It's good to know he’s not the only one who felt a connection, like maybe they’ve been through something similar, but they're also kind of just torturing themselves. Not like he does much else these days, so no surprise there. But Adia’s emotional and not herself, and he’s not helping at all.
He also doesn’t entirely understand why she’s saying all this. As someone who prefers to be one step ahead in conversations, it makes him feel backed into a corner, and unsure of what to tell her.
“Believe me, I do not have a clean conscience.” He can at least set her straight on that much. Maybe she thinks he was able to get something that she could not with Caspar, like find some sort of closure or something. But it was a selfish confession, and it only happened after a lot of bloodshed.
He could spare her as many details as possible about how a bunch of stupid men violently killed each other one afternoon after a diamond heist went wrong, but it still wouldn’t be a particularly uplifting story. “I don’t know if you really want to hear about it,” he admits. “I only mentioned it because I thought you might want to know.”
That Freddy Newendyke lied about his identity and shattered an old thief’s heart.
That cigarette he’d been smoking is still dangling between his fingers. He’d forgotten about it at some point. Now that it’s burning at the filter, he drops it and grounds it out with the heel of his shoe. He’d like to immediately light another, but resists, trying to let his mental clock countdown to when the next one is acceptable.
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Date: 2017-08-31 08:26 pm (UTC)He also doesn’t entirely understand why she’s saying all this. As someone who prefers to be one step ahead in conversations, it makes him feel backed into a corner, and unsure of what to tell her.
“Believe me, I do not have a clean conscience.” He can at least set her straight on that much. Maybe she thinks he was able to get something that she could not with Caspar, like find some sort of closure or something. But it was a selfish confession, and it only happened after a lot of bloodshed.
He could spare her as many details as possible about how a bunch of stupid men violently killed each other one afternoon after a diamond heist went wrong, but it still wouldn’t be a particularly uplifting story. “I don’t know if you really want to hear about it,” he admits. “I only mentioned it because I thought you might want to know.”
That Freddy Newendyke lied about his identity and shattered an old thief’s heart.
That cigarette he’d been smoking is still dangling between his fingers. He’d forgotten about it at some point. Now that it’s burning at the filter, he drops it and grounds it out with the heel of his shoe. He’d like to immediately light another, but resists, trying to let his mental clock countdown to when the next one is acceptable.