[What he felt about it. What he feels about the idea now, even though he knows it isn't actually the case, which is strange in its own way, albeit a positive one. Doesn't it really matter what he feels or felt about it? It wouldn't have changed what happened, for him or anyone else. Aside from the expected misery all he truly remembers feeling--or at least what he remembers feeling most strongly--from his time in this place was a sense of resignation. A sense that it didn't matter what he did, what he thought about things, how horrible it was; none of it mattered, none of it would change anything. They were all just waiting to die or be rescued, with the latter only being a possibility because some of the taken Summoned had connections who cared to look for them. The Summoned that didn't, and the natives who were unmissed or whose families didn't have the power necessary to do anything, ultimately weren't important enough. They would've just been left there and forgotten, and all these bodies are proof enough of that.
Jayden takes a deep breath, reigning in some of his emotions, some of the openness he'd allowed, not necessarily because he regrets doing so but because he can't keep doing so. He isn't good at handling this sort of thing, at finding a balance between the extremes of repressing everything and letting sadness and horror completely overwhelm him, and he'd so much rather do former than the latter.
So he redirects, offering a pathetic attempt at a smile, but his words are far more genuine than the expression.]
Besides, I was wrong anyway, right? I was at least relatively confident you'd remember who I was when I sent you that first message, but I hadn't expected... You know. Everythin' you did.
[And he can't tell her how much he appreciated her acting as a lifeline while everything was going on, but then even more so still caring after it was all over. For putting up with how distant and awkward he is over the past months. For being here now.]
no subject
[What he felt about it. What he feels about the idea now, even though he knows it isn't actually the case, which is strange in its own way, albeit a positive one. Doesn't it really matter what he feels or felt about it? It wouldn't have changed what happened, for him or anyone else. Aside from the expected misery all he truly remembers feeling--or at least what he remembers feeling most strongly--from his time in this place was a sense of resignation. A sense that it didn't matter what he did, what he thought about things, how horrible it was; none of it mattered, none of it would change anything. They were all just waiting to die or be rescued, with the latter only being a possibility because some of the taken Summoned had connections who cared to look for them. The Summoned that didn't, and the natives who were unmissed or whose families didn't have the power necessary to do anything, ultimately weren't important enough. They would've just been left there and forgotten, and all these bodies are proof enough of that.
Jayden takes a deep breath, reigning in some of his emotions, some of the openness he'd allowed, not necessarily because he regrets doing so but because he can't keep doing so. He isn't good at handling this sort of thing, at finding a balance between the extremes of repressing everything and letting sadness and horror completely overwhelm him, and he'd so much rather do former than the latter.
So he redirects, offering a pathetic attempt at a smile, but his words are far more genuine than the expression.]
Besides, I was wrong anyway, right? I was at least relatively confident you'd remember who I was when I sent you that first message, but I hadn't expected... You know. Everythin' you did.
[And he can't tell her how much he appreciated her acting as a lifeline while everything was going on, but then even more so still caring after it was all over. For putting up with how distant and awkward he is over the past months. For being here now.]