He managed a nod. Would he still be here for the next time? If Lucas and Gina moved on, he would as well. Clearly the man thought the building insane but he didn’t know about her. His lips pressed into a firm line, but he didn’t move from her hand this time. It was fine, comforting in its own way, though it wasn’t something he was used to.
Though he’d gotten caught up in his story as he told it, her questions were welcome. He wanted someone else to understand how he felt and he wanted someone to emphasize. It wasn’t asking for pity – not strictly. He wanted some recognition and for someone to understand what he had been through. Looking to her and her flushed skin, his hands tightened in his lap – defensive fists, not towards her but as a habit. “He did. I spent ages trying to figure it out – after reading The Count of Monte Cristo,actually.” For a brief moment his eyes fell to his fists, but then looked up to her – almost challenging her to say he was guilty, like everyone else had. “First degree murder.”
Anger made the telling easier – there was no sweet reminiscing here, but the cold-blooded facts. “There was a student who I had argued with in the past. We never got along and his ideas annoyed me. But the professors liked him because he was quieter – I always seemed to be causing trouble. It put my scholarship in question.” His fists tightened. “I made a few comments, once or twice about killing him – in play, mostly. But he took that and had him murdered, placing me at the scene of the crime.” Though his eyes hadn’t left hers, something in his shoulders softened as he added, “It was Christmas Eve. I woke up Christmas morning handcuffed to a hospital bed.”