Unable to be loved, that's what you said. Unresponsive and emotionally a wreck, that's what you said.
I know I can be … cold but it's not something I have control over. If anyone has the ice queen act down, it's you. Hell, I laughed along with the rest of them as Elliot pretended to shiver when you strode into the squad room two years ago. That's changed now, I wouldn't do that to you. Though you seem to be doing it to me. I really can't help it. Sometimes the darkness creeps in and I freeze.
I don't want to block you out but I'm the only one who knows the way out from the sour memories that stink of booze and vomit and blood. I can, in fact, feel your hand soft on my face but don't hate me because I flinch. It's just something that happens when I'm stuck in that apartment, bathroom door locking from the outside, so my mother can throw her guts up and not come out until she's calm. Then I go back in to clean up my lip that's split open, copper on my palate, and wash away the evidence of her alcoholism.
Only I know how to find my way back from that place. You can't help me, as much as I love you. Love can't reach some places. A rapist's child, my past. A woman who loved her daughter but not her baby's father, a woman who loves me but just can't fathom what I am. So please forgive me.
It's sick a woman can be so thoroughly defect.
That's what she said.