Her lips curve up in something that is decidedly not a smile. Cameron leans in, arms crossing over her lap, and shrugs.
"What do you expect me to say?"
Other words are on the tip of her tongue, better left unspoken but rising to close her throat nonetheless. You left. You walked away. It's the truth she's been trying to bury for months. It explains everything; which is why she won't, can't say it. He ought to know. He must know already, or else he's a greater fool than she takes him for.
The ring weighs down her pocket, a smooth and silent reminder that she's not being truthful. But what should she say? Beginnings are followed, inevitably, by their endings. She knows that all too well.
who are we to tell ourselves that we're misunderstood
"What do you expect me to say?"
Other words are on the tip of her tongue, better left unspoken but rising to close her throat nonetheless. You left. You walked away. It's the truth she's been trying to bury for months. It explains everything; which is why she won't, can't say it. He ought to know. He must know already, or else he's a greater fool than she takes him for.
The ring weighs down her pocket, a smooth and silent reminder that she's not being truthful. But what should she say? Beginnings are followed, inevitably, by their endings. She knows that all too well.