Ocean's Breath Plateau à la dérive en mer

His gaze bored into her and she wondered if she would ever feel such a judgmental stare again. The chances were no doubt high, given her present predicament, and that was also presuming that she didn't just up and wilt and wither away on the spot beneath the intensity of such an icy, glacial gaze.

But she didn't, perhaps much to her dismay.

A sigh punctuated the silence that had painfully drawn itself out and she squirmed uncomfortably. This was far worse than any talking to she had even been privy to or witness of, the disappointment perhaps imaginary or residual from the fleeting memory; she hated it. She hated every ounce of the feelings that welled inside her in such a conflicting, confusing hurricane.

"I want to be alone," she said, stressing the last word. "I want to think. I don't need you for that." Her voice found itself, but the words were all bitter. Maybe he was simply there because he cared, because wasn't that what she would have done? If the tables had been turned and this was her finding Kite, or Owen, or even Vasa there, wouldn't she have stayed in spite their protests?

Was it really that hard to not think that any of them cared?

She hated considering that too—suddenly turning tail seemed a weakness that burned as hotly as any shame and she'd already done that over and over again. The thought of how much worse it would be had it been her father standing there crossed her suddenly and she realized she wanted nothing to do with the emotions that boiled just under her skin.

"Just go," she repeated.