Re: log: blake and graham, thorne house
Graham didn't care that the kid nearly lost his balance a couple of times, and he didn't care that the shove nearly sent him sprawling. The way Blake grinned made him wish he had decided to break his jaw, or his nose, or at least give him a bruise he wouldn't soon forget, but it was too late for that. His kind of anger wouldn't be soothed by knocking out some idiot, he'd lived with it too long to delude himself otherwise. Some people got over loss. Some people moved on. Some people glued themselves back together so you couldn't even see the cracks. But he wasn't some people, and he never would be.
The laughter didn't make sense. Maybe Blake thought it was funny because he'd been expecting a punch, but it didn't seem funny to him. An epiphany? The hell was the kid talking about? Graham thought he was crazy; maybe he wasn't the only one. Maybe he was witnessing a rich man's mental breakdown. Laughing and trying to get the top off the bottle of scotch, rambling about assholes in leotards and why they dressed up to fight crime at all. "You put it together, huh?" Jesus, he'd lost it. Gone right off the damn deep end.
Going to bed sounded real good. He should go, should leave Blake to whatever epiphany he'd had. He could drink himself into a coma and pass out in the library for all he cared. "Yeah, sweet dreams," he echoed, shaking his head.
Graham started to leave but paused against his better judgment and turned back, brow furrowed. Damn it all. "What's the epiphany?"