"I don't like to leave the maze, you know that," he mumbled, his own eyes unreadable; they stayed on her face, steady and calm despite the slightest betrayal in his smooth kahlua-and-cream voice. He did stop circling her though; her word was his command, and he was stock-still, leaning against the wall, his face upturned as though she could provide him the salvation he so desperately sought.
"She's different," Charlie said with a shrug of one shoulder. "She's a monster too. She's got black in her blood, you can smell it. She isn't like you." He reached out one hand to touch her hair, then withdrew before he quite made contact. "Her name's Leigh. She's scared of me. She's scared of how much she likes how fucked up I am."
He looked at her, worked his jaw for a second. "Is that why you like me? Because I'm fucked up? Do you feel sorry for me?"