Please excuse her absolutely shameless giggle. "It's a comic book character with spider powers, or whatever, wasn't really my thing. His name's Peter Parker though."
Willa shifts to rest her head against his chest, realizing with a pang of--what's the opposite of homesickness? She's not sure. Regardless, she gets hugged so much more here. By her dad, by Arthur. She didn't know how much she wanted it until she started getting it from them.
Of course back home no one ever tried to knock her down to probably do worse. Back home there's no unexplained slashes of blood in the halls.
Quietly, she says, "I thought he was going to kill me. I mean... I think that's what I thought. Mostly I was thinking about running away."
He pulls her in tighter against his chest, pressing his face into her beanie to continue the hug as much as he can.
"Our bodies can... often identify things before conscious thought catches up," he says quietly. "Fear and survival above all else. It's not a thought, really, more like... gut instinct. You know, o-or, believe it so fiercely, that all of your real thoughts line up with it. To make sure you survive."
He knows Willa needs reassurance, but he's not going to lie to her either. "I believe he would have. Which is why I'm fucking relieved we arrived when we did."
Would he have made it hurt? He had a knife--would he have done it some quick permanent way or would he have made it hurt? The visual of her dad's fist connecting with Clement's face, the way the man's head snapped to the side with force and recoil that was nothing like an action movie. The way her dad's knuckles came away cut and bloody and Clement staggered off laughing.
Willa shudders at the thought of being someone who would kill and make it hurt. Who would take that kind of beating and then laugh like it's something to be triumphant about.
"I didn't even see John get there. I got into the greenhouse and by the time I turned around he, Jesus, he wasn't trying to get in any more."
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She doesn't know man it was the Dark Ages.
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Willa shifts to rest her head against his chest, realizing with a pang of--what's the opposite of homesickness? She's not sure. Regardless, she gets hugged so much more here. By her dad, by Arthur. She didn't know how much she wanted it until she started getting it from them.
Of course back home no one ever tried to knock her down to probably do worse. Back home there's no unexplained slashes of blood in the halls.
Quietly, she says, "I thought he was going to kill me. I mean... I think that's what I thought. Mostly I was thinking about running away."
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He pulls her in tighter against his chest, pressing his face into her beanie to continue the hug as much as he can.
"Our bodies can... often identify things before conscious thought catches up," he says quietly. "Fear and survival above all else. It's not a thought, really, more like... gut instinct. You know, o-or, believe it so fiercely, that all of your real thoughts line up with it. To make sure you survive."
He knows Willa needs reassurance, but he's not going to lie to her either. "I believe he would have. Which is why I'm fucking relieved we arrived when we did."
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Willa shudders at the thought of being someone who would kill and make it hurt. Who would take that kind of beating and then laugh like it's something to be triumphant about.
"I didn't even see John get there. I got into the greenhouse and by the time I turned around he, Jesus, he wasn't trying to get in any more."