Her knees are held against her chest, her arm resting on the table while she watches you tend to her fresh wound. The burnt umber of her eyes, wide and watching, gazes up at you. 'I hope I don't turn into an obligation,' is her only drunken thought at the moment.

A slight wobble, her mind dizzy, she felt you adjust her to stay upright. "Are you mad?" She murmured, her voice has always been so quiet but especially so right now with the small heater whirring in our shared room and the tv replaying the show she can't help but binge watch for comfort.

The comfort never comes though.

"Please don't be upset, I didn't mean to..." Priscilla's eyes teared up and she wasn't sure if it was performative or not. Imposter syndrome was a bitch like that, just like how the winter makes her worse, it doesn't help that she saw your ex in public too. 'She was so much prettier than me, and normal too..'

The cuts kept bleeding as you wrapped them in gauze, like you were her own personal nurse and partner in one. "Everything's okay," she lied and nuzzled her face against your leg but she's never been a good liar. Priscilla's hair fell over her shoulders, and she wished she was prettier, more normal for you.

Everything was for you.