and almost wants to leave it there, because she can already feel the weight of the shutters that might just come slamming down. but it's more than curiosity now, it's concern (worick's the one who fucks him up, sends him spinning, the thing he's most scared of here-- and money's involved, and she needs to know) ]
we were talking about you i asked him why he does whatever he does he told me money he wouldnt tell me what he meant
[he pauses over it, feels discomfort pricking at the back of his neck; he acknowledges he doesn't want her in on this (doesn't want her to know what he's done)]
then hes a liar hes fucked up i told u thats the only reason
[ it should be easy to accept; the truth of your best friend over the truth of the one who messes with his head. it should be easy, it should--
she doesn't think she believes him. it doesn't sting as much as it could: he's a liar, they know that, he makes no secret of it. sometimes she's his safe place and sometimes, today maybe, it doesn't work that way. (you can lie to me, he told her once, but when does she ever? it's the same) ]
[the fact that she doesn't push him says more than if she did; he can't guess at her motivations, this time, doesn't know why she's choosing to tread lightly, to act like she's mute (what a joke)]
[so without really meaning to, he tells her a truth, as if it could make up for it]
workings good 4 me i dont like it but i dunno what id do if i didnt work a lot probably freak out
[she was right, of course. it's not that badou doesn't enjoy other things -- he likes to take photos. he likes to (try to) write. he likes to (try to) talk to people. he likes to watch movies. he likes to play video games. he likes to get in fights. he likes to play sports, and spew shit, and make trouble, and be a kid when being a 14-year old adult with baggage that tripled in size every day the world bit at him got to be all too much]
[but none of that would get him closer to getting back (and he could never devote that much of his time to himself, not then and especially not now)]
[ she doesn't know what else to say to him. he doesn't want to talk about it, she doesn't want to make him, and it all hangs about like so much radio silence ]
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Re: text
i dont know either
i dont even know who
his clients are
other than the cops
fucking crooked asshats
w/ no crime to punch
Re: text
and almost wants to leave it there, because she can already feel the weight of the shutters that might just come slamming down. but it's more than curiosity now, it's concern (worick's the one who fucks him up, sends him spinning, the thing he's most scared of here-- and money's involved, and she needs to know) ]
we were talking about you
i asked him why he does whatever he does
he told me money
he wouldnt tell me what he meant
Re: text
then hes a liar
hes fucked up
i told u
thats the only reason
Re: text
she doesn't think she believes him. it doesn't sting as much as it could: he's a liar, they know that, he makes no secret of it. sometimes she's his safe place and sometimes, today maybe, it doesn't work that way. (you can lie to me, he told her once, but when does she ever? it's the same) ]
alright
[ everyone deserves their secrets. ]
Re: text
[so without really meaning to, he tells her a truth, as if it could make up for it]
workings good 4 me
i dont like it but
i dunno what id do
if i didnt work a lot
probably freak out
Re: text
just
there are other distractions here
you dont need to run yourself
into the ground
to keep going
Re: text
[but none of that would get him closer to getting back (and he could never devote that much of his time to himself, not then and especially not now)]
[the not-lie sits between them, and he hates it]
i guess
Re: text
[ better just let it go ]
[ no response ]