreboding in Abby's gut that says otherwise, but she grins through the ache, and sniffs, and a wet tear spatters the ground between them.
Her voice is thick when she tries to speak, so she has to clear her throat.)
... I'm Odysseus in this scenario? (What an honour.)
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She leans in, and presses her forehead against her best friend's.)
Okay. (They can get around this. Right? They've faced a lot of shit together before now, so why can't they handle this? Clarisse and her, they'll come up with something. There's a foreboding in Abby's gut that says otherwise, but she grins through the ache, and sniffs, and a wet tear spatters the ground between them.
Her voice is thick when she tries to speak, so she has to clear her throat.)
... I'm Odysseus in this scenario? (What an honour.)