( i come with knives. )

“So I was thinking,” she says, knowing he needs something to lift his spirits up, or at the very least distract him, from his encounter with Blair. “The song I’ve been working on this week could use a harmony. Wanna help me out?”

“I do, actually. Wouldn’t have asked for it if I didn’t.”

“Why not?” Diana asks, though she has a feeling she might know the answer.

Diana can’t put a finger on when Patrick stopped feeling so antagonistic towards her. All she knows is that their opinions of each other have changed a great deal in their time here, and she thinks she might be happy about it. “Good. Finding another person to talk to in this nuthouse would take way too much time.”

“Yeah.” Another wave of guilt swamps her, and she looks down at her hands. She wasn’t good for Thomas - for anyone - but she knew how it felt to be left alone. “You missed a question, though.”

Diana chuckles. Probably. Doubt I’ll bring it up, though. Still actively trying to die over there?”

“...how are you? How’s Thomas?”

“And what am I supposed to tell them if I don’t feel anything?”

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to talk about.”

I did it for the fuckin’ kid, okay, Lip? I did it for Thomas.

No, I’m saying it ‘cause it’s the truth. I’m like poison. I ruin everything, so you and Thomas should just -- stay the fuck away.

No? ‘Cause you run around with the Peterson chick, and she looks like she would kill someone just for kicks, so I figured, dot dot dot, you know?