Kate has a temper. She'd been keeping it under leash, here, with too much riding on her and too much to prove being a young, poor woman amongst all of these educated types, but she has a temper. Like her ma, like her brothers, like her older sister Maggie. And that night, she'd been short-tempered. It'd started off fine, just a grumpy practicality at Benedict's own sulky anger over his injury. Then it... exploded. Gunpowder explosion, all lashing out and snarling as he pressed into her.
Her da drank himself to death. It's not as if Benedict was wrong. She's been thinking that's what made her lash out all the more.
And she...
She'd been weighing what she has, what she had with Benedict against that which she had with Joe. It's not fair. It's different, she's different, it's a different man and a different thing and a different... a different love. Not that she appreciated it as much as she should have until suddenly, Benedict was gone from her bed and their easy comfort was replaced by tension and awkwardness.
"Oh," Kate says, quiet and unhappy. She's not drinking her tea. She's standing there, gazing at him, fingers almost burning against the increasingly hot cup. "You. You weren't... wrong. When you, um. You weren't wrong, before."
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Her da drank himself to death. It's not as if Benedict was wrong. She's been thinking that's what made her lash out all the more.
And she...
She'd been weighing what she has, what she had with Benedict against that which she had with Joe. It's not fair. It's different, she's different, it's a different man and a different thing and a different... a different love. Not that she appreciated it as much as she should have until suddenly, Benedict was gone from her bed and their easy comfort was replaced by tension and awkwardness.
"Oh," Kate says, quiet and unhappy. She's not drinking her tea. She's standing there, gazing at him, fingers almost burning against the increasingly hot cup. "You. You weren't... wrong. When you, um. You weren't wrong, before."