"Nina," he called my name, his voice hoarse as sandpaper against wood. "The stupidest thing I did in my past life was making you think you didn't need pity. You think you don't need pity because I never let you feel you deserved it. You shoulder it all yourself, swallow it all yourself, deal with it all yourself. You think this is strength, but it's because I was useless. It's because I was useless that you feel you can only rely on yourself."
I turned my face toward the window, not daring to look at him.
Through the window glass, a few distant lights swayed. The nights in Fairport were different from Millwood. The nights in Millwood were damp and clinging, a sticky darkness.
The nights in Fairport were dry and brittle; the wind cut right through you.
"Leave," I said.
"I'm not leaving
