Dirk's jaw clenches, something between stubbornness and anger held tight between his gritted teeth. The mockery isn't what hits hardest, but he doesn't welcome the extra barb in the lash that is hearing his own words, or Jake's, in Connie's.
Dude, would you quit bawling already?
Stand up like a man, and punch her in the face or something.
But i dont WANNA be a man and i dont WANNA punch her in the face!
Obverse. Inverse. Reverse.
One of many questions no one wants to answer: why is he the bad guy? Why is not breaking down in tears, snotting and sobbing and wailing, such a fucking problem? He's sick and tired of it.
He takes a breath.
"Why are you so dead set on this? I'm actually asking you, by the way, because I just don't see it. You want to know my thoughts? Any time. Any subject. I know that you know this. I don't hold back on that. So if there's something you want to know, then ask."
Another breath, which he lets out.
"I mean, I get it. Really, I do. And I do have feelings, I'm not pretending I don't. Or at least, I'd say I have them. I feel like I do." Ha ha.
"It's just that they don't matter. Obviously yours do, and I respect that. But, and I'm being one hundred percent honest here," if you believe that, "I'm sick to death of talking about my feelings. There's no productive conversation to be had there. There's an infinite number of infinitely more important, infinitely more real things to be concerned about when you're me."
Say, for example, the infinite, ultimate self he's trying to keep packed into this little container.
no subject
Dude, would you quit bawling already?
Stand up like a man, and punch her in the face or something.
But i dont WANNA be a man and i dont WANNA punch her in the face!
Obverse. Inverse. Reverse.
One of many questions no one wants to answer: why is he the bad guy? Why is not breaking down in tears, snotting and sobbing and wailing, such a fucking problem? He's sick and tired of it.
He takes a breath.
"Why are you so dead set on this? I'm actually asking you, by the way, because I just don't see it. You want to know my thoughts? Any time. Any subject. I know that you know this. I don't hold back on that. So if there's something you want to know, then ask."
Another breath, which he lets out.
"I mean, I get it. Really, I do. And I do have feelings, I'm not pretending I don't. Or at least, I'd say I have them. I feel like I do." Ha ha.
"It's just that they don't matter. Obviously yours do, and I respect that. But, and I'm being one hundred percent honest here," if you believe that, "I'm sick to death of talking about my feelings. There's no productive conversation to be had there. There's an infinite number of infinitely more important, infinitely more real things to be concerned about when you're me."
Say, for example, the infinite, ultimate self he's trying to keep packed into this little container.