Wrong. He promptly corrected her on his surname. Wrong on both counts, she assumed: he couldn't be a healer any more, that much she remembered, that much she knew. The hospital hadn't let her do even a week more of her internship, after the incident. How would they have kept on a healer - even a formerly respected one - the world knew to be a werewolf?
Leila wasn't sure whether it was a comfort to see him, or not. He was living proof that she was not the only person bad things had ever happened to, not the only undeserving victim of the universe. But then, he was also a living reminder. It was almost like looking at a distorted reflection of herself, this thing they had in common. (A bit rich of her to call him the distorted one, she was aware.) She couldn't look at him and not think about it.
So she settled her gaze on a safe patch of air beside his ear, and tried to settle the feeling too. "Westerman, then," Leila echoed, unconvinced. "Maybe I should have done that too," she remarked with a flippant air. Her own name stung with sourness sometimes in her mouth. (But it was about the only part of her identity she still had left - though none of her family would attest to that, anymore.)
She wondered what had happened to his family. Whether they had turned him out like hers had her, or he had left them for another reason, she supposed they would be the Belbys, still. She doubted there was any use asking after them.
"What are you doing here?" She asked instead, too fast. It didn't sound quite careless enough.
Leila wasn't sure whether it was a comfort to see him, or not. He was living proof that she was not the only person bad things had ever happened to, not the only undeserving victim of the universe. But then, he was also a living reminder. It was almost like looking at a distorted reflection of herself, this thing they had in common. (A bit rich of her to call him the distorted one, she was aware.) She couldn't look at him and not think about it.
So she settled her gaze on a safe patch of air beside his ear, and tried to settle the feeling too. "Westerman, then," Leila echoed, unconvinced. "Maybe I should have done that too," she remarked with a flippant air. Her own name stung with sourness sometimes in her mouth. (But it was about the only part of her identity she still had left - though none of her family would attest to that, anymore.)
She wondered what had happened to his family. Whether they had turned him out like hers had her, or he had left them for another reason, she supposed they would be the Belbys, still. She doubted there was any use asking after them.
"What are you doing here?" She asked instead, too fast. It didn't sound quite careless enough.
