[That much, at least, she is firm about. She's been in this position before, two girls caught with a single boy between them, and she did the right thing then and she ought to have done it again now. Of all the hundreds of reasons she's come up with for why she ought to have lied, that's one of the few that stands out most strongly--that she is the intruder in the equation, and she has no right to be, and she should've just left well enough alone. She hates that feeling, the guilt and the shame of it.
And yet, there's still the tiny tug of nagging doubt, and the memory of all those admonishments for being too self-sacrificing. And she doesn't know what to do, after all.
But she does look up at Megumi, as bravely as she can, and her voice remains steady as she speaks.]
It's surprising because I have no right. Because I shouldn't have. Because it makes me selfish, and horrible, and that's not the sort of person I want to be. That's not how this--any of this--is supposed to work at all.
[She's speaking faster now, just a little, as though she's trying to finish what she has to say before her courage runs out.]
And because I don't know--I don't know anything, not really, and not for lack of trying. Because I have to fight for every clue I have and I'm never sure I even have them when I do, and maybe that's how he wants it, but I don't know what else I can do. And maybe it's true that he's seen things, awful things, more terrible things than I could ever imagine, and maybe it's true that the worst things I've seen and done and encountered aren't even enough to make him bat an eye. I know that, and I can't help that. But just because I can't imagine it--I'm not a doll to keep on a shelf behind glass. How can I know anything if everyone's determined to protect me from ever knowing it?
[And as she falls quiet, she can't help but wonder if she even answered Megumi's question at all. Perhaps she didn't, despite all that rambling. But perhaps she said what she needed to say, anyway.]
[ ACTION ] YOU AND ME BOTH god we're all such dorks.
[That much, at least, she is firm about. She's been in this position before, two girls caught with a single boy between them, and she did the right thing then and she ought to have done it again now. Of all the hundreds of reasons she's come up with for why she ought to have lied, that's one of the few that stands out most strongly--that she is the intruder in the equation, and she has no right to be, and she should've just left well enough alone. She hates that feeling, the guilt and the shame of it.
And yet, there's still the tiny tug of nagging doubt, and the memory of all those admonishments for being too self-sacrificing. And she doesn't know what to do, after all.
But she does look up at Megumi, as bravely as she can, and her voice remains steady as she speaks.]
It's surprising because I have no right. Because I shouldn't have. Because it makes me selfish, and horrible, and that's not the sort of person I want to be. That's not how this--any of this--is supposed to work at all.
[She's speaking faster now, just a little, as though she's trying to finish what she has to say before her courage runs out.]
And because I don't know--I don't know anything, not really, and not for lack of trying. Because I have to fight for every clue I have and I'm never sure I even have them when I do, and maybe that's how he wants it, but I don't know what else I can do. And maybe it's true that he's seen things, awful things, more terrible things than I could ever imagine, and maybe it's true that the worst things I've seen and done and encountered aren't even enough to make him bat an eye. I know that, and I can't help that. But just because I can't imagine it--I'm not a doll to keep on a shelf behind glass. How can I know anything if everyone's determined to protect me from ever knowing it?
[And as she falls quiet, she can't help but wonder if she even answered Megumi's question at all. Perhaps she didn't, despite all that rambling. But perhaps she said what she needed to say, anyway.]