He couldn't ask little things, could he? She sighs, slowly, making her way across on her creaking bones to the bed to sit on it, since he apparently wasn't going to.

"We're all given choices in life," it comes slowly. Talking hurts. She won't be fixed, over night, she knows. As it is, she can feel it coming now, like now that she had the blackwater, her body had the freedom to crash. But no - a little longer, she must get this man out first. York said they were going to get her out of her and she was taking this man with her. "I elected to - ah - 'give a shit', for if nothing else, I must live with myself." Wrong out of her all too proper vocabulary.