His entrance didn't startle her awake, she hadn't been asleep. But she had been dozed enough that she looked up at him at first with blurry eyes. Then she blinked away the edges of sleep and wiped her face with the back of her hand.
"Say what now, hon?" She hadn't put on shoes, the idea of going anywhere seemed unnecessary, so they were thrown over in a corner near the shower. "Sit down," Violet was sitting on the floor and it was easier to talk when she didn't have to crane her neck to look up at him. With an absent motion, she ashed her cigarette into what was left of a whiskey bottle. She'd nicked it from work, empty, since the whole point of it was to ash her cigarettes in.
It was obvious that though Violet was not injured, she was not as well as she could have been. There was a hollowness to her eyes that hadn't been there before. She managed to pick herself up and keep going, but there was a part of her still trying desperately to heal after the news of losing those she considered close to her under such circumstances. They were gone and she was never going to see them again. Even the happiness of getting to see Wade and knowing that he was still alive seemed to pale in comparison to the things she would never get to do again.
Dietre had been the one to stay with her when Ethan beat her halfway to hell. He'd tended to her, read to her, helped her sleep through the night by distracting her from her injuries with his needs. Now she was never going to see him again, or hear him talk about authors whose names sounded funny on her tongue.
It would have been very easy to curl up there on the floor and start to cry again, but she didn't do that. Violet had already let herself cry over this situation. There were no more tears to shed.