It isn't exactly surprising, but Beverly still finds herself relieved at the answer. Before Darrow, she never told anyone about what was going on at home, and here, there's still only a very small handful of people who know about it. She doesn't mind it now the way she once would have, but she's been talked — whispered, rumored — about enough without that sort of information getting around without her input. The only problem is, she still doesn't really know how to talk about it. Even with her therapist, she usually doesn't talk much about it, or about anything.

Maybe it's because she's already shaken, too much so to pretend she isn't, or maybe it's just because she's tired of keeping it hidden, like she's the one who should feel ashamed over what someone else did, but she thinks there's no reason for Eleven not to know. She just has to figure out how to say it.

"My dad used to... hurt me," she says, looking off to the side and taking another drag of her cigarette. Even that isn't quite right, but it's good enough for now. "My mom wasn't around anymore. He always said I looked like her."