Yes.

"No!" she yelps. She doesn't know if it will help or make things worse, and she doesn't want to give the hunger what it wants, not even a little. Better to force it back into its box, bit by bit.

And it's working, slowly. Her jaw still aches, but it's no longer snapping at nothing. She swallows down the thick saliva that had built up in her mouth - no choice there, she's not spitting a contaminant down the sink - and focuses on the shower curtain, tracing the striped pattern up and down, up and down. Her breathing slows, and her legs stop twitching. She shivers once, a full-body gesture, and it's like the click of a proverbial latch.

The box is shut. She's Melanie again.

She rubs her hands over her face, which is free of blood. Of course it is, it was only a dream. Don't think about it. She gets to her feet, then eyes the door reluctantly. She's so afraid to face him. What must he think of her? If she stays in here, she won't have to find out right away. She can imagine that everything is fine, and he won't look at her the way Parks did, like she's a--a frigging abortion.

She can't hide in here forever.

Melanie reaches for the doorknob, then slowly pulls the door open, peeking out apprehensively.