"I think it's time we had a talk."

I caught a glimpse of Dean's face as he came over to wear I sat hunched on the end of the bed with my knees pulled up and my arms around them, mercilessly tight. As he eased himself down next to me, I looked away. I watched the droplets splashing continuously down the drain of the leaky sink. I noticed how old the tv was, yet how shiny the new Keurig machine looked as it sat on the counter next to enamel colored overturned mugs. I looked at anything that wasn't Dean's concerned gaze. I knew this would come. I had been dreading it. And I kind of knew he planned to ask me today, even before his encouraging opener. When he sent Sam away to the {insert shitty town} library and told him not to even think about coming back without some decent food, I could tell he was preparing the scene, setting me up for a comforting interrogation.

"I didn't think you were capable of having talks. You made fun of Sam for attempting to have chick flick moments like three times since I met you." But he knew I was trying to avoid it, so he jumped right in. No dancing around the sensitive topics, I guess.

"Yeah, well, that's different. Some shit can just pile up in a dark little basement that you never go in. Some shit is buried for a reason. And I get that you would want to bury your own crap and never mention it again, but that sucks for you, cuz I gotta know your personal hell in order to get the bad guys that are responsible for it."

I nestled my head on my knees and hid behind my arms. "I know." I whispered. And I did know. And I did want to help. But that doesn't mean I wanted to open up and sing about my shame to the world. Which, honestly, would have been easier than telling Dean, sitting here all quiet and calm.

I decided I would answer whatever he asked, because I knew how much he thought he needed to know, and I wouldn't be able to convince him or Sam that any information I had wouldn't really help. And I knew he wouldn't give up. But I thought maybe I could just answer his questions without giving too much up. It was stupid, but I did care what they thought of me, and they held enough pity for me without me adding any more reasons for them to sneak worried glances at me when they thought I wouldn't notice. "What do you wanna know?"

"Well, to pinpoint our search in disappearances, you could tell us how long you were there." He got up from the bed to move some things aside in his duffle until he found what he was after. With a pen and a notebook in hand, he sat back down and looked at me expectantly. I barely registered the bed shifting under his weight. I was drawing a blank. "I… I don't know. I hadn't really thought about how long I'd been there, just focused on when I'd get out. Uhm, what's today?"

Tearing his gaze away from me, Dean looked at his watch. "Thursday. May 18th."

"That can't be right. I thought it was much longer than that. The last I remember, before… it was just after my birthday, February 27th. I guess it was only a couple of months. No, but that doesn't fit. Do you think lost sense of time, or reality? Cuz I really thought it was a lot longer." In my confusion, I let down my guard, releasing my legs from the death grip I had maintained, leaving red areas under my knees from the pressure.

"Uh, from what Sam told me about that place, I wouldn't be surprised if you had lost all your senses. Especially if you were there that long. But you can chat it up with Sam about psycho effects later. How well did you know the other girls? Could you recognize them if we showed you missing posters?" He asked while he scribbled something down on the notepad. The paper was all yellowed and bent in a few corners, and it's aged beyond it's years appearance reminded me of the man who was writing in it. When I didn't answer him right away, he looked up and his hand tapped the pen against his thigh.

"Well, yeah, I could identify some of them, but we tried not to get too close, I mean, we only thought about making friends and getting to know other girls close to our number so that… you know…"

"Not really, no. Kinda why I'm asking." His brow was all pinched together like he was trying to figure out a puzzle by only looking at the pieces, all scattered and mangled, and he wanted to touch them to try and see it any fit together.

I pulled my feet close on the bed and stared at them. "So it wouldn't hurt as much. When they were taken from us screaming, and didn't come back. If you were only friends with, say, number ninety-three and ninety-five, then when ninety-three died, you only had to be sad a little while, and you didn't have to be sad for ninety-five. I guess that didn't really stop us though, huh?" I gave a weak smile in Dean's direction, but it fell flat. He stared at my incredulously. Then, with honest ignorance, he asked "Why?"

"Because you never had to see ninety-five taken away. And with ninety-three, well, you didn't have much time to be sad, cuz you were next."