i n [B] o x . // acata.

[abandonware]

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[abandonware]

[She doesn't want to hear this. She hates to hear this.

It hurts to listen to. It brings back a memory, one in awful, high definition, so bright and clear that she thinks it must be burned into her eyelids for her to recall it so well, like it was yesterday.

Number Four.

A2's eyes shutter closed. Her fists clench at her side; her jaw goes tight. She relaxes with great effort, waiting for the memory to billow out of her like smoke. When she speaks her voice is stripped of anything resembling emotion. Cold.]

...I'm not your friend. You aren't mine. [...The desire to both put a hand between his shoulder blades and shove him forward, and the revulsion at the idea of causing a human harm, are fighting one another in her head. She settles with inaction.] So just walk. This is a waste of time.