What's she got to be sorry for? He's genuinely puzzled, because isn't she the one thrashing about like her life depends on it (don't dwell on that; something too close for knowing, there)? Sure, she's woken him up, but that's not worth saying (isn't now, though it would've left him irate before all of this, and maybe it'll be the same sometime in the future).
He wants everything to be all right with her. He wants to feel like things are right between them. Which of course they are. How could they be otherwise, the way she'd come to him, the way they'd drawn together just as soon as found each other? The world feels rightside-up when he's with her, so how could anything be sour?
(Of course he knows the answer, though he does his best to hide it, ignore it, pretend it's all been cured. Because it hadn't happened the way he'd thought, right? Because she's here, here beside him and not... Not in places unthinkable. So it must be all right, though his own dreams tell him it isn't, though even trying to avoid the fact he knows, knows what Nancy's dreaming of. The way she'd recoiled from him; that'd said enough for him to let go of her, lacking words, lacking even complaint.)
"Christ almighty, you got nothing to be sorry for."
If he thought about it, he'd know that wasn't true, exactly. Given what she'd done to him, what she'd said. Right now, that's all far away and immaterial; right now, what matters is the immediate situation and the woman who won't look at him, the woman he can't bring himself to touch just yet.
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What's she got to be sorry for? He's genuinely puzzled, because isn't she the one thrashing about like her life depends on it (don't dwell on that; something too close for knowing, there)? Sure, she's woken him up, but that's not worth saying (isn't now, though it would've left him irate before all of this, and maybe it'll be the same sometime in the future).
He wants everything to be all right with her. He wants to feel like things are right between them. Which of course they are. How could they be otherwise, the way she'd come to him, the way they'd drawn together just as soon as found each other? The world feels rightside-up when he's with her, so how could anything be sour?
(Of course he knows the answer, though he does his best to hide it, ignore it, pretend it's all been cured. Because it hadn't happened the way he'd thought, right? Because she's here, here beside him and not... Not in places unthinkable. So it must be all right, though his own dreams tell him it isn't, though even trying to avoid the fact he knows, knows what Nancy's dreaming of. The way she'd recoiled from him; that'd said enough for him to let go of her, lacking words, lacking even complaint.)
"Christ almighty, you got nothing to be sorry for."
If he thought about it, he'd know that wasn't true, exactly. Given what she'd done to him, what she'd said. Right now, that's all far away and immaterial; right now, what matters is the immediate situation and the woman who won't look at him, the woman he can't bring himself to touch just yet.