The fact was, Bill had started to hate the night. Someone made sure he got food and was in bed, but then they left and all he could focus on was the fact that he was utterly and entirely alone. Not that he could take care of Toire at the moment. Not when he couldn't take care of himself. Maybe he'd let her stay for the weekend. Surely someone could stay with him. He was beginning to wonder if anyone wanted to stay with him, though. It was the quiet realisation that everyone else had a someone to stay with, but he had...himself. Himself and the white noise in his apartment and the echoes of things that weren't there anymore in his mind.
Bill stared ahead of him for a moment, before his eyes dropped to his feet. "Is it hard to be here? Am I too broken to be around? I don't know how to put all the pieces together again and sometimes it feels like I'm in the middle of a crowded room screaming at the top of my lungs and no one can even hear me. Fleur's gone and I'm just...here. How is that even fair? Nothing feels...right. It's like a stupidly intricate dance you learn for the one time you'll ever use it, only we keep using it to avoid everything. Even each other."
He shook his head, fidgeting slightly. "And I keep avoiding my daughter, but I don't know what to do." He frowned. "It's just that she looks so much like her, and it's all I can focus on. Being alone never used to be a problem, but now it's about as good as getting stabbed in the hand with broken glass. But it almost feels like no one knows what to say, so they don't say it...or they just don't come over. Is it selfish to want someone to stay? I just want to be able to do anything again."