A childish part of her noted that he'd said a bad word, but no outward exhibition of this note was viewable. It was not because her ears were virgin at the pitch of 'fuck' being said, it was only that he hadn't used it yet in any context she could recall. She was the sort of sentimental person who noticed trivial things about people.
"I feel trapped." she'd admitted, crossing her arms as if an icy reminder had frost bitten her spine. She writhed disgusted at the thought that she'd have to put up with all of this consistently. Wasn't there a way she could at least feel more in control? Wasn't there a way to be more aware of the situation? "Don't you? I hate to feel trapped..." She unwrapped the crossing of her arms to cover her face, fingertips pressing her forehead in a vain hope it'd provide even a brief respite to the head. It was also to conceal that she was holding back tears. She didn't want to cry in front of him.
"I wonder if the characters are doomed to be just as they were written, or if they can be liberated as in the book when the source has died out... but as you've said, it's not something we can choose to control. I just don't want to feel so powerless."