“Please talk to me about it.”
There isn't much to say, just the... No. She doesn't even want to think about it, much less discuss it.
Val’s shoulder is pale in the moonlight streaming in through the window-- Xu shifts, plants her hands on either side of the other, fingers digging into soft-washed sheets. She dips her head, kisses, mouth running a ragged line, trying to distance herself from the events of not forty-eight hours prior.
But she is here, not dead, not praying for death (and that was the darkest moment, the knowledge that she would rather be gone than endure).
That needs to be distance enough. Xu abandons her efforts, lowers herself and tucks her face in the crook of Valerie’s throat. She is alive, alive, alive, and Val’s pulse beats against Xu’s nose.
Her exhale is shaky, her voice soft. “Promise me you won’t leave me,” she breathes, so quietly that if Val doesn’t hear her, Xu can pretend she never said anything at all.