"Mm, I think this is that reaction Newton was talking about. Mind you, an animate object might have punched me back, could always be worse," he told her, not even sure what he was talking about any more. He felt strangely numb, he couldn't even be bothered to laugh any more.
She was shuffling about, and Malcolm just kept looking down at his hands as if he could just ignore her. He actually didn't want her to leave, but at the same time- god, it was just so awkward.
He glanced over at her as she spoke, and sighed softly. How did he even begin to explain? Even putting it into words was horrible.
"You know, they said it was mimicking, but it's more like a recording," he explained, as if adding on that clarification would make him seem less insane for being so concerned about it all. And then he was looking at his hands again, apparently unable to maintain any sort of gaze for long. He felt kind of dizzy with anxiety, like telling her would somehow make it more real.
"It was... or, well, it sounded like my daughter," he told her, clenching his jaw slightly before he could bear to add the second part. "Being tortured."