1"You know..." she pauses, turning her hands over in her lap. "Maybe I am crazy. But would it change anything?"
He knows his silence hurts her. He won't look at her, preferring to watch the rain tumble down the windowpanes. She pulls her limbs in tight to her chest, rocking back and forth in the center of the bed. He sighs and turns to study her. She reminds him of a lost child.
"The bed's too big," she whispers. "This place is empty."
"Come back," he pleads half-heartedly. "I miss you and the cat misses you."
She shakes her head, pulling her arms tighter, "I'm a bad influence," she bites out. The laugh that follows is bitter and she buries her face in her knees as if to stifle it. He watches her still shaking shoulders, wondering if she's started crying yet, but when she glances at him again, her face is clear.
"You're so young," he tries to rationalize, "How can you be a bad influence if you're barely over age?"
She turns away. "I can't."
"I know."
The silence stretches between them, as he watches her. She's listening to something, head cocked to one side and face considering.
"What do you hear?" he breathes. It's moments like this that move him to realistically question her sanity.
"The rain," she murmurs. "It's soothing."
He gets up from his perch on the window seat and moves to settle close to her on the bed. She turns her head to him, resting her cheek on her knees. Her large eyes plead with him to understand. His fingers trace the elaborate words she's carved into the bed frame, eyes search the endless murals painted on her walls, and he wonders if he can.
"I think I should get a dog," she whispers, "they're warm and soft. They don't care if you're crazy."
"You're not crazy," he replies automatically, but his words lack the bite that they held weeks before.
"It doesn't matter," she mutters, dropping her eyes. "I'd rather be crazy and alone than crazy with them."
She pauses to sigh then adds, "But it would be nicer to be crazy with a dog. I mean, do I really need a bed this big if I'm the only one in it?"