LOREN
At Amalia’s question Loren paused, his eyes searching hers for any hint of what prompted the question. Granted, he knew how he must look: a hollowed shell of what had already been a shadow of a man, with dark circles under cold eyes, having lost what little weight he’d put on since his return. So it wasn’t as if he was surprised to hear the words. He was just surprised to hear them from the baker. In all honesty, he didn’t know what to make of her, and he would hardly call himself her friend, not she his.
Still, she was probably just being kind. It wasn't something he was used to hearing this days, which was why it was so shocking. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to choke back his automatic response to her question. ”Talk about what?” As always, his first instinct was to deflect, hide away, pretend that everything was fine on the outside even when he was totally empty on the inside.
However, even he would admit that his statement was less than believable. Staring at Amalia with a blank expression, he tried to come up with a response that she’d actually accept. ”There’s nothing to talk about, really. And even if there was, I don’t know if there’s anything you can help me with. So I guess the answer is no, I don’t really want to talk about it.” His words came out a bit cold, but not unkindly.
However, he really was telling the truth: all his problems were self-inflicted and personal, and Amalia didn’t even seem to like him that much. So whether or not he should talk about them didn’t matter. He didn’t want to, and that’s what she had asked.
He didn’t turn to leave quite yet, though. Perhaps some part of him that wasn’t fully closed off yet sensed the concern in her blunt tone, or maybe sensed that she herself was lost and in need of company that he wasn’t equipped to provide. Or maybe it was simply that he was too tired to go out into the cold just to return to his lonely bed. Whatever the reason, he was still here despite the fact that there was nothing she could do for him.
Still, she was probably just being kind. It wasn't something he was used to hearing this days, which was why it was so shocking. Unfortunately, he wasn’t able to choke back his automatic response to her question. ”Talk about what?” As always, his first instinct was to deflect, hide away, pretend that everything was fine on the outside even when he was totally empty on the inside.
However, even he would admit that his statement was less than believable. Staring at Amalia with a blank expression, he tried to come up with a response that she’d actually accept. ”There’s nothing to talk about, really. And even if there was, I don’t know if there’s anything you can help me with. So I guess the answer is no, I don’t really want to talk about it.” His words came out a bit cold, but not unkindly.
However, he really was telling the truth: all his problems were self-inflicted and personal, and Amalia didn’t even seem to like him that much. So whether or not he should talk about them didn’t matter. He didn’t want to, and that’s what she had asked.
He didn’t turn to leave quite yet, though. Perhaps some part of him that wasn’t fully closed off yet sensed the concern in her blunt tone, or maybe sensed that she herself was lost and in need of company that he wasn’t equipped to provide. Or maybe it was simply that he was too tired to go out into the cold just to return to his lonely bed. Whatever the reason, he was still here despite the fact that there was nothing she could do for him.
But don’t be weary if it’s broken
Families are like that—
they’re split up and always torn.
