She broke the glass. She started this. If Joel had been home when this happened, if he'd broken the glass, if he hadn't cut himself--
It's horrible, it's horrible, all of it, and she doesn't know how to fix it. She doesn't know what to do. "I'm okay," she reassures them, and she sounds confident in it. "I just need some tape, I've done worse in the kitchen. I swear." Spencer saying he's sorry, it's making it worse, it's making it worse for her but she can't say anything, all she can think is when she was in that room, when she'd kept saying she was sorry for some invisible thing that was never her fault to begin with--
Sometimes, she wonders why they're okay with having her here, because of all of this. Because she's broken the way he's broken, and neither of them should have to deal with that.
So she strong-arms it, she strong-arms it the way she does whenever she's around people and her knuckles of her good hand are white on the chair arm but the rest of her looks pretty normal, if in pain. Her leg-- she'll be able to walk again soon, when the muscle in her calf stops seizing up, and she hates that, too. She hates all of it.
"You don't have to be sorry," she says quietly. "You didn't do anything, Spencer. None of this - or that, none of it was your fault, I promise."
Her eyes flick to Joel, and they're furrowed with concern, not knowing what is the right thing, anymore. Her hand's wrapped in her shirt both to put pressure on it and so neither of them can see it, so Spencer- so he can stop fixating and be okay again and she's so sorry she broke the damned glass. She's guilty, and she doesn't know what else to do.
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It's horrible, it's horrible, all of it, and she doesn't know how to fix it. She doesn't know what to do. "I'm okay," she reassures them, and she sounds confident in it. "I just need some tape, I've done worse in the kitchen. I swear." Spencer saying he's sorry, it's making it worse, it's making it worse for her but she can't say anything, all she can think is when she was in that room, when she'd kept saying she was sorry for some invisible thing that was never her fault to begin with--
Sometimes, she wonders why they're okay with having her here, because of all of this. Because she's broken the way he's broken, and neither of them should have to deal with that.
So she strong-arms it, she strong-arms it the way she does whenever she's around people and her knuckles of her good hand are white on the chair arm but the rest of her looks pretty normal, if in pain. Her leg-- she'll be able to walk again soon, when the muscle in her calf stops seizing up, and she hates that, too. She hates all of it.
"You don't have to be sorry," she says quietly. "You didn't do anything, Spencer. None of this - or that, none of it was your fault, I promise."
Her eyes flick to Joel, and they're furrowed with concern, not knowing what is the right thing, anymore. Her hand's wrapped in her shirt both to put pressure on it and so neither of them can see it, so Spencer- so he can stop fixating and be okay again and she's so sorry she broke the damned glass. She's guilty, and she doesn't know what else to do.