2x02 - My Lucky Day
Head throbbing like a son of a bitch, splitting in two. Head-butting a door? Shit. Idiot. Idiot. Stupid stupid stupid fucking crankhead thief loser low-life tweaker not a cop, not a real cop, nothing, punk-ass patsy dupe lost little boy dirty cop.
Cheap piece of tin or aluminum or whatever the hell this is made out of – worth nothing and feels cheap in his hands. A shiny bauble. Shiny and distracting and made of nothing. Thirty pieces of silver or one shiny badge – same thing. Sell out your friend and your only ally, your savior, yourself, your soul, your future. Now what?
Wait. Maybe she'll open the door.
Wait. Maybe she'll let you back in.
Wait. Maybe she'll let you explain.
Wait and wait and wait. Head pounding.
She's not opening the door. Write a note, slip it under the door? Bullshit. No fucking idea what to write. He's all talk anyway.
Wait and she'll open the door and see him there and she'll take pity on him and she'll touch his hair and put her fingers in his hair and she'll softly tell him to come in and he'll try to explain and she'll forgive him and she'll push his coat off and let him hold her, let him be her Holder, and let him stay and let him sleep there, he'll sleep on the floor, he'll just sleep on the floor at the foot of her bed like a dog near its master, ready to bark and bite if anyone comes to hurt her, and in the morning...
Please let him come in. Please keep him safe right now because right now... He wants it. He needs it. So bad. Worse than it's been in a while. Needs something. Feels it pulling. Needs it like the moon needs the earth.
The door stays shut. Quiet. She's been running from him all day. She should. He's dirty. He gets up without knowing where he's going or what he'll do when he gets there. He leaves the shiny bauble on the floor. If she ever does open the door, maybe it can do the explaining for him.