For a long while, she doesn't say anything, trying with no success to tune out the awkward, painful silence. What can she say? "I'm okay now." "It won't happen again." "These were exceptional circumstances."

Lies. She knows she'd do it again. That's the sickening part - were she given the chance to do it over, she probably still wouldn't stop. Even knowing that inflicting pain didn't make her feel better. Even knowing she'd have to turn herself in and go to a cell. Something dark and leaden in the pit of her stomach says 'next time will be different, next time will bring you peace'.

Next time you can lose yourself entirely and stop caring about any of it.

She can't look at him, but she does snake an arm through the bars and leave her palm face up, hoping for some contact. She's trying to be an example for him, to raise him well so he can live his life as the best he can be. To be happy. And she is far from the example of happiness. Though then again, so is he.

"Honey-" she stops, realizing she doesn't have an excuse to make. Not one worthy of saying out loud, at least.

"I turned myself in because I'm trying to own my bad decisions."