She is taking all of the blame for this catastrophe of a meeting and he supposes that he cannot blame her. He as not given her any reason to think otherwise. He has only glowered at her, snapped at her, given her short answers, none at all. He has done nothing to make her think that he did anything but actively loathe her presence and so perhaps it is not surprising at all that she would think this is her fault.
“Don’t apologize,” and this too comes out harsher than he intends. He curses himself for his inability to be gentle with fragile things. He is too brutish—too rough. He has never learned the art of having a kind touch and looking at her with all of that sadness that she wears so heavily, it’s what she needs.
Perhaps the greatest kindness he could give her would be to simply leave.
But with a jump of the muscle of his jaw, he realizes that she would read that as rejection too.
“I’m the one who did this,” he finally manages and he is proud of the way that it doesn’t sound cruel. It could even be apologetic if the other person was actively looking for goodness in him, which he has found that most people are not. Not that he can blame them when he gives them very little reason to.
“Like I said, I am deeply flawed, Lilian,” he doesn’t think that he really deserves to say her name but it at least softens the gravel and grit of his voice just a little, his grey eyes looking up to study her face.
“I wish that I could be someone different.”
BRIGADE
when I was a man I thought it ended when I knew love's perfect ache
but my peace has always depended on all the ashes in my wake