'...will prrrobably... find you...not well,' Jo voiced in her head, contrary to her writing because she most certainly wasn't.
It was like applying to uni again, and she didn't want to remember how and how much she had fucked her future up, though Katya would've likely drowned either way; not that she remembered the events that led to it.
(Katya had always felt emotions intensely. More than the broody Slavic woman her parents tried raising her to be.)
All she ever had was heavy guilt curling under her ribs. A gaping, yawning hole swallowing her chest, and the constant sense of no longer being unable to protect.
(Too intensely to the point it often felt like she wasn't feeling enough.)