She is better today. And angrier.

Her certainty is still fluid, but it moves in single motions
and there is no ice in her body. Nothing so fragile or reflected.

She sits beside me, rather than across. The glass coffee table shows how close we are stalled.

"It's been a long time."

"I was away. I had to go away."

She laughs, and there is something specific in it, something she will not give. She speaks again, "I can lie  now. It means I am less confused.

There are true and untrue things again." Her eyes rip into my face.

"Do you lie to me? To others?" I am allowed to match her when she is cruel.

"Why would I lie to you?
But yes, sometimes to others."

"About your depression."

"No. Never."

She is quite still all the way through the interview. Her body temperature is low.