I’m not looking at you, dipshit. [But she does, increasingly, sound mad at him.]

I don’t care who the monster is. I just— I have only ever wanted you to live. [I want you to be mine. Not some cult’s poster child. Not the face on the morning news. Not his, not hers; mine. And despite it all, Aubrey would like to live.

[Yet she still can’t face him. She tells herself it’s because his voice, his steps, agitated, are cue enough.] Why is that so difficult?