Enough | ✔️

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"I went back to my room and saw Hannah. She asked me what happened and," I breathe out an uncharacteristic scoff, "I told her nothing. Nothing. I didn't tell her that everything was falling to pieces right in front of me and I knew I wouldn't be able to do a thing."

The first tear falls as I near the climax of the tale, but I brush it away before Slater can. He slides closer to me and softly pushes me towards him as support. Flashbacks hits me full force and I shuffle away again, terror seizing my voice.

No, Quorra. It's not him. It's Slater, I angrily remind myself.

But nothing matters anymore. The damage is done.

"Come on, Quorra, you're almost finished," Slater comforts, combing back a wavy lock of my hair.

"I went to his room," I continue, feeling physically weakened as I take myself back to walking down that never-ending corridor, searching for his cursed door, "And then right as I was about to knock, I decided I didn't want to anymore. So I turned around and went to leave, but he heard me and opened the door. I had to go in, I didn't have a choice. I thought I was being selfless; I thought I was doing the right thing, I swear, Slater."

He doesn't respond as try and fail to restrain the stray droplets that trail down my cheeks. A tear falls onto the bench, splattering outwards and staining the wood a darker brown. The grip around my hand tightens. I squeeze his hand back.

"Then he told me to sit on his bed. We talked for a while. And then he just... did it. The entire night, I was just in pain. He just kept going, even though it hurt me so bad that I was crying. He kept telling me I was perfect and I was doing great, but he just kept going. He pretended he didn't see the blood or the tears. He kept going like my happiness didn't matter. He just kept going. It broke me apart. After a while, I just let him. Nothing mattered anymore, I told myself, he could do what he wanted to me. I didn't matter anymore. There was no way I could have got out of it. So I just stayed. I didn't even-"

"You can stop now," Slater intercepts softly, not pushing me further as I try to even out my ragged breathing, "That's enough."

I can't help the tears streaming down my face. I despise crying. I cried my heart out for hours yesterday, isn't that enough? Why do I have to keep on going through these episodes where it feels like my heart is being pricked by thousands of needles all at once and then plunged into boiling hot oil? It throbs in my chest like a bomb, ready to explode. 

I hate it. I despise it. I'm angry. I'm sad. I'm confused. I'm an emotional wreck and I don't even care anymore. Nothing matters anymore. Nothing.

We sit there, out in the cold, for a few more minutes, dwelling in the information that now hangs over us. I slide away from Slater's overwhelming warmth but keep our hands intertwined, looking down at them and feeling utterly broken.

"I've got all I need to get him expelled and sent to jail," Slater states, "And I sincerely hate to ask for more, Quorra-"

I already know what's coming before he says it.

"-but what was his ultimatum?"

We both notice my breath catch in my throat.

Do I tell him?

I can't tell him. He'll destroy himself.

But doesn't he deserve to know?

"I can't tell you," I mumble incoherently.

He meets my eyes and captures me in his heated gaze, "Quorra, please. It's important."

I try and look away but he holds me prisoner. No. Stop.