[ He laughs. Softly, and with a smile. Michael knows how to take a punch.
Just because he'd shared a little truth doesn't mean he's owed any. If anything, he'd done it for himself. Because he doesn't want to lie anymore, even if he should. If he were brave enough, strong enough, he would tell the truth to anyone who would listen. He's being selfish, right now, inflicting himself on this person, and if he's really taking a hard look in the mirror, for the last four years.
How long can you live in another man's shoes before they become your own? Robbing a bank, going to prison, planning an escape, none of it had been as simple as getting a tattoo and pulling on a pair of striped pajamas.
Michael has blood on his hands, his hands. He tries not to look at them often. Michael lies to a lot of people, but no one as often as himself.
His eyes scan the room, lingering on the exits. Three of them. All within equal distance from where they stand. Michael should take any one of them and go.
He doesn't, because this is the closest he's come to a real conversation since his arrival, and he's lonely and hurting. His assumption, right or wrong, had been that this man was lonely and hurting too. ]
You just looked like you were waiting for something.
no subject
[ He laughs. Softly, and with a smile. Michael knows how to take a punch.
Just because he'd shared a little truth doesn't mean he's owed any. If anything, he'd done it for himself. Because he doesn't want to lie anymore, even if he should. If he were brave enough, strong enough, he would tell the truth to anyone who would listen. He's being selfish, right now, inflicting himself on this person, and if he's really taking a hard look in the mirror, for the last four years.
How long can you live in another man's shoes before they become your own? Robbing a bank, going to prison, planning an escape, none of it had been as simple as getting a tattoo and pulling on a pair of striped pajamas.
Michael has blood on his hands, his hands. He tries not to look at them often. Michael lies to a lot of people, but no one as often as himself.
His eyes scan the room, lingering on the exits. Three of them. All within equal distance from where they stand. Michael should take any one of them and go.
He doesn't, because this is the closest he's come to a real conversation since his arrival, and he's lonely and hurting. His assumption, right or wrong, had been that this man was lonely and hurting too. ]
You just looked like you were waiting for something.