By the time she spoke, Brian was rocking back and forth with the bottle in his lap. He wasn't drinking it, just cradling it as if it were a baby. It was the only thing he had at the moment, the only thing he could lean on. Sherri was just a child, a baby. She didn't understand. She couldn't. Even when she knew his fable, she couldn't get what this meant. Over half his life had been spent in the dark, thinking he was one thing while being another. His life was a lie, a giant fabrication. He wasn't Dr. Brian Jenkins, endodontist. He was Brian Jenkins, psycho with two personalities.
At her pressing, he broke down. The sobs rolled out of him as he crunched forward, feeling the bottle prod heavily into his gut. Fingers clasped around his shins, he wheezed as his shoulders shook against the door. "Yes," he gasped through the tears, reaching up with one hand to dig in his filthy hair. "Yes," he repeated, leaning heavily against the door as he sobbed. "Yes."