Angelina could finally understand why this place was so damn difficult for the first time since arriving. Of course, learning about her future was a pretty huge pill to swallow, alongside her dead best friend being alive again, and then of course, there was meeting her own grown offspring, spending time with them, getting to know them in a way she never should have been able, but nothing prepared her for the mental anguish that was being from a different time than the person she was stupidly crazy about. It was like a brand new form of torture that once experienced, was most certainly the worst thing she could have imagined. It showed in her eyes as she stared back at him, willing him to be the George she knew, but knowing that was completely impossible. She had been on and off this island, it seemed, more than once. She had caused damage to him and the people she cared about around him, and so logically speaking, she couldn't blame him for any of this. But she wanted to. She needed someone to blame, someone to lash out at, and the damn woman who brought her here was no where in sight. This was... this was fucking horrible and she couldn't help the anger that shot through her again, though this time it wasn't directed at him.
Why? Why would someone do this? This was fucking hell.
She struggled against his grip around her, but it was halfhearted, and eventually her shoulders half slumped, but her breathing was still high, her heart pounding. George could probably feel it from her back, radiating into his chest, but Angie's adrenaline, her everything, was on overload and she couldn't do anything about it.
She scowled then at his words, growling slightly, "Don't tell me what I am..." she whispered, an edge of warning to her voice, even if George was right, and she was more than aware he knew that, even if she said differently. Angelina was not fine, but she couldn't very well admit that right now, not out loud, because she hated it when he was right... "I'm not asking you to be anything, George. That would be right shitty of me, wouldn't it? You're younger, you're not... You're not where I am. Fuck... This is so bloody bullshite!" she exclaimed, her arms tightening around his, her fists clenching in the slightest. "I just want to fucking hit something," she seethed, shaking her head, trying to take a deep breath, attempting to push the red back down.
"I wasn't trying to drop in and ruin your life... I don't know why I'm here now. Why it has to be this complicated. I'm fucking sorry that it is... I just... It's fucking hard having one thing, and then all of the fucking sudden having another, and having to figure out how to deal with it. I hate dealing with things. You know that," she finally said. It was a confusing statement, and she wasn't even sure if she was making sense, but she hoped George would understand...