These, she'll think later, are two separate issues; there's the abuse, a word she knows now that she's out of it, past it, more than it, and then there's the loneliness and its attendant grief. They both hurt. They wrap around each other and grow into shapes around one another, become indistinguishable. But they are different.

She was aimed at one, she was ready and willing for the one, but this blindsides her and she's quiet for several long moments, feeling much smaller and weaker than she is. Every time she thinks she's gotten her feet under her for this, got her head on straight, she ends up fucking spun.

She sets it aside. She does her best to set it aside and hear him, hear how it ties in, hear exactly what he means by it and no more and no less.

"I'd... like that," she says finally, softly. Didn't she just say that he tries? He doesn't get it right all the time, but no one does, and he tries and so she tries too: "I care about you, too. I -" She swallows. "I want us both to be alright. I want us both to make it."

To survive in this new way. In this new life that's come after after.