"I'm actually not sure what I was going to say," he says honestly, something small, sour and directed only at himself creeping onto his face.

He's still not used to people caring about how he feels, even though he's been here with people who, bizarrely, consider him a friend for a few weeks now. Even though there was a time he felt like he could talk to Betty about anything and, theoretically, he should be able to, still. Human contact is a foreign country to him anymore and he can't remember how to speak the language. Nor is he sure where he'd start, even if he did, still feeling as addled as he does now, in the wake of the nightmare.
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Elizabeth (Betty) Ross

April 2014

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