"I'm not suicidal," she corrected, although the line between her negligence and deliberately offing herself was beginning to blur. It wasn't that she hadn't considered it, and there was no shortage of ways to do so, slow or quick. Fighting against her situation was getting her nowhere, and only ended up making her more tired and frustrated. It was difficult feeling motivated when there was nothing else to really live for, nothing left worth saving when she no longer had the only things she enjoyed. But she could never bring herself to do it, despite not having a solid reason of why not. Somehow no matter how miserable she was, Mabelle remained content with being alive in the meantime. "And I hate fish," she huffed, as if that really mattered.
She could feel the apartment warming up, and if she weren't so comfortable just laying there, maybe she could have moved closer to the fire. "What's the catch?" she finally asked after long consideration of his offer (although she suspected it was more of a demand), and if it were anybody else perhaps she wouldn't have been so skeptical. If it were just the apple, it would have been easier to accept, but there was no way he could possibly gotten over losing an eye. How could he even trust her in the same room?
This wasn't what she wanted when she had broken in last night, hoping he didn't think she was deliberately trying to burden him with her presence or guilt him into taking her in, but it wasn't an offer she was in a position to refuse even if she had wanted. In that moment, there really was no other place she wanted to be. How long was he even going to give her before she was expected to be elsewhere? He definitely wasn't the type to allow her to overstay her welcome. She'd just have to make sure she stayed well out of his way and not interfere too much with whatever he was doing.
"Your bed smells like you," she mumbled sleepily, forcing her eyes back open so she wouldn't doze off before they were finished speaking.