Ellie bites back the immediate urge to snap back you know why, because Abby's done the same shit. They both of them are shitty people and maybe people deserve to know that before they decide they care about them. Or maybe Abby just doesn't remember. So she lets Abby finish speaking, sits there and takes a breath.
"Because I didn't tell you everything," Ellie says, biting off each word. Not so much aggressively as because it still hurts. "And it... hurt you."
Abby had felt tricked. Like Ellie had done it on purpose. Like she'd made her trust her on purpose, only to find out what kind of person she was. Only to find out that Ellie had hurt someone that Abby cared about.
It's not something that Ellie wants to think about right now, but she has to.
Silence crackles between them, staccato, and she realises she's clenching her arms across herself tightly, that Ellie is reeling herself back on the other side of the room. This would have been enough of a spark to start a fire if they'd been having this conversation a year ago. All Abby has to do now is think of Ellie mopping her up in that fucking cellar and it kills any desire to pick a fight.
That is some semblance of growth. They have been working, this entire time, to come to slightly better terms with each other, and they have.
And yet, what Ellie says still surprises her, mostly because she didn't think Ellie had... internalised that part of their conflict, at all, and it's oddly gratifying that she has.
Abby looks at her. Really looks at her, the downward tug of her mouth and dip of her head toward the ground, eyes fixed firmly at her feet.
"Yeah," she says eventually. "Okay." Okay. That's not what she was really getting at when she asked Ellie why, but this answer is satisfying to her anyway. But, "Like I said, I'll- I want to tell her that part." Maybe Ellie should talk about what she did to Joel, that... seems fair. She can't say that out loud. Seems flippant.
In her own way, Ellie has already indirectly answered it. She values Clarisse's feelings. She doesn't want to hurt her, if she finds out down the line that Ellie is a lot less of a good person than she's assumed.
That Clarisse trusts her, and she cares about that. That Clarisse trusts Abby, and that Ellie cares about that, too.
What she doesn't answer is why Clarisse deserves this particular consideration, and that's the one that Ellie's not entirely sure she wants to look directly at. She knows damn well where things are headed, if she doesn't screw them up. But that doesn't make it not a little bit terrifying.
"Okay."
It feels raw, saying it. Leaves her feeling hollowed out on the spot and aching with the aftershocks. The both of them right here and now, putting words to it. Deciding how to live with it.
They never could have done this before. It's been a long, awful road to get to a place where they can.
It really has. That they've managed to come and talk to each other about it at all is a victory in itself but Abby feels steadier for having said it too, even though it aches. Look how easily they came to terms with this. Part of her thinks she should be insulted or angry, hating herself for finding a compromise. It might come later.
She rubs the back of her neck, and makes herself say the thing she doesn't want to.
"Will you tell her about him?"
Can't quite speak his name. Coward. She could say nothing but for five years of her life, but the feelings are messy, complicated. In a way, she'd be glad not to have to explain why she killed him to Clarisse.
Ellie works her mouth, drops her gaze to her blankets, and picks at a stray thread. She still doesn't want to look at Abby when she says it. Is relieved when she doesn't say his name.
She still can't stand the thought of Joel's name in Abby's mouth. It no longer feels like a betrayal to sit here and speak to her, but that doesn't mean she can stomach it easily.
Abby took him from her, and Ellie is rapidly running out of steam to continue this conversation. Her fingertips are tingling.
Abby nods, in lieu of saying anything. There's a coppery taste in her mouth, blood-like and familiar, the tang that accompanies clenching her jaw for too long. She tries to relax, but she has to be actively thinking about it to do it. That's impossible with Ellie sitting there on her bed not saying anything and staring hard at a thread, picking. She probably wishes she could do that to Abby. Pluck her out, and toss her away.
Time for her to go.
"Ellie." It slips out, quiet and thoughtless. Abby furrows her brow, grasping at loose ends.
"Thanks," is what she settles on, "For- talking."
It's not easy, but they're doing it. They're making space for it to happen, that isn't nothing.
Abby saying her name is a quiet shock, a sting against her nerves, especially because it sounds so gentle. It draws Ellie's eyes up from the top of her blanket, her scarred fingertips, back to Abby's face.
It flusters her, but not in a way that feels terrible.
"Yeah," she says. It's an awkward feeling. But... good, too. Yeah. They both are trying, aren't they. "You too. Thanks."
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"Because I didn't tell you everything," Ellie says, biting off each word. Not so much aggressively as because it still hurts. "And it... hurt you."
Abby had felt tricked. Like Ellie had done it on purpose. Like she'd made her trust her on purpose, only to find out what kind of person she was. Only to find out that Ellie had hurt someone that Abby cared about.
It's not something that Ellie wants to think about right now, but she has to.
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Silence crackles between them, staccato, and she realises she's clenching her arms across herself tightly, that Ellie is reeling herself back on the other side of the room. This would have been enough of a spark to start a fire if they'd been having this conversation a year ago. All Abby has to do now is think of Ellie mopping her up in that fucking cellar and it kills any desire to pick a fight.
That is some semblance of growth. They have been working, this entire time, to come to slightly better terms with each other, and they have.
And yet, what Ellie says still surprises her, mostly because she didn't think Ellie had... internalised that part of their conflict, at all, and it's oddly gratifying that she has.
Abby looks at her. Really looks at her, the downward tug of her mouth and dip of her head toward the ground, eyes fixed firmly at her feet.
"Yeah," she says eventually. "Okay." Okay. That's not what she was really getting at when she asked Ellie why, but this answer is satisfying to her anyway. But, "Like I said, I'll- I want to tell her that part." Maybe Ellie should talk about what she did to Joel, that... seems fair. She can't say that out loud. Seems flippant.
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That Clarisse trusts her, and she cares about that. That Clarisse trusts Abby, and that Ellie cares about that, too.
What she doesn't answer is why Clarisse deserves this particular consideration, and that's the one that Ellie's not entirely sure she wants to look directly at. She knows damn well where things are headed, if she doesn't screw them up. But that doesn't make it not a little bit terrifying.
"Okay."
It feels raw, saying it. Leaves her feeling hollowed out on the spot and aching with the aftershocks. The both of them right here and now, putting words to it. Deciding how to live with it.
They never could have done this before. It's been a long, awful road to get to a place where they can.
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She rubs the back of her neck, and makes herself say the thing she doesn't want to.
"Will you tell her about him?"
Can't quite speak his name. Coward. She could say nothing but for five years of her life, but the feelings are messy, complicated. In a way, she'd be glad not to have to explain why she killed him to Clarisse.
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She still can't stand the thought of Joel's name in Abby's mouth. It no longer feels like a betrayal to sit here and speak to her, but that doesn't mean she can stomach it easily.
Abby took him from her, and Ellie is rapidly running out of steam to continue this conversation. Her fingertips are tingling.
"Yeah," she says softly.
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Time for her to go.
"Ellie." It slips out, quiet and thoughtless. Abby furrows her brow, grasping at loose ends.
"Thanks," is what she settles on, "For- talking."
It's not easy, but they're doing it. They're making space for it to happen, that isn't nothing.
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It flusters her, but not in a way that feels terrible.
"Yeah," she says. It's an awkward feeling. But... good, too. Yeah. They both are trying, aren't they. "You too. Thanks."