[ Rex shuffles through the contents, letting the photo and the other letter fall away. He stares at his own words, gripping the letter so tightly it feels like his knuckles might burst out of his skin.
is this even real? can he trust it to be real? How can he be sure that Kotetsu's actually been carrying this around? He could've just slipped it into his pocket before coming to see Rex right now. ...But that doesn't explain the old, old bloodstains on it.
he tries to keep his voice even, but it's hard. He pushes aside the lump in his throat to talk. ]
...I woke up dead and all I remembered was the past week when I was murdered. And nobody caught my killer because everyone was too busy caring about her to care about me. No one ever mentions me again, like I never existed in the first place. And everyone is lying, about everything, all the time.
And then some guy turns up telling me he cares about me and wants to help me. Like I'm supposed to just believe that. Like trusting people at their word isn't exactly what got me killed.
[ he looks up from the letter, crinkling in his desperate grasp. ]
What am I supposed to do with this? All these weeks later. The tiniest thing nobody could have ever noticed. [ he manages a single laugh, wet and derisive ] Like I'm that desperate. [ what he really means: am i that desperate? ]
no subject
is this even real? can he trust it to be real? How can he be sure that Kotetsu's actually been carrying this around? He could've just slipped it into his pocket before coming to see Rex right now. ...But that doesn't explain the old, old bloodstains on it.
he tries to keep his voice even, but it's hard. He pushes aside the lump in his throat to talk. ]
...I woke up dead and all I remembered was the past week when I was murdered. And nobody caught my killer because everyone was too busy caring about her to care about me. No one ever mentions me again, like I never existed in the first place. And everyone is lying, about everything, all the time.
And then some guy turns up telling me he cares about me and wants to help me. Like I'm supposed to just believe that. Like trusting people at their word isn't exactly what got me killed.
[ he looks up from the letter, crinkling in his desperate grasp. ]
What am I supposed to do with this? All these weeks later. The tiniest thing nobody could have ever noticed. [ he manages a single laugh, wet and derisive ] Like I'm that desperate. [ what he really means: am i that desperate? ]