He thought he could bear Noraâs sadness, but it was a lies he had said to himself. He felt more guilty and miserable in front of Noraâs face, in front of her sadness and her shock. Why was it so hard to make the right choice, to free her?
He didnât care about his own pain; Noraâs hurt him beyond beliefs.
âDo you think itâs so easy? Do you think I donât prefer to be with you, to live with you? Am I enjoying my near death? No, Nora. Death is probably the end, but I will always be a prisoner of a world I can see but never touch. Donât talk me about to live as a free man; itâs beyond impossible to me. My life is destroyed, but I donât want your life to be as ruined as mine.â he stated with determination.
However, he listened her, mostly because he was aware of the sufferance of grieving a loved one; he knew how everything seemed empty and how it affected you deeply, how it felt like to be sad in your soul, to be angry for being the survivor, to remind every happiest moment while walking alone on empty streets, to be haunted by thousand ghostly joyful faces, thousand ghostly hands and being unable to hold them, to be isolated and alone in a world merciless where anybody doesnât care about your loss.
He knew it perfectly and even if Nora was stronger than him, could he put her into this pitiable state? Could he let her to be unable to move some days because everything seems hopeless and pointless without the loved one?
He imagined tears on her pale face, he imagined alone in their home, her hand touching the glass, without anybody able to touch the other side. He imagined Nora folded on herself, without anybody to comfort her and to hug her. He sighed deeply: I am more horrible that I thought I was. I almost put you into a terrible fate, my love. He said aloud. I am sorry, IâŠ
His voice broke because how to say his level of sadness and his own desolation. Every words sounded false and clumsy, emptier each others.
âwant⊠me⊠dieâŠfin-â he put his face in his hands, unable to confront Nora, Nora and her concern, Nora and her beautiful blues eyes tarnished by apprehension and concern, by fear and despair because of her egoist husband. His body was shook up by slight convulsions and he could felt frozen tears on his face.
He felt sick.
âSorryâŠâ he barely articulated, removing his face from his hands. He was always unable to see Noraâs face. âWithout doubt a stress reaction mixed with my current state⊠It hasnât happened for a long time.â He took control of himself and his voice and his body. His glance focalised  on the hand on the glass. God, how he would like to touch her, for real, not this pale substitute of a physical contact, but a true touch.
He didnât touch her hand, instead he breathes softly, in order to prevent another crisis.
âWayneâs offer is an interesting proposition, I think too.â
We could work together, we could live together and we could be together.
âNevertheless, Wayne⊠could be⊠do you remember Ferris Boyle? How he was so much praised by people? I donât want it to happen again. Especially if you risk being in.â he said.
He struggled for say what he thought, mostly because it was another act of weakness. However, he talked to his wife and she needed to know (and with luck, she would be so much disgusted by his weakness that she would leave him, a part of him was thinking)
âI donât want to be a slave again.â