If the conversation with Neil hadn't gone like it had, maybe she would have viewed his question as something other than proof she was fucking shit at holding things together. And, ok, so maybe she should cut herself some fucking slack, yeah? It had only been a month since shit with Micah, since Joey, and she hadn't dealt with any of it. It was right the fuck there every time she woke, and she she just shoved it down as best as she fucking could.
And she knew what she needed, yeah? She knew, but asking for it had bitten her hard in the ass, and now she just felt fucking guilty about it, so she was done with that shit too. A shithole, that was what Cris said. Neil said it was difficult. Lou just fucking pushed and screamed. Door slammed shut, and fuck this all. Push and yank? She didn't WANT anyone pushing and yanking Neil anywhere. That was the fucking problem. Fuck.
So, yeah, any other day? She might have just sat her ass down and answered him. But there was a little glass pipe burning a hole in the pocket of her hoodie, and this wasn't her usual fix. She was bounce and jitter and adrenaline, and she licked at the burn on her lower lip and blinked those dilated eyes at him.
"Yeah, ok, no," she muttered, hand dragged through her hair and one forgotten pigtail going loose with the force of the shove, fingers through cornsilk, and she shook her head. "I'm not doing this shit today. Yeah?"
And running? She was fucking good at running. She was starting to think she should have never fucking stopped. So, that was what she did. Unfocused, she turned, and she ran, elbows into people, and getting lost in this part of New York was a fucking breeze. She had a feeling getting lost in general wasn't going to be so fucking easy, not this time. She couldn't BE the kind of ok everyone fucking wanted her to be. She tried, yeah? She fucking tried, and she couldn't do it.
Difficult. Yeah, she was so done making shit difficult for people. So fucking done.