"Tris," I say, moving closer with the crackle of wetm broken glass as I close the distance. I want her to see my face when we talk about this. It seems, somehow, horribly important that I don't just let her slide by thinking ... that this is alright, I suppose. Something along the line failed her. That makes me angry.

I try to catch her eyes.

"Everyone has awful dreams. Not everyone remembers having them in the morning! Not everyone has the same kind every night. Just coping seems like a real kick in the arse to me. There's got to be better out there than just learning to cope. If this was me, well I'd ... I don't know what I would do, but I certainly wouldn't be just accepting it."