"Oh sure, faery rehab," she said, snappishly, shooting him another scowl, but he wasn't scowling back and she turned her face away. At least the look of confusion on his face when he tried to explain didn't reek of, like, deliberate patronisation or anything, and if she just forced herself to take another second and absorb it, she could hear he was trying. And, annoyingly, he wasn't totally wrong. In the back of Elaine's car when she'd been reeling and shaking and oozing blood outta her face and hands and feet, she'd literally asked them if she'd been drugged, and Little John'd said something in the ballpark of well, kinda.
Ugh. Lyra pulled her feet onto the bed so she could press her scrunched up face against her knees, trying to figure out a next move that wasn't totally motivated by emotion. None've Avery's moves right now seemed motivated by emotion, but she was still having trouble thinking straight. The rollercoaster that'd started in the graveyard had only gotten faster and faster and the last twenty-odd minutes of 'Rathellion's dead and everything's over' were the fastest of all. It still felt like the shocked tears she'd cried were hanging around her eyes, waiting for another chance to escape, especially after Avery's shrug and his final trying-to-help comment, so pressing her face against her knees kinda helped keep them back.
"Okay," she muttered miserably after an awful moment of silence, her face still hidden as she thought about the thrilling, terrifying sense of anticipation she'd felt staring out into the dark beyond the streetlight, the compulsion to ask Viv to let her tag along back to Tennessee, the replaying of the night in the cemetery if Rosario wasn't there and if Lyra'd given in to temptation and tried to call the faeries back. "Maybe that's a tiny bit me."