Rue loved you like a dog. You could shove her away as many times as you wanted, and she would come crawling at your beck and call. In a panic over your sexuality, you shoved her away. For months, you forced yourself into a glass box that she could see straight into.

After you and your now ex-boyfriend broke up, you turned to Rue. “Hey,” she hums softly. She was holding a bottle of something—a form of comfort for both you and her. “Need some love?” She muses, sitting down next to you.