Rise

Rely

"Dez." She tries to push him away. "Stop coddling me."

"I'm allowed to worry," he insists, moving aside on the couch to give her some space, but keeping a steady hand on her shoulder. "You're not okay," he tells her softly, his voice barely audible. His inhales and exhales are unsteady. "You're not okay, and that's my fault."

"I'm not getting into this with you again." Her tone as built as stone, he retreats, unwilling to upset her further. He resolves to quietly sitting beside her, cross-legged on the couch, staring at his twiddling thumbs down in his lap. Feeling useless.

Austin watches the two of them sit in strained silence for a minute or so before he decides he cannot take it anymore. He makes his way over, pulling a confused Dez up by the arm and dragging him out of the room. Trish places her head in her hands, feeling a dizzy spell coming on. This isn't what she'd pictured happening. Though filled with relief knowing that the three of them had survived— that they're alive and at least relatively well—she's wary. How long will she be able to keep in control? How long before...?

Her thoughts are interrupted as the chestnut-haired girl sets a bowl of oatmeal down in front of her.

"Eat," Ally insists, taking a seat beside her, with her own bowl of oatmeal. "I'm not taking no for an answer. Eat." Trish had missed it—her best friend's motherly tone that rivaled her own mother's. It is firm and strict, but not without warmth and tenderness. A tone unique to her and her only. Trish takes a bite of her oatmeal.

"Why, Trish? Why'd you run from us?" Ally asks her, requesting rather than demanding as she was before. She patiently waits for a response from her lifelong friend, her eyes filled with concern and apprehension. "Trish, you can talk to me. You can always talk to me. I love you. You know that." Ally sets her bowl down on the table before them and scoots in closer to the other girl. "Please, Trish. I'm worried. Please tell me there's nothing for me to be worried about. Please." Her eyes on the brink of tears, her hands clasped around Trish's shoulders, she pleads.

Trish glances at her, straight in the eyes, for what couldn't have been more than a second. She wishes she hadn't. As her gaze returns to her oatmeal, the guilt eats at her. She cannot keep anything from Ally—at least, not for long. A few more moments of silence with the brunette staring her down is all it takes.

"I told you. I'm not safe. You're not safe with me." More silence. Ally shifts backwards, releasing Trish's shoulders and taking pause before responding.

"That's not true. Self-defense doesn't make you a murderer, Trish. She could have killed you both."

"I didn't know that for sure. I killed her—took her life. Just like that. When I wasn't even sure." Trish shifts around uncomfortably in her seat, setting her bowl down next to Ally's on the coffee table.

"You were scared!"

"I was impulsive. I didn't think. I wasn't in control, Ally." She turns her head to look the other girl straight in the eyes. "Don't you see? Ally, I...I wasn't in control. I wasn't thinking. It just happened. I lost control."

"Trish—"

"—No, Ally!" she stops her. "I don't lose control like that. That's not me. Sure, sometimes I have trouble dealing with problems head-on, but I don't lose control like that. I-I...I don't know what's wrong with me. And it's not just with Etta, I..." her gaze falls back down to her lap. Ally watches, listening in heavy silence. Her heart aching for her best friend.

"It's okay, Trish. With everything that's been going on, who can blame you? You were trying to survive. You were protecting yourself—you were protecting Dez."