"It's not okay. And I shouldn't keep saying it is, but it just... if I open the floodgates, I don't trust that I won't just be a mess for the rest of forever, and then I won't be any use to anyone."

Darcy rests her head on Dimitri's shoulder in turn. It's a kind of sacred misery they're sharing, something raw and very real and without the usual masks of pleasantness and normality that they both of them are so used to wearing. They've both experienced an atrocity. There's no attempt at hiding that, for the moment.

"It's like, if I think about it, I just... get so fucking mad at everyone in my life. And- mum was sorry that she wasn't awake to worry about me, and obviously like, people were sad for me or whatever. But I'd still be dead if it weren't for my Geist. They can't be fucking sorry enough for it. Nobody even knows that I died from it- they all think it was just... an accident, and that eventually I'll be fine. Nobody gets it. God- I probably sound so fucking whiny."

No tears, the last thing she needs is to get Dimitri stuck in truth-telling, or worse.