The unadulterated tears she now had no control in stopping continued to fall, and in an attempt to hide them, Saoirse pushed her face into Howell's chest. She bunched the fabric of his front in her hands, still desperately needing contact despite feeling his arms around her and his hands seeking to comfort her in anyway they could. While the effort was appreciated, she was unsure any amount of tight holding, or the smallest closet in the world, could help her currently feel less terrified.
And, then, Saoirse begin to cry harder at his words, as they gripped at her heart in ways she could not discern. Had they moved her, or weighted her down further with the verbal acknowledgement effectively dragged Howell into this? Perhaps a bit of both. Or, even more significantly, did they sieze her so tightly because they made her realize she had much more to loose than the time before?
In attempt to nod her head feebly, which resulted to be just a plain poor attempt, instead Saoirse curled closer into him still, facing as much of herself as she could against him. Saoirse knew she would endure this, like she had all other difficulties in her life, but knowing better, she understood that making it through an ordeal didn't leave you without scarred remnants. Going through it in itself... the thought exhausted her. It emotionally drained her, and after a while it seemed her physical exhaustion met her emotional one, crying herself into quietness.
"I believe you," she murmured tiredly, as soon as she could manage, and in spite of feeling quite the urge to smack him for almost partly being behind her emotional display. But it was a weak annoyance, one that didn't last and had no merit, and passed as easily as she did leaning in more comfortably to his protective arms. Closing her eyes, Saoirse took a final long, shuddering breath before willing herself into sleep.
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