[He shrugs awkwardly. They've already talked a bit about this, he may as well talk more.]
It helps to make everything dull. I lived through some real nightmares, they made me... this. I spent three years sleeping on the floor of a church, getting used by- some sadistic bastard with a god complex...
[It's the easiest those words have ever come out. He'll have to count that as some sort of progress.]
I can't explain it. I don't want you to understand. But this place is better than some of the places I've lived before. I feel like I'm home, here - where I belong.
If those memories stopped hurting... maybe I could slow down on the drinking. I don't know.
[Talked. More like referred vaguely to horrors and then held each other and pretended it was enough. Neither of them has entirely been able to say it.
His breath shudders in and out but otherwise remains steady. It's just... too much. It's too monumental to take in. Half of that night feels like it happened to someone else, except, ironically, the part that actually did.
There's so much he should say, so much he feels. But he can't put it to words. He takes a last drag of his cigarette and flicks it away. He doesn't light another. Instead, he just hugs his arms close, looking ahead.]
Has anything ever really stopped hurting? I mean, something terrible happens or we found ourselves... born without I guess. No one around but ourselves, one way or another. Does that ever real go away? Because I'm not sure it does. I didn't stop wishing for a family until I made mine. And, the soldados I'd see them, you know, I'd play for them. Some would be okay. But just some.
[And Nekane. Nekane's taught him a lot already.]
Do you remember who you were before they did that to you? Do you remember being any different?
[Dodger is extreme. It's hard to imagine someone always being so. But, at one point, it was hard to imagine someone like Dodger.]
When I was- tortured. Not by Lucifer's games, those have a point of some kind. When I was... cut open. After that happened, when we all had voices in our heads, saying things, telling us to hurt ourselves, I was scared of who I might be. I talked with someone. We talked about how, with these things, change is going to happen, like it or not. We have to learn to live with who we become.
I don't know how to do that yet. I don't like who I'm becoming. I feel like there's got to be someone out there, wiser, someone not in hell who could actually help, but he's not me. I'm afraid of- ha- I'm afraid of ending up like you. Or like someone else. Someone who can't handle it, walking in the doors of my home. But I'm trying. That's all I can do. Make good memories, try to hang on to what this place wants to take.
...I've got scars on my back. They're not going away. I think if my wife ever sees them, she'll hate it. Or maybe I'm just afraid she will. But, at the end of the day, however badly, those scars are healing. That's what I'm hoping for.
[Do you remember who you were before they did that to you?
He has to pause, and mull that question over in his mind. He remembers some of it, but who knows how accurate it is. He'd been a drunkard before the cult, even if it hadn't been quite as bad as now. He remembers being a stupid teenager, and a stupid kid before that.]
There was... a time, where I thought I was a good person.
[He's weighing his words carefully again, speaking slowly while he decides exactly how much to share.]
I worked on a fishing boat. I had a girlfriend, and... we talked about marriage, sometimes. She had friends, sometimes she tried to get me to make friends too. It never really worked out.
[He takes a long drag from his cigarette and blows it out, letting his thoughts settle a bit more.]
I thought I was getting better. I grew up fighting, killing, stealing... but I thought she'd saved me. I thought... maybe if I tried hard enough, I could change, and I could be like everyone else. But... I was wrong. And she left. And I ended up... with him.
[He's left stewing in his thoughts for a while after that, letting Hector process the information. A few minutes pass, before he speaks again.]
There's a lot of things I can't go back to. Even if I saw the people I used to know, I'm not the person they knew. But... if you love your wife enough to crawl out of Hell for her, she'd better love you enough not to turn her nose up at the scars you got on the way out, yeah?
[That's how Janet had been. She loved the scars on his face and his back, she'd told him so and run her fingers over them whenever he was stuck in the past. She made everything all better, and he figures that's how love is supposed to be.]
He can't really tell if it's true, that Dodger was a good person. Dodger thinks a lot of things and he disagrees with most of it. But he doesn't immediately see anything to disprove it.
At least until it dips back down into Dodger's past. He'd started a street rat too. But he didn't fight. He didn't kill.
He's been told a lot. But there's a lot he still just doesn't know. It's only as Dodger brings up his wife that his head bows and a soft laugh escapes.]
No. [He shakes his head, but there's a smile. (He doesn't smile much around Dodger. Not like this.)] No, no. You don't understand. She's her own person-- an amazing person. The best I know. She owes me nothing. She never owed me anything, never needed me. I provided, of course, but she had come from money before me. She gave a lot up... but she never saw it that way.
She didn't clean me up. I wanted to. For her. Ay, Dodger, I wanted her so bad. I never wanted anyone like that before her.
[The smile doesn't last. His face seems to crumple.]
But I left. [So much for being better than Dodger's father.] I didn't mean to. I thought, for a little while, for the fame and the money and... pleasing a friend. [It leaves a bitter taste.] But I abandoned them, my family. And I can't pretend I haven't... made more mistakes here. [The men he's kissed. His stomach flops in a real bad way.]
