It wasn't until Michel stated her inability to stay somewhere for long that she realized the trend, and Michel's interference was only to blame for the one instance. Somehow she had turned into some sort of unwanted drifter. Hopefully things with Dorian would work out better, although she hoped the attempts at setting her up would end soon. Maybe he was subtly trying to push her out by doing so, and the thought lingered in the back of her mind. Maybe she'd have to ask him later.
"Then I guess living is more attached to me," she rephrased with a shrug, not caring to go into her apparent disregard for her own life. She wasn't outright suicidal, but there was no point in trying to convince him.
But why was he still there? She made her point, and he confirmed that he actually had no interest, so that should have been the end of it. Insulting her really couldn't be that entertaining. Aware that he was behind her, Mabelle began to move away to put more distance between them, but quickly changed her mind and instead took a sizable step closer. "Do you still think about it?" she dropped her voice to a whisper. If ignoring wasn't going to work, she'd have to switch tactics to get him to leave. "I do, when I'm alone at night. Your hand on my wrist, the beat of your heart against my back," Mabelle sighed as she reminisced, brushing her hand against his. "That delicious sound of the knife cutting through bone." She stole a glance at Michel, hoping to see some sort of disgust or discomfort.