Jillie takes several shaky breaths as she lights up a cigarette. She smokes it quickly, burning through it fast enough that it's a wonder she can even taste it. She doesn't say anything during this time, then slowly swallows.

Once her cigarette is down to the filter, she stubs it out and slowly, deliberately, crouches to pick up the knife. She offers it back to Carson in the same way he'd offered it to her, handle first, pinching the flat of the blade near the dull edge.

"It's hard to explain," she says, as if the knife scene hadn't just happened. "It's like. Having a war, inside your head, with all these different soldiers trying to do, or make you do, different things. I'm medicated but it's not a cure." She runs her face with fluttering fingers.