"Do you know what cops think about girls like me?" she says, the bat still haning from her numb, nerveless hand. "About girls like Hellie? Do you know how often girls like Hellie get justice? No, you don't, because you're a white boy from a nice town and nobody ever really hurt you except you, Danny. And nobody ever put their hands on you when you didn't want them to and nobody ever threw you away." She drops the bat, then, so that she can pick up the jeans that she'd discarded when she got into bed earlier. "They were going to throw her away, and then I don't know what they'd have done to me afterwards, but I wasn't about to let it happen. The world has been trying to fucking kill me since I was thirteen years old and I wasn't going to let it happen to me as well as Hellie. I'm sorry that I'm not so fucking damsel in distress for you to save, Danny. I'm sorry that I'm not the girl you fucking thought I was. But them? I'm not fucking sorry for them."