[ She is going to break on this one day. One day the dogged ceaseless stubborn way she loves him will not be enough to pull her off the floor to take another swing at the dogged ceaseless stubborn way he hates himself.

She has never felt a match for this. Never felt on sure footing. It feels a constant swing between stumbling into hurting him and begging to be forgiven for the missteps made she doesn't understand.

In that soft and broken haggard sound that marks the interim between the times she gathers herself to stumble through the unforgiving underbrush again: ]

What do you want of me?

You must help me. I cannot but do wrong, speak wrong. You must teach me to love you in a way that you can feel.

Please.

[ A quiet little hiccup of a sob. ]

I want to be good to you.