They've never had trouble before.

She doesn't know when it started -- the words used to come easy etween them.

God knows they still come easy for her -- the only thing left of the person she was in ancient years that are so long, long gone.

Sometimes they come flying out of her, and she realizes that she can't stop them.

Sometime they come flying out of her, hurtling and tumbling straight towards him. And she wishes that she could stop them.

She knows that they cut into his wrists, so deep that they make him numb.

And she hates herself for it.

Oh, god.

Oh, god she hates herself for it.