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The longer Gil doesn't respond, the worse you start to feel. Which is obviously nonsensical, seeing how you've done nothing wrong (in your whole life!) and therefore <span class="mu-i">he's</span> the one asking ridiculous things from <span class="mu-i">you.</span> You don't have any problems, at least any of any consequence or relevance to your day-to-day life. And if you did have problems you've solved them already. Like Richard. You solved Richard. (Where is Richard?) And you already decided the memory thing wasn't an issue. And you have a retainer and are on very good track to resolving the Ellery thing and kidnapping thing and everything. So there's just nothing to talk about, really. That's not <span class="mu-i">your</span> fault. There's just nothing. So if your chest could stop tightening, that would be—
"I, uh," you say, "well, I mean, I do have— most people look at me and assume that I have everything all planned out. Like, I bet you think I've predicted out how all of this would go from the start, since I'm always so good at everything, you know. But the truth is that I— I really didn't have a plan. And I usually don't. Richard's the one who makes all the plans. I just do things."
"...I-I really don't think I could've guessed that..."
"Yes! See!" You place your hands on your hips. "Nobody can! It's just my secret. I didn't even have a plan when I came down here. When you said I do stuff and you always think I'm gonna die— sometimes I think I might die too! And then I don't! My positive thinking and noble spirit always pull through, and that's what being a heroine is about, Gil. Though I do get— sometimes I get injured. Occasionally. But Richard fixes it, so it's all okay."
"He... fixes it."
"Or he makes my body fix it... I don't know how it works. He lives in my head, so he can do that kind of stuff. I guess you also live in my head, but..." You shrug. "Maybe you can do that too. Who knows?"
"...Maybe. Um..." Gil creeps a little ways down the column. "What i-is Richard exactly? I-I-I've never been entirely clear on..."
"He's a snake," you say, and frown. "I thought I said that."
"...You did, but, um, I-I-I feel like i-it's a little more complicated than..."
Oh, God. You already told him one thing— shouldn't that be enough? Does he need to know about the whole Richard debacle? It's <span class="mu-i">weird.</span> But on the other hand it isn't your fault at all, so far as you know, so if you already told Gil about the aunt and mother situation than it can't be too much worse. Surely? "...Er, it's really not— there's not very much to it. He's just my father who got a snake in his brain and died so the snake bit is kind of him but without any nice parts and he can't actually remember being my father either. And also I can't remember him being my father. But my mind still thinks he is, even though he isn't, which is why he's a man instead of a snake inside here and he acts nice very occasionally. But he's still a snake most of the time."
"..." (Oh, God, he thinks it's weird.) "...No shit?"
(2/3?)
