[She is not okay. She curls up in on herself, barefoot, shivering. She doesn't cry out-loud, they've beaten that out of her because if you're too loud you could draw attention and they didn't want that. But tears stream down her face.
She hates crying. It's most of what she's done since she got here, she feels. But she doesn't want to stop. If she stops, it means she's grown numb to what they do to her. And if she's numb they've won.
Feeling Jesse move closer, she shifts toward him, nods to tell him yes, please, touch her, hold her. She needs something solid and kind, anything he's willing to offer her. It's times like this that she thinks of her brothers, or the boys she considers as good as. She remembers how sweet Dodger always was to her, how he'd curl up in bed with her when she still lived in the den, each one claiming they were taking care of the other because they certainly didn't need the care themselves.
She'd give anything to see him again.]
They didn't give me anything, [she tells Jesse, her voice hoarse. One of the ways they kept her subservient was with the same meth Jesse cooked. She'd never wanted it. But they gave it to her, and then they would keep it from her, letting her body react and revolt, letting her beg for another hit. And they'd give it to her. Eventually.]
Oh, Jesse, [she whispers, wanting to tell him to just stop it. There's no use. They are going to die here, in the fucking Arizona heat, two skeletons in dirty clothes.] How? [She decides to reframe it. How could they, malnourished, weak, lost people take on however many they had in the house on any given day? She couldn't even locate Arizona on a map.]
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She hates crying. It's most of what she's done since she got here, she feels. But she doesn't want to stop. If she stops, it means she's grown numb to what they do to her. And if she's numb they've won.
Feeling Jesse move closer, she shifts toward him, nods to tell him yes, please, touch her, hold her. She needs something solid and kind, anything he's willing to offer her. It's times like this that she thinks of her brothers, or the boys she considers as good as. She remembers how sweet Dodger always was to her, how he'd curl up in bed with her when she still lived in the den, each one claiming they were taking care of the other because they certainly didn't need the care themselves.
She'd give anything to see him again.]
They didn't give me anything, [she tells Jesse, her voice hoarse. One of the ways they kept her subservient was with the same meth Jesse cooked. She'd never wanted it. But they gave it to her, and then they would keep it from her, letting her body react and revolt, letting her beg for another hit. And they'd give it to her. Eventually.]
Oh, Jesse, [she whispers, wanting to tell him to just stop it. There's no use. They are going to die here, in the fucking Arizona heat, two skeletons in dirty clothes.] How? [She decides to reframe it. How could they, malnourished, weak, lost people take on however many they had in the house on any given day? She couldn't even locate Arizona on a map.]