Life has been quiet. Life has been suffocating. He's been dealing as well as he can, but still, nothing feels complete anymore.( Today he has a dream-- or a memory-- that belongs to Jeff.Collapse )
In the morning, Soze gets up and washes his face for-- he doesn't know-- maybe an hour, just standing in front of the bathroom mirror and running the washcloth over his forehead and neck. He closes his eyes but doesn't consider going back to sleep. It's been weeks since any direct memories have crossed over.
When he snaps out of it, finally, it's past nine'o'clock, and he realizes he's going to be late for work. He calls in sick instead, voice raspy enough to fool them (but he
hadn't been crying, had he?), and slips on his jacket to take a walk.
He doesn't make it to the door, though. He finds his new sofa and lets himself collapse on it, numb. It takes another twenty minutes before he gathers the energy to grab the old newspaper by his feet, which he does, propping it against his lap. From there, he reads.
So much for keeping a clear head.