If she hated them, Chara would know how to respond to that. If she said she never wanted Chara, if she agreed it was Chara's fault, because it is, they made it happen, they're the one who made her suffer... then they'd understand. When you do something bad, you have to get punished for it. It's not... it isn't right to not get punished, is it? If they don't make her hate them instead, then surely that's... that's just shrugging off the blame, getting off scot-free, being... being kind of sneaky. Like they're just... they're tricking her, somehow, into forgiving them, so they don't have to get in trouble.
They don't understand why she still loves them.
Big kids don't cry, so they don't. There's... nothing here to even cry about, anyway. They didn't get hit, so why would they ever feel like crying? So instead they force their expression to go blank. Pull their legs up onto the chair, press them against their chest. Duck their head. Scrunch their fingers up into their hair.
They don't know what to say. They don't know how they even feel. If this is relief, heartache, fear, anger, love... they just... they don't. The kitchen smells like home and she still speaks softly and offers her hand and she says she loves them, and the warmth of it all is more than they even know how to swallow.]
I don't understand! I don't... I don't deserve it. I don't deserve any of this. I hurt you so much.
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If she hated them, Chara would know how to respond to that. If she said she never wanted Chara, if she agreed it was Chara's fault, because it is, they made it happen, they're the one who made her suffer... then they'd understand. When you do something bad, you have to get punished for it. It's not... it isn't right to not get punished, is it? If they don't make her hate them instead, then surely that's... that's just shrugging off the blame, getting off scot-free, being... being kind of sneaky. Like they're just... they're tricking her, somehow, into forgiving them, so they don't have to get in trouble.
They don't understand why she still loves them.
Big kids don't cry, so they don't. There's... nothing here to even cry about, anyway. They didn't get hit, so why would they ever feel like crying? So instead they force their expression to go blank. Pull their legs up onto the chair, press them against their chest. Duck their head. Scrunch their fingers up into their hair.
They don't know what to say. They don't know how they even feel. If this is relief, heartache, fear, anger, love... they just... they don't. The kitchen smells like home and she still speaks softly and offers her hand and she says she loves them, and the warmth of it all is more than they even know how to swallow.]
I don't understand! I don't... I don't deserve it. I don't deserve any of this. I hurt you so much.