I'm not entirely use-useful. [He stumbles over his words, trying a smile along with the admission. It's a fleeting glimpse of something awkward but warm, chased away all too quickly by dark clouds in the sea-storm of his eyes.] But no one's going to touch you.
[Sometimes it feels like he's mouthing along with his own script. The him of three years ago wouldn't dream of how far he'd go to make sure no one harmed her, or the hand on her wrist that made his choice for him. How many other people's wives had there been, how many husbands less able to keep that promise?
He shudders, closing his eyes and finding the images are there anyway. Flat green line on the monitor and blood, blood everywhere. The coffee in his mouth tastes acrid but he swallows it down before gasping for clean air.]
[once fate put us in the same room, when you knew not of me nor I of you]
[Sometimes it feels like he's mouthing along with his own script. The him of three years ago wouldn't dream of how far he'd go to make sure no one harmed her, or the hand on her wrist that made his choice for him. How many other people's wives had there been, how many husbands less able to keep that promise?
He shudders, closing his eyes and finding the images are there anyway. Flat green line on the monitor and blood, blood everywhere. The coffee in his mouth tastes acrid but he swallows it down before gasping for clean air.]
I don't want to go back.