He was upsetting her; he might not have been the most empathetic of people, but even he could see that she was quite shaken by what he had just said. He was being unfair. This was exactly why he kept it to himself at work, because it was his burden, but sometimes it just got a bit too fucking much.
He sighed, running his hand through his hair as he tried to think how he was even meant to start explaining.
"I'm not," he said after a thoughtful pause, although he did sound quite reluctant about it.
"I don't know how I'm meant to- I don't know how to make it not fucked, unless we fucking bomb Westminster, and fucking start again from scratch," he admitted, taking a drink as he thought about how to even get his point across without giving her a mental breakdown.
"You really want to know?" he asked, raising his eyebrows and pausing for a second to give her an opportunity to object to the whole truth. "Things have been spiraling out of control since- well, since just before the train, I suppose. It's fucking brutal, the coalition- it's a fucking nightmare. We had the most incompetent leader that you can even imagine. I found her in her office practicing fucking walking not that long ago," he told her, giving her a despairing look.
"We- I- we'd never get back into power with that representing us. My life was just- constantly walking behind her and fucking shoveling up the shit she spewed out all over fucking everything, you know? So she had to go, and when she went there was going to be an inquiry, and it was- well, no good for her, but not a bad thing in the bigger picture. But it got out of control. There was a leak- it was this stupid cunts idea to fuck over the Tories by exposing just how fucking reprehensible they are, but it just exploded- the inquiry changed from something that would just fuck over Nicola Murray, into something that would fuck everything. About leaking- about- I mean, you know if there weren't leaks, then the newspapers wouldn't actually have anything to write, and all you'd get was fucking personal ads and page three girls and you'd only ever hear the things that the government that's actually in power wants you to hear, you'd only have your organised press-releases. It would be like fucking 1984, everything the government does is fucking rosy and no one can prove otherwise, kind of shit. The exchange of private information, that is what drives our economy, that's what everyone does- it's the fucking human condition, and I don't like it, but that's what it's come to, a fucking- immoral government that cares about fucking popularity over fucking- decency, you know?"
He realised he'd been talking for quite a long time, and not exactly allowing he poor women much time to process all of this information, but then- she had asked for it.
"But- well, it's fucking- illegal, whether everyone does it or not. And they need someone to blame, so... well. It's not so much admitting defeat, more than you have considerably less influence when you're doing a Jeffrey Archer."
He stopped, took a long drink, and listening to his own heart pounding. Fuck. Maybe she'd just hate him now. All he could do was give her a polite nod about the size of the bedrooms.