"Well, I figured we'd have to run into each other at some point. Best to try and sweep up all the awkwardness sooner, rather than later." She scoots over to the near end of her cot to be able to talk to him better, but she doesn't stand.

She averts her eyes again. "I think 'I owe you an apology' doesn't quite cut it." Her voice cracks and she self-consciously rearranges the edges of her blanket. She still doesn't think she owes anything to the man she mutilated, but to the friend whose head she dunked in violence? What explanation could possibly be enough?

You don't know what it's like to be full of that much rage and so incapable of acting on it for so long, Daniel.

He mocked my pain, Daniel. Why am I always supposed to take the high road?

How dare you judge? Would you expect better of your wife?

It's all frivolous excuses anyway. She doesn't have a leg to stand on and she knows it.

"Doing what to me?" She blinks, then shakes her head. "Oh, this? This is what happens when you don't wash or brush long hair for days." She laughs a bit weakly. They've been treating her fine here; she's just let go of the delusion that she's alright, and with it let go of her compulsion to look the part.