“we’re stuck on this wheel of living and dying. an endless circle, until someone breaks it.”
he stands out on the balcony, leaning against the old, rusty railing as though he’s daring it to crumble and collapse on him, daring it to let him loose out onto the snow far below him. maybe he’s hoping it’ll break and he can tumble down to his death so he doesn’t have to deal with this shrill girl anymore, and her weird philosophical mumblings. or anyone else in this mansion. he’s already frustrated enough, already stressed and irritated, and the last thing he needs is someone telling him to stop smoking on his fucking cigarette break.
“look,” he says, exasperated and drawing in on the death-stick, inhaling the smoke as thought it is god’s breath. “it’s been a really long few days okay? you can’t deny me my habits, just because you’re scared of some second-hand cancer thing happening. i’m not quitting, i’ve been smoking since i was 13. you can go inside to the opposite end of the mansion and survive there. yes, by yourself okay, go.” he shoos her away a little bit, not even caring about how rude he’s being.
who gives a shit now anyway? his employer is dead and he’s probably going to jail after he gets out of here. if he ever gets out of here.