[She's disappointed but hardly surprised when he rolls away. It's what he does. She's half expecting him to just walk out the door without a word.

Instead, he asks about the book. She rolls onto her side, hugging a pillow to her chest. Between the bruises, the ache between her legs, and the question he's asked, she feels painfully vulnerable.]

I'm not sure. I already knew the story, maybe not in that much detail. But I don't know how it's supposed to help me. [She doesn't sound resentful...mostly lost. She's sure there's some kind of answer in it, but no matter how many times she reads it, she can't figure out what it might be.]