"Yeah," she says, her mouth dry, swallowing a few times before she can put any bite behind it. "Yeah, and whose fuckin fault is that?"

She hurries trippingly after him, climbing the stairs and gripping the rail. "You know what's melodramatic is rocketing us fuck knows where to suit your goddamn thesis. Is this really happening?!"

Did this really happen, is what she means.

She's all mixed up. This isn't how she knows Rush, though, not like this, through something else, something much more recent, and the vitriol is informed by something weird and deep, concern for what this means for him, fear of the implications, morbid curiosity. She doesn't get it, can't slot it into place, but it's gnawing at her hard just the same.