[ Not for the first time, Elizabeth feels like a child. More than that, she feels more strongly than ever that she belongs to a world completely different than the one everyone else lives in. She's been alone for her entire life and things had not evened out since then. Their travels through Columbia had been explosive at best and her time on the Tranquility both with and without Booker hadn't seem to teach her anything about maturity. She'd traversed the halls alone once and suffered for it, almost did it twice, had gotten others involved and in danger on a whim.
Her cheeks burn and she continues to stare stubbornly downward, finding the hem of her skirt extremely interesting.
He has to know how important he is, she thinks; she's told him so dozens of times. My only friend. If it isn't that, then there has to be another reason that he's hesitant to spend time with her, that he politely reminds her not to get carried away time and time again.
He's politely telling you to let it go. She's heard more than once that it's a little strange for her to be spending so much time with a man his age, to be so fond of a near-stranger, and she's had no problem brushing off the notion of it being inappropriate. But, what if it isn't that? What if it's that they really have nothing in common, that only circumstances had brought them together and they were acquaintances at most? After all, could people really be considered friends if they shared no interests, nothing much at all?
The thought stings at her heart and wells up in her throat, but she forces it all down, tries to keep her voice even. ]
I'm sorry. [ Has she been doing this to other people, too? Mr. Pendleton, Miss Fortescue; had they been too kind to ask her to give them some space? ] I know that I don't always... um, know how to act... in certain situations. You know better than anyone that I'm still new to having so many people to spend time with, and I...
[ She's struck with the urge to flee, to go to her room or the Gardens and just be alone. To think about her life. But she has to stand her ground and finish this, doesn't want to leave on an awkward or, God forbid, melodramatic note. ]
I'll be more careful. Thoughtful about... everything.
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Her cheeks burn and she continues to stare stubbornly downward, finding the hem of her skirt extremely interesting.
He has to know how important he is, she thinks; she's told him so dozens of times. My only friend. If it isn't that, then there has to be another reason that he's hesitant to spend time with her, that he politely reminds her not to get carried away time and time again.
He's politely telling you to let it go. She's heard more than once that it's a little strange for her to be spending so much time with a man his age, to be so fond of a near-stranger, and she's had no problem brushing off the notion of it being inappropriate. But, what if it isn't that? What if it's that they really have nothing in common, that only circumstances had brought them together and they were acquaintances at most? After all, could people really be considered friends if they shared no interests, nothing much at all?
The thought stings at her heart and wells up in her throat, but she forces it all down, tries to keep her voice even. ]
I'm sorry. [ Has she been doing this to other people, too? Mr. Pendleton, Miss Fortescue; had they been too kind to ask her to give them some space? ] I know that I don't always... um, know how to act... in certain situations. You know better than anyone that I'm still new to having so many people to spend time with, and I...
[ She's struck with the urge to flee, to go to her room or the Gardens and just be alone. To think about her life. But she has to stand her ground and finish this, doesn't want to leave on an awkward or, God forbid, melodramatic note. ]
I'll be more careful. Thoughtful about... everything.