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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