"That was then. Now, I don't really care. I've had two thousand years to try and make some sort of life for myself and now you've come back into it and brought up everything I'd give anything to forget." Asking why had been the act of desperation of a goddess trying to understand what she lacked that he needed, to try and give it to him in an attempt to maintain the fiction that she lived by. But that fiction had long since imploded, and left her with nothing. Nothing.
Why had she had to come upon him today? Ever, really, but why today? What had she done to bring him back into her life. For that matter, why had she come upon so many of the others lately? She hadn't seen so many of them in so short a time in centuries.
Worse, why was she feeling more alive in his presence? She didn't want to be glad, even viscerally, to see him. This was ridiculous! And wrong! So very wrong! Yet here she was, when she should have already left him to his withdrawals.
Looking at him critically, she could already see that he was in better shape, that quickly. He wasn't shaking, or vomiting, or scratching. Or any of the other things he should be doing as his body purged itself of whatever cocktail of crap he'd injected into his body or snorted into his nose or inhaled into his lungs. He wasn't suffering. She wasn't sure if she was pleased or disappointed by that.