“What’s happening?” Her question was quiet.“Honey, cast your mind back,” he urged gently. “Two minutes ago, I was kissin’ you. Three days ago, I was dancin’ with you. You know what’s happening.”

“A while ago?” Anaxantis asked. “Yes, he raped me a while ago. Exactly nine months and two days ago. What's that? Nine months or nine minutes. It's the same. And it is in the past, you say? Then why is it still happening, every day, every time I close my eyes? Every time I hear someone behind me, and I don't know who it is? How is it that I get an almost irresistible urge to kill anyone who happens to touch me unexpectedly? Tell me, Hemarchidas, how do I forgive, let alone forget, something that is still happening, that keeps happening over and over? How? How do I do that?”

“If you were to ask me what’s under my bed, I’d tell you shoes. They’re brown, and they’re still attached to the body that’s been decomposing there since I hid it three days ago.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen with us, Anna. But I’m always going to love you. That I know.”

“I already know. And it has nothing to do with what you can see happening in my body; it’s what’s happening in my soul.”

“I don’t know what’s happened to you. You used to be such a nice girl. Now you’ve gone all stabby and whatnot.”