Beosta started crying.
She didn't want to--- she hated crying. It made her eyes sting and get all red and puffy, and it made her look weak or guilty and she didn't want people to see her that way. She fought it as much as she could--- turned away, swallowed, rubbed her eyes so hard she felt sure her eyelids would come off--- but she couldn't stop bawling like a little kid.
"No, it's my fault." She took a shuddering breath--- stupid tears; they made it hard to breathe and talk. "I've been... selfisher."
And she really had, hadn't she? Had she only gotten close to him to make herself feel good?
And if so, was it because of his eyes or his hair?
Or...
Oh, chasms, was it both?
Her sobs redoubled. The shaking hurt and her face hurt and her scudding soul hurt.
"I think--- he said something," she managed, pointing to the man at the desk, then redegenerated back into desperately trying to make herself stop sobbing.