Freya tries; she really does. Every time, her thoughts keep flickering back involuntarily. The fear begins to make way for the indignation boiling up in her, but it's still strongly present, humming at the edges of her perception. Freya's face twitches slowly into a scowl.

"I'm sick of this," she growls into her partner's skin, though there's a desperate edge to it. "Why? What does this have to do with me?"

One of her hands curls in the bedsheets, twisting until her knuckles go white. "Like this shit wasn't bad enough. Like it's got to prove some fucking point."