[The fight goes out of him; he slumps, coming out of his spell to run a hand through his hair.
Okay. Okay. He can have this conversation. It's beginning to feel like just another hard thing he has to talk about, not . . . what it was before, whatever that was. A hazy mire he couldn't wade into without getting stuck. There's a way through this: forward.
She's holding out her figurative hand for him to help him through, and it breaks his heart.
There's nothing he actually needs to do with the knife or the mask; he just needed, for some reason, to show someone they were there. But the e-handbook, that he needs. So he picks it up, gives her a tired, defeated, but deep-down hopeful look, and turns back to go over to the couch and flop down. This time, he watches to make sure she follows, nods her over.]
. . . Look, you gotta understand it's real hard for me to start at the beginning 'cuz I don't remember the beginning. Did I ever tell you that? I'm 19, I guess, but the last birthday I remember, I was turning 17. In my second year of high school . . .
In my third year's when all this started, but she took those memories out o' me. I just remember the Mutual Killing. That's—the "game." . . . Pretty screwed up, huh?
no subject
Okay. Okay. He can have this conversation. It's beginning to feel like just another hard thing he has to talk about, not . . . what it was before, whatever that was. A hazy mire he couldn't wade into without getting stuck. There's a way through this: forward.
She's holding out her figurative hand for him to help him through, and it breaks his heart.
There's nothing he actually needs to do with the knife or the mask; he just needed, for some reason, to show someone they were there. But the e-handbook, that he needs. So he picks it up, gives her a tired, defeated, but deep-down hopeful look, and turns back to go over to the couch and flop down. This time, he watches to make sure she follows, nods her over.]
. . . Look, you gotta understand it's real hard for me to start at the beginning 'cuz I don't remember the beginning. Did I ever tell you that? I'm 19, I guess, but the last birthday I remember, I was turning 17. In my second year of high school . . .
In my third year's when all this started, but she took those memories out o' me. I just remember the Mutual Killing. That's—the "game." . . . Pretty screwed up, huh?