“ don’t do that. don’t shut me out. ” from the post-trauma sentence starters - henry emily, to post-divorce? post-'83? post-something will
🔧 @nineliabilityrisk (post-trauma sentence starters)
"and why shouldn't i?" he bellows, anger in his tone as large palm makes contact with the other man's desk. the other pushed into his greying hair.
voice is lower grit when it comes forth, though still angry. "one day you'll look at me just like the rest of them." you'll look at me like a criminal. or, perhaps paranoia would allow him to see suspicion in henry's eyes. his mania. right now though, it's pity. something william well and truly does not want. [...]
though he could never suspect him. even if he will be arrested, they'd let him go. but the parents.. the turnout just won't be the same. & he knows he's right. (they'd already had to close the diner, left with the pizzeria). william doesn't want to scramble to keep himself in the fray. knows he has to begin his work upon the fellow engineer now. his child is dead, his coping has just begun. pinstripes of grey speckling his visage, bags under his eyes.
his jaw clenches while he turns to look at henry with a pinched expression. the pads of his fingers twisting upon the desk. yet while he's not leaning to far against it, he does press his hip to the wood in a distrustful air. a tension headache building in his temples from clenched jaw. "i don't want your pity, henry." other finger comes to point. he feels like he's fallen off the rails, and he's not sure how to get back on track. "it's not my fault i've had to pick up the slack around my house. that we're --" [...] he swallows, eyes waffling as he tucks hair behind his ear. that he's failing, for the first time in his life -- or so it seems in his adult years, anyway. no longer the man with the perfect family. "it's not my fault." he says quieter, with a thrust of his index.