[ There is a part of her -- larger than it should be, larger than she wants it to be -- that wants to turn around. He says Josephine please and it doesn't matter why or how he's saying it; it doesn't matter that she is still angry with him, still hurt, at his sudden, prickling hostility. She wants to turn around and face him because she needs him, still. There is a certain amount of shame that comes with that, too, a certain flavor of self-loathing that she will keep wrapped tight and held to her a chest, another secret among secrets, something she won't tell him or anyone else. Giselle hadn't needed anyone and Josh doesn't seem to need anyone but Giselle and Kes hadn't needed anyone either and it burns her to know that she is suddenly the only one who needs someone who is simply not there.
Josephine stands her ground, stubbornly resolute. She refuses to give Josh the satisfaction of knowing that she is only looking to him because he's asked her to, even if he hasn't said anything at all. When he stops, she's placated by the silence -- good, she thinks, more bitter than she's used to where Josh is concerned.
But he speaks again and suddenly all she wants to do is tell him to be quiet, to stop talking, to stop trying to make things better when they aren't, when they won't be, why can't he see it. She wants to walk away and do what he has spent the past three days doing; she wants to slam her door and lock it tight and not answer no matter who stands on the other side knocking.
(Suddenly, she hates it here. She hates the mansion and the opulence of it; the way it seems like just another glittering, ornate cage. She hates the way she has found so little peace in staying here; that even when she does, it's tainted again, stained with dirty fingers.)
She does turn then, but she doesn't move any closer to him. ]
I should talk to someone?
[ Her voice cracks, a sharp break. There's a part of her that knows that Josh means well in some half-selfish, stumbling way but it matters so little.
The road to hell is paved with good intentions, after all. ]
Who should I talk to, Josh? The Professor? Magneto? Luz or Raven or -- you?
[ Each name comes out bitter, like there's a foul taste in her mouth. ]
You're right -- it sucks. It's shit and I hate it --
[ She walks forward, two quick steps. Her voice loses its bite; the sharp edges are softened, made weaker. ]
-- and I'm trying, Josh, I really am. But I'm tired of trying for things that just seem so fucking hopeless.