...But I hope you're right.
[He pauses.]
We have hope, right? Even you. I don't know if you remember the fire, but surely, getting this chance at all, that has to mean something. God or the devil or just ourselves, if we've come here for redemption there must be something to redeem. It's just a matter of figuring out how.
[The way Hector talks about his wife, about working so hard to keep her, about leaving her with a child to raise... yeah, he doesn't like that. He really doesn't like any of it. But he keeps his thoughts to himself, just sighs and watches the smoke curl out of his mouth.]
There's no hope for someone like me. I'm too far gone, but you... y'know. You're better than me. You've still got it.
[He's silent for a bit, and sighs again.]
My girl is better off without me. I've slipped so much since she left, she wouldn't recognized me if I saw her again. I've done things no one should ever do, and I didn't feel anything when it happened. And all these- mind games that Hell plays on us, it's just fun for me. It keeps things interesting.
[His nerves are getting to him, the shame of seeing how much better Hector's life is than his even when they're both in Hell. How much more potential he has. Instead of finishing his cigarette he rolls it in his fingers, charring the paper until it crumbles.]
Look, all I can tell you is... you're never gonna end up like me. Takes years of... bullshit, to churn out a monster. Not a few months of desperation.
[He sighs too, but he doesn't speak right away. He just takes it in. He sits in silence for far too long, Dodger at his side burning his cigarette to ash. He almost touches his face, where he was burned, but he resists. It's not that he doesn't believe Dodger's a cruel bastard. It's not that he doesn't know. But...]
...You say that, but you don't seem happy to me.
[It's not just now. It's every time Dodger's trying to explain his views of the world, every time he spoke of scars, self-inflicted and not.]
I don't think I've seen you smile once. Not for real.
[He shrugs.]
Well, we'll find out, won't we? We've got an eternity or until we work things out now either way.
[He drops what's left of his cigarette, and his hand just sort of... stays in the air, unsure of what he should do with it. He bristles a bit, but it's not from anger... he doesn't feel angry about anything, so he can't shield himself from the way Hector's words hurt him. He isn't happy. He doesn't remember the last time he was happy - not excited, not aroused, but happy.
Slowly his fingers twitch into fists, and he gets up to step off of the bench.]
If it's all the same to you, I should probably make sure my dog hasn't wrecked the place. Dumb bastard eats furniture when he's anxious.
[There's a bit of a stilt to his speech, just a hint that he's holding back some sort of emotion that he isn't comfortable expressing. Again he glances at Hector, before pointedly looking away.]
Look, I'll just... keep out of your way for a while. But let me know if something comes up, I'm in your corner. And... seriously, man, get something to eat. Anything.
[He hesitates a moment, as if he has something else to say, before just... shaking his head lightly, and bursting into sparks. They float back into the building and disappear through the wall, and then he's gone.]
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no subject
It helps to make everything dull. I lived through some real nightmares, they made me... this. I spent three years sleeping on the floor of a church, getting used by- some sadistic bastard with a god complex...
[It's the easiest those words have ever come out. He'll have to count that as some sort of progress.]
I can't explain it. I don't want you to understand. But this place is better than some of the places I've lived before. I feel like I'm home, here - where I belong.
If those memories stopped hurting... maybe I could slow down on the drinking. I don't know.
no subject
His breath shudders in and out but otherwise remains steady. It's just... too much. It's too monumental to take in. Half of that night feels like it happened to someone else, except, ironically, the part that actually did.
There's so much he should say, so much he feels. But he can't put it to words. He takes a last drag of his cigarette and flicks it away. He doesn't light another. Instead, he just hugs his arms close, looking ahead.]
Has anything ever really stopped hurting? I mean, something terrible happens or we found ourselves... born without I guess. No one around but ourselves, one way or another. Does that ever real go away? Because I'm not sure it does. I didn't stop wishing for a family until I made mine. And, the soldados I'd see them, you know, I'd play for them. Some would be okay. But just some.
[And Nekane. Nekane's taught him a lot already.]
Do you remember who you were before they did that to you? Do you remember being any different?
[Dodger is extreme. It's hard to imagine someone always being so. But, at one point, it was hard to imagine someone like Dodger.]
When I was- tortured. Not by Lucifer's games, those have a point of some kind. When I was... cut open. After that happened, when we all had voices in our heads, saying things, telling us to hurt ourselves, I was scared of who I might be. I talked with someone. We talked about how, with these things, change is going to happen, like it or not. We have to learn to live with who we become.
I don't know how to do that yet. I don't like who I'm becoming. I feel like there's got to be someone out there, wiser, someone not in hell who could actually help, but he's not me. I'm afraid of- ha- I'm afraid of ending up like you. Or like someone else. Someone who can't handle it, walking in the doors of my home. But I'm trying. That's all I can do. Make good memories, try to hang on to what this place wants to take.
