"Baby, you're not the victim here. You need to stop acting like one," Edward says bluntly. I'm still not sure if he's judging me for staying at The Press and helping Oscar out of his mess.

"What else do you think I should've done?" I defend myself. The aggression in my voice scares me, but Edward doesn't so much as flint.

He rolls his eyes. "I don't know; maybe follow in any sensible person's footsteps and leave?"

"Fuck you."

He grunts. "Listen, I know what you're about to say: 'Edward, you're rich; you can afford to leave your job if you want to. I can't.' And that is true. Still, I need you to stop making this about you. Yes, you're a victim of circumstances, but you haven't been violated. The woman you're working to take down was. Just accept that you're helping the bad guy win and let's move on - I'm tired of your droning."

Everything he's saying makes sense, but it doesn't make me feel like a hero.

Maybe I don't deserve to feel like one.

Maybe I'm not one.

Well, then, fuck it all! I mean, it's not like I'm entirely at fault here - Edward was the one to get me this job in the first place, and he got it from me knowing that this guy was shady! In fact, the fact that he has been friends with this guy for such a long time, of his own accord, makes him worse than I am; and fuck him if he thinks he's better than me!

"In any case, I've got my Visa!"

The urge to clean couldn't come at a better time. I rise and clear the small coffee table in front of us. I stack the plates nicely and start to the kitchen. Edward rises to follow me. Why can't he see that I'm not trying to talk to him? Why does he want to go on as though he didn't just drag me through heaps of slander without even caring to mince his words? Even more insane: why should I play along with it?

"Well, you could pretend to be more excited."

Lull.

"What's wrong?"

...

"You're upset that I called you out? How old are you?"

I feel an inexplicable rage course through my entire body. "Excuse me?"

He flinches, his mouth gaping in surprise. He makes his way back to the living room and comes back with his bag on his back. "I'll just leave. Call me when you're ready to grow up."

Shit! I think I may have pushed too far there. I mean, he's not completely wrong: I've been sulking over this whole thing and painting myself as the victim when I'm not. I mean, I am, just not to the extent that Nandi is also a victim. Sure, at the end of the day, it sucks that I have to lie with the bad guy to be able to afford groceries, but I do not stand to lose as much as Nandi lost. I don't stand to lose my humanness the same way that she has.

"I'm sorry. I just-I got a little defensive there when I thought you were judging me. I'm sorry; you're right," I blurt.

He sighs. "It's okay. I understand how you're feeling, and maybe I was a bit too harsh; but I just want you to understand that somewhere in all your moaning of how a capitalist system forces you to be a horrible person, someone out there has it much worse than you - because of the same system."

I nod. "You're right. I should grow up."

He smirks. "Finally, you see it."

After a little banter that involves a lot of insults directed my way, Edward re-introduces the topic he'd tried to introduce before I threw my little temper tantrum: "My Visa has finally been approved!"

I smile slightly. "So, that means you're leaving soon?"

He inches closer to my face. "Hey, are you sad?"

I force my smile wider. "No! Are you kidding me? You're finally going to leave me alone. That's nothing to be sad about."

He smiles. "Good. I'm also glad I'll be getting a break from having to deal with your broke arse."

Silence wraps around us. I wonder how he's able to cope with always being on the road, always having to leave Husky behind, always having to leave Léo behind. How easy is it? I mean, Edward has never been a sentimental person - the guy had no problem switching to a new university after being expelled for sleeping with his lecturer; he even told me it was the best thing to ever happen to him. Is he still the same person I met way back then? Is it different because he's with someone he loves this time around? Does he always want to be around Léo the same way I always want to be around Alejandro?

Or maybe he loves Léo the same way I love Alejandro, but he's secure in who he is, so he doesn't always need to be by Léo's side to know that he still loves him? Maybe it's the kind of security one gets after being in a relationship with someone for two years? Or maybe it's the kind of security you get after putting yourself through the worst heartbreaks, so you know it can't get any worse than anything you've been through?

"If Léo asked you to stay," I eject suddenly, "would you?"

For a moment, Edward stops breathing. Our silence changes from being comfortable and mindless to being high stakes, holding my anticipation of his response and his consideration of my question. With his left leg rested on his right knee, he opens one eye. "Why are you asking me this?"

"Just curious."

He rises and leans his back against his elbows. Then, he blinks slowly and his eyes land on mine. "It depends." Pause. I can almost hear the gears turn in his head. Edward has always been calculated - it's one of the things I've both admired and loathed about him. He could drag out the simplest questions because he wanted it all to be perfect, because he is perfect. "It depends. I think I'd want to know why he wants me to stay. I mean, we've been together for a long time; why would he want to stop me from working now? Is he insecure? Is he trying to manipulate my love for him? Does he want me to be his housewife? Because I'm not trying to be anyone's housewife."

