Evey had braced for this as best she could. She stayed silent as stone and listened, every detail etched into a record in her head, every transgression staked out onto a metal sheet with pins. She understood why he was doing this. It was easier to let the monster take over when no one believed you were anything but that monster. Evey knew better. She refused - she would always refuse - to believe that the monster was outside his control, and that it was the true nature of Aidan Waite. She'd seen more. She loved more. She wasn't letting him go, and she wasn't going to let him forget.
But as he finished his story, Evey lifted her elbows from her knees and turned her body on the couch until she could look at him. Her eyes slowly narrowed.
It didn't add up. And now, at the end of the tale, she understood a little bit more about why he was pressing her to forget anything but the monster inside him.
"Do you think she won't see what you are hiding?" Evey asked. In truth, Evey wasn't certain herself if her younger persona would push hard enough to see it, at least immediately. Later, it would come up. But Evey was not young anymore. She saw. All the detail, in graphic, sharp, vivid, flavorful color -- every shred, every breath -- and at the end, he claimed to forget the item that drove the worst of his crimes. Of course. If he didn't know where it was, then it would be unreasonable to think he still had access to it.
He wasn't trying to get clean. He was trying to keep drinking.