Lion Head Mesa Viper

She had asked for honesty and it blew right back in her face.
Hold me as long as you wish, but it will not bring her back to you.
An unexpected condescension to it; which, for a moment, Zaahira presumed was because she was preventing Eset from doing her job. But that did not ease the weight of it, the crush of pure white pain that snarls across her features and collapses her lungs. Her face contorts; anger and then disdain and then regret and then an encapsulating anhedonia that crawls with spiderling legs up into her her very soul and builds a home there.
Immediately, she draws back. The desire washes away in a murky wave of green water.
She should have never said anything.
An ugly, ugly silence, and then, I understand why you fear letting me in, fear was not the right word — refusal might have been more fitting. Eset has a job that she would like to keep, and she would fight for it tooth and nail for reasons Zaahira did not know, but respected.
But still, the trembles would not cease; enrapturing, wave after wave, violent. A sharp, glassy look to the fellahin. And then, sourly, I will not touch you. I am no liar. I am sorry I am not your ideal clientelle.