Olivia remained still, even quiet, as Lita began to talk, but it was impossible to miss the way her eyebrows raised once she realized that Lita wasn't about to tell her about the Scout Annihilator. And whether Lita meant this specific detail as a tactic or not, Olivia couldn't help but feel reassured by the fact that she was only the second person to hear the story. Regardless, she couldn't help but stare, riveted, as Lita detailed a story that did eerily match her own.
Once Lita had finished, Olivia gave her a brief smile that looked a little more like a grimace. "You're welcome for listening," she said, studying Lita where she sat across from her. How many people were carrying around the weight of something like this without her even realizing? Did everyone have something like this, now that the world had gone to shit and people were showing their true colors? It was good to feel like she wasn't alone, but what was the price of that?
She opened her mouth again then, once she was sure Lita wasn't about to start telling her about the butt explosion, meaning to tell Lita that of course she wouldn't tell anyone. Words failed her, though; what came out instead was a sad little sob. Her vision blurred as a flood of anger and dread hit her, her eyes tearing up, and for a long moment all she could do was drop her gaze back down to her hands, the whoopie pie temporarily forgotten. She was crying, and Lita was probably staring at her, and she didn't know how to make it stop. Olivia wondered, fleetingly, if this feeling of helplessness would ever leave her. How could it, when the only thing she'd ever been able to rely on had been taken away from her?
The tears were falling freely by this point but she made no move to bring her hands up to wipe at her eyes or the tracks they left on her face. The bandage on her cheek was getting wet, no doubt, but she'd somehow convinced herself that trying to do something about it would make Lita realize just how upset she was. For some reason, Lita's opinion of her mattered more than it ever had.
So much for being a tough son of a bitch, as Lita had put it. And when had she started crying so much, so often? Part of her couldn't help but think that she shouldn't have ever gotten close to anyone; it'd started then, hadn't it, right when her interview had been published and she'd cried about it like some kind of coward up in the Oval Office? She couldn't let anyone get close to her again. "People are trouble," she mumbled, the words almost unintelligible through her tears. There was pressure between her eyes, no doubt from all the crying. "I don't -- This is all Maizie's fault --" The crying, obviously. "She made me like this. I wasn't like this before." Her chest seized up then and she doubled over, her ribs aching with each breath she took as she tried to finally steady herself. Olivia was almost glad for the pain; she wasn't sure if she would have managed to stop without it.
Her face was in her hands, without her even realizing that she'd lowered her head until just then. And there was a pressure on her shoulder. Olivia freed one blurry eye, then narrowed it at Lita who was suddenly much closer than Olivia remembered. "What?"