[When she'd told him to 'do it himself', she'd only meant breaking the bottles in general, not hurting himself with one. It hadn't even occurred to her to imply that, though of he had she'd have felt it to be no less than what he deserved.

As for hurting oneself...she's no stranger to it. It's a violence she inflicts upon herself with frightening regularity, a reliable go-to for forcibly compacting all the rage and self-hatred she carries in every waking moment down to a manageable level. The largest scars line her thighs in nearly measured rows, planned as carefully as any device blueprint, while the ones along her forearms are more haphazard.

At another time, seeing Javert harm himself might result in some small level of commiseration. Right now, though? He's right in thinking she'd find it performative. Another targeted insult, maybe, intended to dig at just one more of her failings.]

I don't want your fuckin' apologies. [Not right now, at least; she's incapable of believing he means them sincerely when she's this fucked up, consumed utterly by the darkest parts of herself.] It's time you paid the fuck attention. No more misconceptions.

[There are tears rolling down her cheeks. She isn't even aware of them.]

Are you listening to me now, you pig?