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No more pretending.

A girl was there in front of him, with curly red hair and a question in her eyes. The question she actually asked was dumb, he thought, but there was something else behind it. Something she wanted from him.

Like Clarice, who accosted him, wanting something from him, too. Wayne had looked down, yes, but he had mostly looked past her. At where he wanted to go. At where he wanted to escape. But there was no escape yet from this situation, and that was how he had intended it, because he had not hidden the extra bag, had not hidden his guilt. It wasn't fair that his guilt wasn't obvious unless he made it obvious. Unless he let his actions or words or face betray him.

So easy now, to tell the truth. He was caught out on one thing. Why not everything?

No more pretending.

He met Clarice's eyes.

"I found it," he said, and hated himself more. "Someone was dead, and..." He paused, filled with disgust - at himself, at the truth behind what really had happened, at the falsehood, at the thought of looting a corpse. "I took it. I guess they don't... I don't know who it was. Didn't want to know."

"And yeah," Wayne said, breaking eye contact to look at the other girl. He was tired of fighting himself. "I guess. I'm not here for the scenery."
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The Past
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In A World Of Shit · The Connecting Bridge