He walked in and caught me in a moment of weakness, fingers locked, elbows resting on my knees, eyes in defeat. I was at a loss. He let me pretend everything was OK for a grand total of twenty seconds. He wasn't fooled, and that's why we remained as close as we are. "What?" His back was turned, opening a drawer and doing something. "I'm just so tired..." I said, looking at the ceiling. Even his back was too intimate to see. "So tired of what?" he missed nothing. "So tired of being the villain, when in reality, I'm the victim."
The cold, harsh laugh barked out of his throat in an uncharacteristic manner.
"I could have him killed."
I looked at my feet again. I didn't say no.