"She took me in."

"Don't say that."

"Why not?"

"You're making yourself sound like a stray dog or something."

"Well, I was in need."

I know, she wants to say. But in need of what?

She pours herself a drink, wishing she had it in her to drink down something stronger. It's just not her though.

"I'm glad she could help."

"So am I."

His voice goes soft, quiet, too careful for her liking. Like the memory of her is too fragile to break.

He doesn't care about fragile things, she thinks. He broke my heart, continues to break it.

There's silence, she isn't sure what to say. She doesn't trust herself to speak, not with all the fire brimming at her lips. She could tear him to shreds with one slash of her wit, one look at the fury that's running through her veins.

But then what? She'd still love him. Still open up her arms when he came running back each time. They were fated to cross paths, to be close enough to touch but never entirely. They were a series of almosts, destined to never be.

Fighting against fate was tiring. But she did it anyway. Every time.

"Why are you telling me this?"

He's silent at that. Maybe he's unsure. Maybe he isn't. She's not sure she can blame him either way.

"I don't know."

She resists a scoff at that. Of course, he doesn't. When has he ever? Known, that is. Known that his actions leave her awake at night. Known that she loves him and yet does nothing about it. Known that he loves her back but is too afraid to pursue it. Known that he's tearing them apart.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that then."

She sets her glass down, eyeing it once she lets go. She wonders if she's strong enough to shatter it in one hand, wishes she could.

When will I be strong enough?