She'd left Camila in the living-room with the food and Thoreau. At the restaurant on the way here, she'd sent a text;
>> i'm bringing somebody to the apartment; they need help.
She hadn't exactly waited for confirmation or approval, and it was definitely one of those impulsive decisions she's been trying very hard not to make, but something with Camila had reached deep into her chest and pried out buried feelings from November, all that fear and self-doubt and uncertainty, to the degree that it made her breastbone ache. She's watching Baliol street pass by from their bedroom window, cars and people going about their mundane nothingness, unaware that up here in an apartment over a bookstore lurk two, soon three monsters.
"You smell it on her too, right?" Autumn says, quietly, behind the closed door of their bedroom. "Like, she's lost, and confused - I think... the way she talks, somebody sicced it on her. It killed her dad Aria, right in front of her. I couldn't just leave her in that bathroom."
Maybe she's stupid for buying into this girl's story wholesale, but there's nothing about it that really sticks out as absurd or like she's faking the story, and if nothing else, the jaw-mark on her neck is clearly real enough. "I don't know why I just... before I knew it I was saying I could help her.' Autumn crosses the floor, looks through the crack in the door, let's out a sigh as she turns back to Aria "...will you help me tell her?" — @photoaria @duskruins