"...I hadn't meant..." she insisted with a twinge of guilt, because while she didn't mean for her lips to linger so long, she knew it was beyond necessary, even if it wasn't going to develop beyond that. Now wasn't the appropriate time, and she doubted there ever would be again. Mabelle inhaled shakily, taking a further step back and turning her back to Michel, palms pressed tightly over her eyes. "I'm sorry," she whispered it just as quietly as she had when much closer, unsure she wanted him to hear it or not. He'd never apologized to her, he'd never tried to make sure she was okay afterward, only expressing his faint surprise when she hadn't shown up dead. Yet she was the one feeling guilty, because she had taken things further than apparently they were supposed to go.
There was more to be done before she could leave, and Mabelle wasn't willing to abandon him halfway through when she had demanded he allow her the chance in the first place. She just needed a moment to recover, squeezing her two partial fingers tightly with her other hand. "I won't do anything," she promised sincerely despite her hollow tone, knowing her words probably meant very little. "Not again. And I won't drink anymore," she added, although she didn't really blame the alcohol on her actions, she did know it had influenced her thought patterns leading up to it.
But now was a good time for any of this, and Mabelle sharply bit her tongue from continuing with anything too emotional. Turning toward him again, her face didn't reflect anything she just said, stony and serious as she took another bottle from the bed and unscrewed the lid of the healing ointment. The label said to apply to a fresh wound twice daily, and Mabelle hesitated. Of course the bandages would have to be continued to be changed until fully healed, but she hadn't really accounted for that, didn't even know how long that would take. She'd bring it up later, silently and impersonally applying the ointment to the socket with her fingertips.