The moment the bottle is free, he's taking it back, reaching across the table for it. He doesn't drink from it, just clings to it, a reliable constant in a threatening world. She's writing for a long time, and he thinks that it might be as difficult to read as it is for her to write.

He's not wrong; his eyes move over words that waver, that the alcohol he's already swallowed moves through his blood to distort. He has to blink and focus hard to extract their meaning with any real success. And once he's pieced it together, other things start falling into place; it explains a lot, so much, about Nill.

"You said you loved him. Do you mean 'in love?' With all the time you spent together, afterward, did he...?"

He can't finish the sentence. It feels too raw and tender, but the meaning is probably clear. Did he come to love you, too? Does that mean anything at all, with a ruined mind?

He lets her take back the bottle, fingers limp and pliable as she pulls it away.

"If it was strong enough to kill you, you were strong to live with it for any length of time. I'm sorry."