You know the worst part of it -

[She’s trying. Fuck, but she’s trying to be nice and understand and all he can manage is a loose, shaky breath like the rustle of leaves over pavement, like the phantom crunch of footsteps behind him.]

[He can’t ever really be clean, now, can he?]

For a long time, I figured I was just crazy.

I think a lot of me still does.

[She’s sorry? Fuck, he’s sorry for saying anything at all.]

...sorry. Probably shouldn’t have said anything.