Kyle stops when she touches his hand, standing beside the table and debating whether it was worth leaving. Until her words hit and he falls back into his chair, withdrawing his hand as he gawks at her. The surprise transforms to something pensive, angry, then pensive again. It's a lot to take in. Feeding on her so they don't feed on the unwilling, as if that makes them less bad. He has trouble comprehending what he views as a kind of willing victimization.

"I don't," he spits out finally. Kyle drops his arm onto the table and buries his face in his elbow, giving him the peace of a false solitude to think for a moment. It only lasts a moment before he straightens again.

"Why do you let them attack you? Is your self esteem really that low?" He asks angrily, very clearly trying to keep his temper in check. Kyle realizes how bad a question the latter is the moment he says it, frowning. His voice softens. "I'm sorry. But I don't get it. What makes what you're doing any less crazy than letting someone stab you for fun, or rape you? It's fucked up, Nancy."