She looked at her wrist, hidden beneath the covers, and then replied, her back still turned to him. "Being normal," she said, her voice a quiet, sad murmur, "is the hardest thing in the world to do."
The rain continued to drum against the roof of the small island room, a steady, rhythmic beat that seemed to match the slow, heavy pounding of Delia's own heart.
Eric's voice was soft, careful, as if he were speaking to a frightened bird. "What do you mean by that?"
"I have never lived a truly happy day in my life," Delia replied, the words a simple, devastating confession to the darkness. "And I feel like I never will. Because even if I find a moment of happiness, I don't know how long it will last. Nothing good ever lasts for me."
"Delia," Eric called her name, a soft plea for her to turn around, to face him.
