[ Krouse steps inside, careless of the door that doesn't close all the way behind him. The secret is out. Whoever brought her here knows all about Noelle already. He's not thinking about that yet.
She looks better than she did when he last saw her. No gaping wounds, no residue of char, no wild, whirling panicked rage. It's still awful, seeing what they did to her embedded in all of those scars. So little about her is like the Noelle he knew two worlds and a different life ago. Her upper half, now so much less than half, almost matches the lower.
But scars are what you get by surviving. If either of them had known that, back then, maybe they could have done something different.
He wishes he had some too. He wishes they'd fucked him up like they fucked her up, so when he walked closer he'd have something to show for the time since besides cropped hair and darker circles under his eyes.
She says she missed him, too, and maybe he doesn't need any of that for her to see it anyway. He couldn't stop his eyes from welling up if he tried, and he's not trying. The only reason he blinks is because he doesn't want to stop looking at her eyes, warmer than he's seen them since the rest stop.
Krouse stops close enough that he could reach out to touch her. Not her hands or her face, but the tangled coils of her amorphous limbs, lying still and peaceful on speckled hospital linoleum. She swallowed him up and spit him out once already. There's nothing left to be afraid of. ]
I'm sorry. [ He says, tilted up like the shock of a laugh after something terrible almost happened - ice cracking when you're too far out, but not enough to drop you; a car rushing a corner that misses by inches. ] I didn't mean to make you wait.
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She looks better than she did when he last saw her. No gaping wounds, no residue of char, no wild, whirling panicked rage. It's still awful, seeing what they did to her embedded in all of those scars. So little about her is like the Noelle he knew two worlds and a different life ago. Her upper half, now so much less than half, almost matches the lower.
But scars are what you get by surviving. If either of them had known that, back then, maybe they could have done something different.
He wishes he had some too. He wishes they'd fucked him up like they fucked her up, so when he walked closer he'd have something to show for the time since besides cropped hair and darker circles under his eyes.
She says she missed him, too, and maybe he doesn't need any of that for her to see it anyway. He couldn't stop his eyes from welling up if he tried, and he's not trying. The only reason he blinks is because he doesn't want to stop looking at her eyes, warmer than he's seen them since the rest stop.
Krouse stops close enough that he could reach out to touch her. Not her hands or her face, but the tangled coils of her amorphous limbs, lying still and peaceful on speckled hospital linoleum. She swallowed him up and spit him out once already. There's nothing left to be afraid of. ]
I'm sorry. [ He says, tilted up like the shock of a laugh after something terrible almost happened - ice cracking when you're too far out, but not enough to drop you; a car rushing a corner that misses by inches. ] I didn't mean to make you wait.