(quietly) You ever think about how much darkness a person can carry before they start to forget what light feels like?
A long silence. Rain.
Then stop.
It’s nothing.
I’m talking about your nosebleeds. The ones you think I don’t see. The ones you wipe away before I turn around.
(turning her head) You’re not talking about the case.
She sits up slowly, wincing. He notices. She hates that he notices.