"I just," she starts, and "I want," and "it isn't --"

It feels like dragging a barbed arrow out of herself, like it's going to pull out half of her insides with it.

"I don't come first for anyone here," she manages, finally, as the tears start running scalding trails down her cheeks. "Nor for anyone at home. Except the people I pay to guard me. I just want. To come first for someone. And that, that's selfish and I know it."