"Don't apologize," the words crested on something numb, and James drew back a step as if contact with that sorry would take the wind from her tempered sails. Lotte was so quick to apologize, but James knew that the girl didn't even really understand what she was saying sorry for! For upsetting James? Just to brush all of this under the rug and never bring it up again? Those were the wrong reasons to apologize.
"Not respectful?" She could have laughed, and dropped her head back as if she almost intended to. But these things being said were nothing to giggle over. Were they lost in the seventeenth century when nudity was something to be ashamed over, kept locked in back rooms, and regarded with horror? Righting her attention on Lotte once more, James drew her arms casually into the sleeves of her thermal.
"Am I being disrespectful?" An honest question when she hauled the shirt over her head a moment later. The bruises had prevented her from putting on a bra that morning, so the effect of this particular shirt-removal might have been a little harsh and more than expected.
"Am I?!" She yelled, and the words fell before she could raise her voice for more. That comment about breaking her mother's heart had been a low blow, and Lotte should have known as much.