Oh, she knows what it is to be a lonely child. To have no friends, to come to an empty apartment and make your own dinner even though you're only seven years old, because Mama works late at the hospital so often. To have your father gone because no one could ever want to stay for you.

It's normal. She's used to it. She knows what it is never to meet anyone she could call a friend until she was fourteen - and to have that go so wrong that she's never called anyone that word since, no matter their relationship to her.

But at those last words, whatever might have made her sympathize with a similar loneliness is gone. She smirks coldly.

"I have no interest in knowing you. I don't need to. You make it clear in every word." And now he's simply open for her to open up the wound.