Chapter 23: Self-temped, self-deprav’d: man falls, deceiv’d. – III, 130
After his sobbing dies down, it’s quiet in the car. Rhys is still lying against Sawyer’s chest, letting the latter run his fingers, gently, through Rhys’ hair, while cradling Rhys tightly to his chest.
Heavy, rain-filled silence aside, a chill is settling into Rhys’ bones that has nothing to do with the weather.
He just cannot stop thinking about an off-hand comment Sawyer had made a bit ago.
There is, of course, every possibility that Rhys misinterpreted it, but his brain won’t let go of his initial perception – not for a second.
“Charvi was scared out of her mind, dude.”
That’d been what Sawyer had said.
And Rhys’ only reaction had been to violently berate himself. Still is, if he’s honest.
Of course, Charvi was scared. He was already the f*cking Frankenstein’s monster of supernatural creatures, only for his stupid brain to betray its own violent tendencies on top of that.
Why he has to be such a damn freak show, he’ll never understand.