He could tell her that hard had been having the electricity cut off in the dead of winter, bundling himself in clothes he found in the attic and doing his homework by candlelight. Keeping track of how much money was left secreted away among the pages of 1776. Balancing whether paying for some repair on the house was more vital than feeding himself that week. Knowing, like a constant, droning hum at the back of his mind, that if anything happened to him no one would find out until it was far too late.
But Alex doesn't care about that, because none of it is enough fuel for another of her acid barbs, the venom that he always should have realized she possessed. The warning had been inked four times on her skin, after all.
"If I really loved you, I'd just accept this?" he says instead, hearing the bitter tang to the words. "Sure, Alex, it's fine with me you let in a Grey, one of the most dangerous, reckless things you could do, something I wouldn't have been able to keep from Sandow if we were back home, because you felt bad that your friend died. I have no problem with the fact you slaughtered five men with a baseball bat and you have absolutely no remorse about it because hell, it got you to Yale, didn't it? Those are the things you want me to say, that's the argument you're trying to make here."
The sweater she grabs is one of his, because it's always one of his. Not long ago, it would've been a source of fond annoyance; now, it feels like another kind of knife in his heart.
"If you don't know that it's because I love you that I'm trying to understand, not just accept, but understand, how you did this..." He exhales sharply, letting go of the garbage bag at last, letting it crumple to the ground beside him. "Then, Alex, I'm not sure how to explain it to you."
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But Alex doesn't care about that, because none of it is enough fuel for another of her acid barbs, the venom that he always should have realized she possessed. The warning had been inked four times on her skin, after all.
"If I really loved you, I'd just accept this?" he says instead, hearing the bitter tang to the words. "Sure, Alex, it's fine with me you let in a Grey, one of the most dangerous, reckless things you could do, something I wouldn't have been able to keep from Sandow if we were back home, because you felt bad that your friend died. I have no problem with the fact you slaughtered five men with a baseball bat and you have absolutely no remorse about it because hell, it got you to Yale, didn't it? Those are the things you want me to say, that's the argument you're trying to make here."
The sweater she grabs is one of his, because it's always one of his. Not long ago, it would've been a source of fond annoyance; now, it feels like another kind of knife in his heart.
"If you don't know that it's because I love you that I'm trying to understand, not just accept, but understand, how you did this..." He exhales sharply, letting go of the garbage bag at last, letting it crumple to the ground beside him. "Then, Alex, I'm not sure how to explain it to you."