"She is," I say wryly. The last time she'd said that, I'd almost made an excuse for my mother but I don't know. She's a terrible person through and through and I spend so much time worrying that I'll become her, that I'll become that terrible person who enjoys causing pain to others.

"She's never been interested in having a son so when I did what I did, killing me was the easiest way to deal with the problem I'd become. Making sure it was slow and painful was for her personal enjoyment," I tell her quietly, rubbing my thumb against her cheek. A part of me wants to let go, slide back, protect her from me but I don't. I ignore that voice.

Instead, I lean forward again, pressing a kiss against her temple this time. She talks and I'm close enough to feel her jaw moving underneath my fingers and hear the promise in her words. For a moment, I do nothing more but touching her, hand to her cheek and my cheek against her temple before pulling back.

"You're brave like that," I tell her because only someone courageous would want to be closer than arms length with the likes of me. "Braver than I am."