"One day when all this is over, I'm gonna save up and rent a convertible, take it to the Gulf. Lie on the beach, bake in the sun..." In the sunlight, with breakfast, nobody around to bring her down or make her feel anything other than completely normal and completely relaxed. "It's a date," he says bashfully. He loves riding in cars; she gets shy too, and after long silence another real Sookie rears her head, the innocent shoeless Sookie who would shrug off all this romance and complication if she could, and just have fun: "Do you know any car songs?" It is strong to admit you want to do real bad things, when we live in a daylight world where real bad things are really bad, dangerous if not deadly; it's something stronger to ask for real good things, when the night is taking over.
Jason unbuckles his belt, after dinner, and practically belches his approval; Amy says she learned to cook from her childhood maid, who was French. She stands up, now that he's happy again. "Hey, if I show you something, you have to promise that you're not gonna get mad." Jason, dodging the anvils as always, laughs that he'll never be mad at her again, and she retrieves the final vial out of the refrigerator: "I saved one drop." He stands up, betrayed, and heads out of there, away from her, to change out of his work clothes and shut out the whole world. "Babe, please don't flip," she murmurs, following him into the bedroom, and weaves another spell. "We both know that we're for real. That we're gonna have a life together." He asks what she's doing with the blood then, beyond killing him slowly and driving his mind completely bonkers in the process. "I can't trust you for a second," he says, and she reverses his syntax: "You can trust me totally, for always." She says she wants symmetry, and of course he doesn't know what that means, and then she gives the most awesomely nonsensical, totally typical and frightening pre-rehab speech of all time.
"Balance. Harmony. Beauty. Babe, this vial is our past. We started with V, so we should end it with V. Like closing a circle. So we can start a new circle, our new life together. I'm through with the blood, it's only a symbol. But the circle... I mean, that's what's important to me." He stands up, out of her embrace, freaking out, and she makes a false frown: "Never mind. I'm gonna go by myself." She feints the bottle to her lips, as though any junkie is going to sit still for that. "Now I'm not gonna let you do that. But this is the last fucking time..." She toasts their future and pours the drop into her mouth, then holds it there -- blood, in her mouth, with her tongue hanging out -- and kneels on the bed, sharing the drop with him like a momma bird. It is disgusting and ridiculous and funny and sad. The ways we pour our hungers into new skins and say they are the truth is just a girl with a mouthful of blood doing drugs with a half-naked moron and calling it love. What they have is beautiful.