He could sense that something was making her uncomfortable, so Theodore let his gaze flutter down again and he dropped the subject. He didn't want Pansy to leave. He wanted her to stay sitting next to him but if he made her uncomfortable then she might leave.
"Oh," he mumbled instead. He stared down at the blanket pooled around his waist, straining his memory. It was reaching into a thick barrel of murkiness and he felt nothing inside of it but the pressing emptiness.
Sometimes if he tried not to think then he could remember flashes. They were quick and over before he could recognize anything about them but there were always voices of people he did not know. They said things now in these flashes, called out his name, and spoke of places that floated and flitted to and from his memory. Doors closing and creaking and steps beneath his feet but he could not keep up and he could not make it stop.
It bubbled up inside him now and threatened to escape, the madness; he was like a prisoner to it, and he was afraid to close his eyes because of what he might see. A churning in his gut and the quickening of his pulse and he pulled back and away from Pansy to try and breathe. Not now. Not now not now not now he didn't want her to leave but if she left he wanted her to come back.