"I think—" he sank back into the bath. The water was scalding, but he did not feel pain in a meaningful way. Just as a transient sensation, as interesting as any. Filling his palms with water, he cleaned dried sweat and blood off his face. When he opened his eyes again, his gaze fixed on Don Juan. The man leaned on the rim of the bath now. His eyes were very dark and wide. Sam moved towards the rim and put his arms on it and propped his chin up on them, looking at him.
"I think—" he started again, talking slowly as if the words he spoke just surfaced in him, for the first time, "—that is why I can never leave you. Not to the dirty old men in Montparnasse; not in the Orchid. Couldn't stay out of your business at the dinner. Can't let you die, can't cut you off, can't let you be. I know I should."
He contemplated him in depth. That's why I punish you. I can't say no to you in a meaningful way, and I resent you for it. Suddenly he felt the urge to say sorry. What he subjected Don Juan to was really not his fault. The words did not form and he did not know if they ever would.
"I think—" he started again, talking slowly as if the words he spoke just surfaced in him, for the first time, "—that is why I can never leave you. Not to the dirty old men in Montparnasse; not in the Orchid. Couldn't stay out of your business at the dinner. Can't let you die, can't cut you off, can't let you be. I know I should."
He contemplated him in depth. That's why I punish you. I can't say no to you in a meaningful way, and I resent you for it. Suddenly he felt the urge to say sorry. What he subjected Don Juan to was really not his fault. The words did not form and he did not know if they ever would.
