His own steps echo in the hallway and while he walks to her he can’t help but ask himself where it went his sense of self preservation, because he’s willingly entering the lion’s cage and he can’t find in himself the strength to turn his back and leave her there. It’s not like she wants his company, anyway. Standing in front of her he can see how small she is. How lonely. And her poisoned heart shaped little mouth can’t drive him away. Strangely enough, he doesn’t mind, because in this very moment he can see past it, and he thinks he knows her by heart. It’s her peculiar way to be strong, to convince herself she’s all right. To tell him she’s not. He sits on the floor and looks in front of him at some point in the wall; and he speaks. He bares the open wound he spent four months carefully hiding from any living soul in front of the only person who would find amusing to stretch it with a five inches heel. Her big eyes are fixed on his and he can feel an entire universe of dreams and beauty and hunger for tenderness behind them. He can feel her. And he wonders if she can feel him too.