her small hand reaches for his, a tear tumbling from the corner of an emerald iris, self - loathing rising like bile in her esophagus, burning  &  churning with the guilt that served to destroy her from within. more should have been done, she should have fought harder.   why hadn’t their mother fought harder ?   why didn’t she go back for him ?   this could have been avoided, his mind addled by the man she desired to flay, to tear limb from limb.  to utter an apology would feel like a consolation prize, it would mean nothing. it would be useless. his reality, his life had been far worse. mary jane would have much rather traded gayle’s presence for his own.  in the silence, arms tangling gently around his frame, careful  &  cautious as if he was forged from glass.  &  if he was to lash out physically in this moment, her guard fallen fully, it wouldn’t hinder her presence here, it would be warranted.