Surprisingly she felt a bit better, and not just because he finally let her go, though quietly pleased to feel the faint beginnings of a bruise forming on her arm as she rubbed the sore spot through her sleeve to confirm. She'd have to check it when she was alone. Rarely giving herself the opportunity to vent, though rarely did anybody gave reason to drive her to the verge of cracking, it was oddly satisfying although exhausting.
Or maybe the lack of sleep was catching up with her, and Mabelle stifled a yawn at the thought of bed. It'd been a long time since she actually slept in one, but she was perfectly fine with the floor, even if she woke up with a sore shoulder and a stiff neck. If she wasn't spending most of her earnings on more pigments and canvas, perhaps she'd at least invest in a pillow or a heavier blanket. At least Michel brought along most of his own supplies, because she was already stretching her budget and she was eating little enough as it was that cutting out more meals to make up the difference wasn't a good option.
"And it hasn't occurred to you that's precisely why I've been avoiding you?" she addressed the issue without outright acknowledging it, not even certain they were on the same page. "If I had known you would show up that night, I would have stayed away. I'm sorry Dorian didn't realize..." trailing off, Mabelle frowned, not meaning to imply she blamed Dorian for anything. He couldn't have known. She barely got out enough as it was during the week, and she knew avoiding Michel was a pretty weak excuse for shutting herself out when it was no different than how she'd always been.
"I liked your uncle," she admitted quietly, carefully. "His writings were the first time I felt like I actually... understood somebody. And when I met him, it was the first time I felt like somebody understood me too. I didn't mean to get between the two of you," she apologized, though not really looking for forgiveness. Kneeling down, she retrieved the paintbrush off the floor that she had dropped on her way out earlier, grasping it in her right hand while using the left to wipe the excess paint off the floor with the hem of her dress. The oil was spreading more than coming up, and rubbing more vigorously, she cleaned up as much as she could, ignoring Michel for as long as possible while trying to clear her mind. "Your answer was awful. Fine, let's get started."