[ She doesn't. Want to have a hard conversation with him right now. Not while she's in his home, wearing his shirt, with her arm snaked around his waist. Not after the messages he sent - the story he told.
But she also isn't going to help him start drinking at whatever early hour this is.
So she turns in towards him, pressed close, earnest and firm and utterly certain of her words. ]
No. You don't need it.
[ Isn't this her? Her style of writing, razor sharp clarity, the protagonist with words that can't be trusted, but possessed of complete conviction?
She has conviction. It might not be true, but she can make him believe it. She can try. ]
Trust me. I'm here, and Wallace is going to be here, and you don't need it.
no subject
But she also isn't going to help him start drinking at whatever early hour this is.
So she turns in towards him, pressed close, earnest and firm and utterly certain of her words. ]
No. You don't need it.
[ Isn't this her? Her style of writing, razor sharp clarity, the protagonist with words that can't be trusted, but possessed of complete conviction?
She has conviction. It might not be true, but she can make him believe it. She can try. ]
Trust me. I'm here, and Wallace is going to be here, and you don't need it.