"Gracie? Who said anything about Gracie? You're not going to fucking put this on me. Fuck you, Kevin!" He swears it's not him, he's the one who's there, which is not just a hint about their sham marriage or her cheating or her tinker-toy creation of this entire universe around herself, but a comment on her as a mother to a broken little girl. Which is also how you lost the fight.
"Of course you're here. Where the hell else you gonna be? At a concert? At a fucking class? Reading a book somewhere? No, this is where you are, this is where you were, this is where you're always gonna be, because you're a fucking bartender!"
And what he'll never understand, and she barely knows, is that this is exactly why she loves him. She's not trying to hurt his feelings -- she's pushing buttons, but only because he pulled out the knives first -- she's trying to explain why he is essential. Kevin is, Kevin was, Kevin will always be. He is home. Without him, there could be no Eddie and without Eddie, she could never be with him. She is his completely; she is not his at all.
Ginny Flinn, Eddie, everybody taking him away from her. Grace and Fiona, if it comes down to it: She loves him for the same reason we love anybody. And using it as a weapon is just as perverted, and just as natural, as any of the other twenty horrible things they've done tonight. To themselves and to each other.
"You have no idea what my life is like," she says, and it's not an attack: It's a prayer. "You have no idea, what it feels like to be me." And you never can, or I will die. All the pieces will collapse into a single nightmare, and I'll lose my breath, forever.
Jackie sneaks down past him on the lounger, with Fiona and her broken arm cradled on his lap. She takes her jacket, and she leaves. He breathes softly, in the quiet. She doesn't go to work. She doesn't go to Eleanor. She doesn't go to the Pill-O-Matix, or to the Chapel. She doesn't go to Eddie. She goes to an all-night diner down the road, for pie and hot chocolate. She goes to breathe.
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