[For what feels like the first time since they began speaking, silence grips the line. Somewhere, Wysteria is grinding her teeth.]

Briefly. [Is like pulling a tooth. Exposing some raw nerve. Putting a bare arm out to be switched.] Sometimes I thought so. In whatever period existed between reaching the end of one argument and before we had begun the next one.

—But [she hurries to say, mean and brisk like snapping a visor down on a helmet to made for shielding vulnerable parts.] Whenever I began to think it and allowed myself to be easier to account for it, you would purposefully make an ass of yourself or get your back up over some remark I thought perfectly inconsequential and it would begin all over again. And I have no more patience for either standing so I may be berated like a child, or for being purposefully cajoled into acting cruelly.