"Why?"
There was no knock, I didn't even hear the door open. But there he was hands in his pockets filling the entire door with his massive frame. Keep my head down but answer.
"I don't know, why what?" I know what he is asking.
"All of it, all the way back. Why?"
"I was messed up." weak but the simplest way to put it I guess.
"No" He is firm and louder, I feel him come further into the room and hear the door close. "It goes way back before drugs and drinking. I read your letter, your apology of sorts. With you and me it goes back a hell of a lot further then that."
"I don't know." I hear myself say just above a whisper.
"Bullshit" his voice loud and clear and echoing off every wall.
He is at the edge of my desk I can see his expensive belt and his long hands on his hips. I try to no t look up. I try to not see his face. I try and I fail. I see the pulse in his neck, the tick in his jaw, the grim set of his mouth. I don't want to see them but I have to look, his eyes are a color I have never sen. They are almost black.