[ Jess drank as soon as the bottle was in her hand, chugging down every drop they'd neglected to share earlier. Relief hit her almost immediately, from the ritual associations if nothing else. The alcohol seeped into her blood more gradually and was well suffused by the time he finished talking. Over the course of her intoxication, his words turned from blocky strings of syllables to seamless smeared strokes on the air, pretty like a painting. His hand on her leg was as smooth as fine bristles on an artist's brush.

She laid her hand overtop of it. ]

It's not that I'm scared. I am, but that's... something else. Goddamn-- [ PTSD. She might have the liquid courage to talk about it but she lacked the energy, still. It was too much to tell, too long and twisted a story. Her head flagged to the side while she regarded him, his eyes so bright in the dimness of the room. ] It's that -- I choose to stay with you, that's my choice. If anything happens to me, then I knew it could happen.

Everyone I know, that I lost, it was my fault, and I don't want that, for you, you know? That's all. [ She lost eloquence towards the end, perhaps not communicating what she meant to. ]