She has withstood hurts, heartaches, losses, and loneliness. She has stood up and kept going when she didn't have anything to stand up and keep going for. But watching her brother recoil away from her like that hurts just as sharply as any of it, a sour regret that twists in her gut. But it turns quickly to Mad, his stubborn thick head making her want to shake him with the kind of frustration no one else has ever inspired equally.
"I don't think you do know what I said," she retorts, taking just one halfstep back but only so she can put her hands onto her hips and jerk her chin at him. "I think you heard exactly what you thought you were gonna hear, exactly what Mama told you in that letter, and I think I deserve more credit than that. I think my words deserve a hell of a lot more weight than that creature's words." She lifts one hand, waves it in a pure expression of helpless impotent frustration, grasping for a way to make him understand. It finally settles on grabbing at his sleeve, trying for that contact to somehow anchor him and make him listen. "I didn't go see you, because you were gone, Jims. You were gone and not coming back and I had to still be here in the world, and unless I pretend that you don't exist I can't function for missing you." There is so much force in her words, behind her unrelenting gaze, because he is going to understand this if she has to beat him over the head with it. "I couldn't be with one foot in and one foot out, waiting for you to be killed, because you know what? Everything else is nothing. And sometimes, sometimes, when I squeeze my eyes shut and refuse to think about you or home or any of it, then every once in a while for maybe one little second I can get a moment where I don't hate every damn thing around me for not being you." Her color is up, that redhead complexion burning her cheeks, and she nudges against his shoulder with the fist that is there. "Is that clear enough for you yet, Jims? Are you reading me here or do I have to hire a skywriter?"