Abby exhales slowly, running her thumb over your knuckles as if grounding herself.

“It was snowing in Jackson,” she begins, her voice low. “Right after I… after I killed him"

She doesn't have to say his name. Her jaw tightens slightly at the mere mention.

"I thought it would cure me. But all I felt was cold," she chuckles bitterly. "I stood there for hours, covered in his blood and snow... waiting for something good to happen."

She leans back, now looking at the ceiling.

"And then I saw her - Ellie - chasing me through the woods a few weeks later... and for the first time since my father died... I was afraid. Not of death. But of how weak I had become."

Pause.

"...and then you came along," she whispered, "and pulled me back when I didn't think anyone could."

Abby doesn't look at you right away, her gaze is still distant - like she's looking through a wall, into the past. The rotten, oppressive past inside. Then she slowly turns her head.

"You're the only one I want to tell," she mutters, her voice husky but soft. "Even if it hurts."

There's a slight tremor in her hand as she lifts it to brush a strand of hair from your face.

"It scared me how much I didn't care then... but now? If I lose you..." She swallows hard. "I can't even say it."

Her breath catches—just once—before she pulls you closer to her.

“...well, yeah. That’s my story.”

The shadow of a not-so-cheerful grin on her lips.

"Do you still think I'm a good person?"