The two stood haphazardly in front of oblong mirrors in the bathroom. Hair pins and bits of paper cluttered the fuzzy floor beneath their schoolgirl shoes.
"A morbid desire that you let die every year and then subsequently dig back up each Spring?"
"I know, I know. God, I fucking know. Its awful, I hate myself for it. But that's just it. I let it die every year. This year, I want to kill it. I want to slaughter this thing. But only after I've figured out how to keep it alive."
"Listen, you know this is a bad idea. And I know that right now, you are acting tough. But you fall for this every year. And every year you ascribe it to curiosity. And every year you get hurt. Again and again and again."
"That's the point."