It's a wound all right. His is old and Kamala's is fresh and new, and Jess knows from experience that letting that pain fester can leave entire parts of you destroyed. The girl's expertise in worrying about everyone around her, including her family back home, before herself could hasten that dramatically, for all Jess knows. Anyone else, she would give more time to themselves before showing her face. Anyone else, she could picture handling the self-blame, for better or worse, but she fails to imagine Kamala whenever she tries.

That's as unsettling as the certainty that Jess needs her to stay her. They all do. They're all garbage people living in garbage forest.

"You didn't betray anyone." It seems like a good place to start. Unfortunately, that single spark of wisdom can't illuminate for her how to go on. She's ill fit for any kind of speech on death despite her lifelong familiarity. And if Kamala knew how she used to think about it, and did again until very recently, she'd hate her. Jess bites down on a sigh and pushes her hair behind her right ear. "Whatever was up with that jukebox or that party, that idea is something that was planted in you, not pulled out. I promise."