Every word of what Brooks said rang true in one way or another, but Silas couldn’t bring himself to vocalize a response. Hell, how was he supposed to when anything he said would just sound like he didn’t agree, or like he was starting a fight for the sake of it. Whatever, he could just act like he’s thinking the statements over and move on. Nothing said he had to talk if he didn’t feel like it.
“I know she’s not perfect,” Silas corrected. Better than him, definitely, and better at being a decent human being. “She’s better than me, but I know she’s not perfect.” Nobody was, even if he thought she was damn near it. “Talking to ‘em isn’t gonna do anything but get the same old response I’ve been getting. They wanna believe the shit they wanna believe, and maybe I should just let them.” Even if it grated on his nerves, it was probably better than starting World War 3 with Stone or Jones, or worse, Rae. “You don’t think I’ve tried. You don’t think I’ve said that I have to take responsibility for this shit? I have, they’re not hearing it.” Maybe he wasn’t being fair; probably he wasn’t. “Or I’m not saying it the right way. But I don’t know how to say it right.”
He was a little everywhere with his thoughts, too annoyed to worry about how he was stringing he sentences together. “I’m not trying to absolve Samson of shit. He did wrong, and I know that, but he’s as much the fucking villain as I am.” He rubbed a hand over his face again, “I mean, you got points, but I’m not good at saying shit the way it won’t be taken wrong.” As soon as it left his mouth he knew it was an excuse. He could try to tell them, but he was anxious what would happen if they didn’t listen.
It was so much easier said than done. He’d been trying to forgive himself for years, but things kept sticking with him and new things kept getting piled on top of it.
“And that’s why they shouldn’t have to deal with me, ‘cause theirs always gonna be the risk that another Dr. Samson is going to walk into my life and set me off again,” Silas muttered. “I’m a liability to the people I’m around.” How could he be anything but? No one else had to be watched to make sure they were staying on the straight and narrow, but after the March fiasco he couldn’t confidently say that people wouldn’t be watching him closely. He deserve it, the possibility of being scrutinized. None of his actions portrayed the idea that he was trustworthy on his own.
Yes, he’d made the decision to clean up. But he’d made that decision twice before, and even as brave or strong as that made him, it was still another black spot on his record. Another reminder that he’d fallen flat on his face and had to pull himself back together. He knew every one of the people that he cared about carried their own black spots, but none of them made them a liability to the safety of others or the structure of the society that they had been building.
“I don’t feel like I do,” he admitted. “Even if everything you said is true, I can’t get myself to believe that I deserve them as much as they think I do.” A thought, a fact in his life that replayed over and over in his head like it was on a loop. Why when the world was so messed up was he still lucky enough to have people that thought he was worth it? What kind of brainwashing had they experienced, because if they took a real hard look they’d realize that he was still a set of screw ups waiting to happen.
"That's what it all comes down to, I don't feel like I'm worth their time."