I roll my eyes. "All that aside, let's just say he asks you to stay, for no reason at all."

"But he won't do that. He's never done that. And if he were to do that, I'd leave him."

"You're overthinking this whole thing, Edward!"

"I'm not! I don't know what you're trying to get from me. What's happening?"

I grunt. "Whatever."

He smirks. "Does this have anything to do with Alejandro?"

"No!"

He sits up and crosses his legs in front of himself. "Tell me: what's he done?"

I feel my stomach tie itself up in knots as I lose almost all sensation in my legs. "Nothing!"

He cocks a brow. "Then why did you get upset when I refused to answer your stupid question?"

"It wasn't stupid."

"Don't change the subject."

Silence. What had caused me to ask the question, anyway? Maybe I'm just insecure on where I stand with Alejandro? Or maybe I feel that way because he's the only man that's ever treated me the way I've always wanted to be treated. Or maybe I'm just projecting what I want to feel onto him? I suppose it's possible. After all, how am I supposed to know if how I want to be treated is even a reality in how humans treat - and should treat - one another? If all those men before him failed, what makes him so different? What if my common sense is being clouded right now? I mean, there was a reason that I fell for all those men before him - some even managed to make me feel the way he does, or they came really close. Who's saying the problem was with them, and not with me?

"Whatever, man. Let's just drop it."

His smirk grows. "Oh, Edgar, you silly, silly woman."

***

It's always been easy for me to pack my things and go when the going gets tough. It's something that used to bother me when I was younger, but I've learned to see it as a good thing - I don't tie myself up to a situation even when it's clearly not working out for me. Besides, I know that if you have to ask for something more than twice, it probably wasn't meant for you in the first place.

This attitude has served me well in the past - I was able to walk away from doomed relationships before I lost control of things; I was able to walk away from a horrible parent on my own terms; I was able to walk away from myself when I thought too much, and when that led me down an even blacker path, I was able to walk away from it.

The boys would call me loose. That's not how I saw it. The way I saw it, I was smart. I was a calculated young girl who would always pull the rug from under anyone that thought she had a brain smaller than a peanut. I convinced everyone that I was always in control. I convinced everyone that I had everything planned out - from my glorious highs to my depressing lows, everything was planned out for them to witness.

I guess I've always thought of myself as everyone's little entertainer.

I did it because I had to maintain the façade of strength even when I was weak, because I knew that the world was unkind to the weak. I did it because I had to convince men that I was not the kind of girl they wanted to mess with. I did it because every other girl around me did it.

However, something clearly went wrong when I was picked up by the ambulance - the wheel had slipped from my grip and my crash was glorious. I thought I always heard voices around me, but I woke up from a three-day coma and Edward had his head nested on my hip. It was uncomfortable but I couldn't even tell him to get off of me because I was so weak, but also because I would rather be faced with the blunt pain of his skull on my hip than have him not there at all.

The doctor asked me if I was fine and never said anything of what had landed me there in the first place, but I knew that she wanted to tell me to stop. Maybe that's really what I wanted to tell myself, but I like to think the doctor had the same thing on her mind, she just didn't feel like preaching to another young girl about how her petite frame meant that she could die from drinking a drop of hard spirits that day. She also seemed like she was fairly young - definitely not my age, but also not old enough to be my mother; so, maybe there was that.

I sometimes wonder if I'd be any different if I had never gone through that fucked up phase in my life, but I wonder about if a lot of things were different, anyway. Maybe I would've been happier if I had been raised up in a functional home. What does that even look like? I wonder if I would've used drugs if my dad was still around. I wonder if he would've given me advice on how to be a woman. I wonder if I would've listened to him. Would our relationship be as strong today? I wonder if my life would've had a different trajectory if my dad was Bill Gates - or, maybe, a less famous version of him. Would I be happier, then? Would I have valued my life more? What if I was a man?

Or what if the world around me was different? What if I never had to put up a façade of strength in the first place? Would my decisions be different? What if I never got my first sip of alcohol at fifteen? What if I never had to worry about having a roof over my head? Would I have been as compassionate to Charlie? Would Charlie even exist?

But this is the way things are, and I realise it does me no good to think of hypotheticals. At the end of the day, I have to keep the lights on. I have to feed Charlie. Besides, it could be worse, I guess. I mean, I could be in the United States.