In contrast, she was broken and hard, and far too quick, perhaps, to want to destroy. If she could end an argument by tearing out someone's jugular, she would, because it was easy. If her flattering negotiations broke down, if they did not believe her, if they changed their minds, she had her one solution. Take what could be taken, and so lives scattered in her wake. No one expected her to, and it was easy. That they were permanent solutions to frequently temporary problems did not matter; that sometimes they were permanent solutions to things that were her own fault more than anyone else's, she could not dwell long on. She survived; she breathed.
Cassandra scooted back on the bed a little and weakly, pulled her sister with her, pulling her close again. "I'm safe and okay now," she whispered. "I'm okay. I'm fine."
She didn't know that she deserved to be, really. Perhaps she had not deserved the very first wrongs (though she could not be entirely blameless), perhaps not even the ones that came after, but she hadn't stayed innocent long. Enough time had passed and she had not gotten better. She destroyed everything she touched, and there was no repenting. She did not even think she was sorry for most of it. It was easiest not to feel. One emotion gave way to another and always another. "Nothing else will happen to me." She nuzzled Myrika gently. "You'll be okay.
"We'll both be okay."
Cassandra did not know that she believed it, but sometimes it was hard to know what she really believed. There were lies she believed on purpose and truths she ignored with quiet desperation. And in the end, it probably didn't matter what she believed. She hadn't always believed the world was cruel, but that had changed nothing. She hadn't always believed that murder was the easiest solution (and maybe she didn't, still), but that changed nothing. Things would happen as they happened as they always had.
"We'll both be okay."
If she pretended to believe enough, maybe she would.
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