[ it's only that he's blocking the path between the doorway and the room that she doesn't merely step inside all on her own, though it's for the best since she knows she must learn to ask permission for such things — polites of society, she reminds herself. with his question, she gives a firm shake of her head, though that's the most of an answer she provides as he allows her the space she'd requested.

she slips directly past him, unbothered by his state of dress or lack there of, as such things as clothing or exposed skin gives her very little bother. her attention is far too caught up in her own emotions, regardless, and she practically makes a bee line for his bed, turning on her heel when she reaches it so she can climb backwards over the edge to sit atop it, lifting her legs to scoot her knees up to her chest. ]

No one has sought to harm me. It is just that I feel ... quite sad, with heavy emotions that are difficult to convey into words. [ whether he stays by the door or moves back into the room, bella continues. ] Matt Jamison is dead. He has died by the hands of another, as many have in these weeks. But he had been my patient while he was alive. I had performed surgery to save his life and he had lived — except now he is not. I ... I have failed someone. [ her face scrunches, tears growing heavier in her eyes. ] I had sought to protect another and I could do nothing. How am I to be a doctor if I can't keep others from death?