"Not your fault," he says. It isn't entirely.

If he ignores the cold he can pretend he's with Thea, an insomniac night spent on the couch watching bad TV.

"Kyle. I talked with - we talked. Argued. He said if I wanted to do what I do, then. We were done. He'd stop me." Is that the truth, what got him angry? It must be. He goes on mechanically. "I thought. Maybe. I guess I thought. If I went out. Like that. He'd do it. We could talk. Or maybe I didn't care. I don't know. I don't know."