[ "My people." Clarisse knows exactly what she means by it, doesn't need to ask anything more. She knows what it's like, when you can't possibly sum up how much they're a part of you, how even when you don't like them you'd still kill and die for them, how you can still recall their faces no matter how many years have passed. My people.
She and Abby have always had that in common. ]
I'm—sorry. [ She looks at Abby's pinched expression and then out at the friends someone gutted and left for her to find, and a wave of self-loathing rises in Clarisse like bile. People died, and Abby came to Deerington living with that, and as usual, the only one Clarisse cares about is herself. ]
You don't have to say anything else. [ She wants to sound soothing, but she's never felt less able in her life. Abby's crying in front of her and she feels sick and she doesn't know which of the feelings are hers, anymore, and which are Abby's. ] We're going to get out of here, okay? [ If she has to get out and push the damn boat, she will. ]
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She and Abby have always had that in common. ]
I'm—sorry. [ She looks at Abby's pinched expression and then out at the friends someone gutted and left for her to find, and a wave of self-loathing rises in Clarisse like bile. People died, and Abby came to Deerington living with that, and as usual, the only one Clarisse cares about is herself. ]
You don't have to say anything else. [ She wants to sound soothing, but she's never felt less able in her life. Abby's crying in front of her and she feels sick and she doesn't know which of the feelings are hers, anymore, and which are Abby's. ] We're going to get out of here, okay? [ If she has to get out and push the damn boat, she will. ]