...I've got scars on my back. They're not going away. I think if my wife ever sees them, she'll hate it. Or maybe I'm just afraid she will. But, at the end of the day, however badly, those scars are healing. That's what I'm hoping for.
no subject
He has to pause, and mull that question over in his mind. He remembers some of it, but who knows how accurate it is. He'd been a drunkard before the cult, even if it hadn't been quite as bad as now. He remembers being a stupid teenager, and a stupid kid before that.]
There was... a time, where I thought I was a good person.
[He's weighing his words carefully again, speaking slowly while he decides exactly how much to share.]
I worked on a fishing boat. I had a girlfriend, and... we talked about marriage, sometimes. She had friends, sometimes she tried to get me to make friends too. It never really worked out.
[He takes a long drag from his cigarette and blows it out, letting his thoughts settle a bit more.]
I thought I was getting better. I grew up fighting, killing, stealing... but I thought she'd saved me. I thought... maybe if I tried hard enough, I could change, and I could be like everyone else. But... I was wrong. And she left. And I ended up... with him.
[He's left stewing in his thoughts for a while after that, letting Hector process the information. A few minutes pass, before he speaks again.]
There's a lot of things I can't go back to. Even if I saw the people I used to know, I'm not the person they knew. But... if you love your wife enough to crawl out of Hell for her, she'd better love you enough not to turn her nose up at the scars you got on the way out, yeah?
[That's how Janet had been. She loved the scars on his face and his back, she'd told him so and run her fingers over them whenever he was stuck in the past. She made everything all better, and he figures that's how love is supposed to be.]
no subject
He can't really tell if it's true, that Dodger was a good person. Dodger thinks a lot of things and he disagrees with most of it. But he doesn't immediately see anything to disprove it.
At least until it dips back down into Dodger's past. He'd started a street rat too. But he didn't fight. He didn't kill.
He's been told a lot. But there's a lot he still just doesn't know. It's only as Dodger brings up his wife that his head bows and a soft laugh escapes.]
No. [He shakes his head, but there's a smile. (He doesn't smile much around Dodger. Not like this.)] No, no. You don't understand. She's her own person-- an amazing person. The best I know. She owes me nothing. She never owed me anything, never needed me. I provided, of course, but she had come from money before me. She gave a lot up... but she never saw it that way.
She didn't clean me up. I wanted to. For her. Ay, Dodger, I wanted her so bad. I never wanted anyone like that before her.
[The smile doesn't last. His face seems to crumple.]
But I left. [So much for being better than Dodger's father.] I didn't mean to. I thought, for a little while, for the fame and the money and... pleasing a friend. [It leaves a bitter taste.] But I abandoned them, my family. And I can't pretend I haven't... made more mistakes here. [The men he's kissed. His stomach flops in a real bad way.]
...But I hope you're right.
[He pauses.]
We have hope, right? Even you. I don't know if you remember the fire, but surely, getting this chance at all, that has to mean something. God or the devil or just ourselves, if we've come here for redemption there must be something to redeem. It's just a matter of figuring out how.
no subject
There's no hope for someone like me. I'm too far gone, but you... y'know. You're better than me. You've still got it.
[He's silent for a bit, and sighs again.]
My girl is better off without me. I've slipped so much since she left, she wouldn't recognized me if I saw her again. I've done things no one should ever do, and I didn't feel anything when it happened. And all these- mind games that Hell plays on us, it's just fun for me. It keeps things interesting.
[His nerves are getting to him, the shame of seeing how much better Hector's life is than his even when they're both in Hell. How much more potential he has. Instead of finishing his cigarette he rolls it in his fingers, charring the paper until it crumbles.]
Look, all I can tell you is... you're never gonna end up like me. Takes years of... bullshit, to churn out a monster. Not a few months of desperation.
no subject
...You say that, but you don't seem happy to me.
[It's not just now. It's every time Dodger's trying to explain his views of the world, every time he spoke of scars, self-inflicted and not.]
I don't think I've seen you smile once. Not for real.
[He shrugs.]
Well, we'll find out, won't we? We've got an eternity or until we work things out now either way.
no subject
Slowly his fingers twitch into fists, and he gets up to step off of the bench.]
If it's all the same to you, I should probably make sure my dog hasn't wrecked the place. Dumb bastard eats furniture when he's anxious.
[There's a bit of a stilt to his speech, just a hint that he's holding back some sort of emotion that he isn't comfortable expressing. Again he glances at Hector, before pointedly looking away.]
Look, I'll just... keep out of your way for a while. But let me know if something comes up, I'm in your corner. And... seriously, man, get something to eat. Anything.
no subject
But it doesn't feel good. He's not that kind of vindictive.
Neither is he sorry for saying it.]
It's alright. Go ahead.
I'll... I'll figure something out.
[He's not trying to die, after all. Not this time.]
Go look after your dog. He kind of looks terrible.
no subject
[He hesitates a moment, as if he has something else to say, before just... shaking his head lightly, and bursting into sparks. They float back into the building and disappear through the wall, and then he's gone.]