❝It doesn’t make me feel better. Nothing quite makes me feel better. But being thrown into hell wasn’t my idea of a vacation. So currently, I’m trying my best not to think about the fact that I killed me dad, alright? Though, to be honest if another one of those things come at me? I won’t hesitate to shove something through its heart. So, please tell me you’re not here to eat me.❞
She lifts her gaze and for a few moments it stays on his, because she need to show him she’s not scared of him. Unless of course he might come at her, in which case he’ll have this coffee cup shoved in his face so fast he won’t even know what hit him.
Her stare narrows as her eyebrow raises. Really? She’s pretty sure a laugh left her lips as she tilts her head to the side. She sits up a bit more straight leaning towards him as she tries to figure out what exactly brought on the question.
❝Now what would make you think that? Because we don’t talk? Would that make you jealous if that’s the case? Or are you just curious?❞
"I'm not here to eat you. I would have thought you'd figured that out by now."
He couldn't say what brought on the question, beyond an almost laser-guided intuition about the things he absolutely shouldn't say and a sick compulsion to say them anyway. He would have said it was tactical except that would have been a lie, so he just shrugs instead. Tries for unconcerned.
"Do you want me to be jealous?"












