There wasn't anything left to say, then, was there? The only thing that mattered, the only thing that made a difference, was what he had left to suffer and how badly. Everything else was just ambient noise in the background, inconsequential.
Even her and her state of being--how real she was, or how fake she was--possessed a short-lived importance in comparison to what Adam feared he'd find if he dug too deeply into his own head.
"You know the thing about people who make the most promises," he answered, "is that they break them the most." The relaxed manner in which he tried to speak the words had to be the most false thing about their conversation. Getting the words themselves out was easy if it meant he could protect himself from her, keep a barrier between her and the raw, red welts on his soul.
He didn't think to try giving his own name. He'd forgotten the last time it'd mattered to have one.
no subject
Even her and her state of being--how real she was, or how fake she was--possessed a short-lived importance in comparison to what Adam feared he'd find if he dug too deeply into his own head.
"You know the thing about people who make the most promises," he answered, "is that they break them the most." The relaxed manner in which he tried to speak the words had to be the most false thing about their conversation. Getting the words themselves out was easy if it meant he could protect himself from her, keep a barrier between her and the raw, red welts on his soul.
He didn't think to try giving his own name. He'd forgotten the last time it'd mattered to have one.