"His loss."
Two words, but they land with weight. Like he means them. Like he actually believes my father is missing out by not understanding me.
"What about your parents?" I ask before I can think better of it.
"Dead. Long time ago."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I barely remember them."
"That's sad too, though. Not having that."
He shifts, and I feel the bed move. "Maybe. But you can't miss what you never had."
"I think you can. I think you can feel the absence of something even if you never experienced it."
"You sound like a therapist."
"I watch a lot of YouTube videos about mental health." It's meant to be a joke, but it falls flat.
More silence. I'm losing him again, I can feel it. The walls going back up, the distance returning.
"What happened?" I ask softly. "In the military. What went so wrong that you ended up here?"
"I told you—"
"You told me people died and you think it's your fault. But that's not the whole story. There's more, isn't there? Something you're not saying."
"Autumn—"
"I'm not trying to push. I just—" I struggle for the right words. "I want to understand. Because the man who saved me yesterday, who made sure I had food and shelter and didn't die of hypothermia, that man isn't someone who gets people killed carelessly. So, whatever happened, it has to be more complicated than you're making it sound."
"It's not."
"I don't believe you."
"Then that's your problem." His voice has gone cold, flat. The walls are definitely back up now. "You want a story? Fine. I lost control. Went into a situation I should have been able to handle and couldn't. People who trusted me died because of it. End of story."
"How did you lose control?"
"Doesn't matter."
"It matters if you're still punishing yourself for it five years later."
"Leave it alone, Autumn."
"No."
The word surprises both of us. I can feel his shock in the sudden tension of his body.
"No?" he repeats, dangerous and low.
"No," I say again, more firmly this time. "Because you're clearly drowning in guilt over something that probably wasn't your fault. And you live up here alone, cutting yourself off from any chance at happiness or connection or normalcy, and that's not justice. That's just slow suicide."
"You don't know what you're talking about."
"Then explain it to me! Help me understand why you think you deserve this life!"
