The tuber twacks against the back of his shirt, and that stops him in his tracks. His head drops back to stare up at the sky. Goddammit, Vee.

"What do you want from me, you want me to stay here and be your friend right now?" he answers as he turns back to her. His tone is caustic in a way that makes his chest feel like it's being carved up in real time to do, but here he is doing it anyway. If she doesn't hate him enough to cut him off already...

"So, what, maybe next week you can find out how I killed sixty, maybe seventy people before I got here? That every one of 'em was--" his voice falters, but only just-- "Was somebody's father or brother or son, and most days that fact doesn't make me feel a goddamn thing? That I'm supposed to be serving about thirty life sentences right now for the things I did to those shitbags, and the only reason I'm walking free around here is Wilson doesn't think guarding a jail cell is worth anybody's time?"

"I'm not a fucking martyr, Veronica, I'm--" What? Not a bad guy, he used to be able to say that and mean it. Now the truth sticks rough in his throat, but he pushes that out too. "I'm just a bigger monster than the rest of them. Don't tell me you need that shit in your life for another minute."