wally's lament.

[ 10 ]

⫸——⫷

No. He was wrong. You could not trust him. You could not trust anybody.

Staring at Wally, you took a brief internal assessment of the situation. He was asking you questions about what you were hiding, which meant he did not know the full extent of your past, which was good. You were probably going to end up lying. You could make up something secretive to satiate his weirdly persistant curiosity.

Unless he already knew everything that you were hiding and was only forcing you to tell him what you were hiding as a test. A test to see whether you would lie to him a third time. Now that would not be good.

The best way to lie was to tell part of the truth, and that was especially true considering your situation. If he was testing you, telling some truth would show that you were being honest; but if he was not testing you, your small truth would only reveal part of your secrets. Sipping your wine, you decided that was what you were going to do.

"I killed someone," you said, watching Wally's eyes for a reaction.

He visibly brightened, as if hearing good news. "Oh dear," he whispered. He placed his elbow on the table and rested his cheek in his hand, as if preparing to listen to you continue. You took that as a sign to keep talking.

"It was an accident, but somebody found out that it happened. They threatened to tell people what I did and make it look like it wasn't an accident. Something like that would ruin my life. So I... ran away." You swallowed, poking your pasta with your fork.

It was not an accident. It was self defense, which made the kill more cold-blooded. You deliberately shot the man who was robbing your house. It was hard for you to talk about this, not only because you had to double-check every word you said to make sure you did not say the wrong thing to Wally, but also because this much was a truth. You really had killed someone, and you really had been threatened. "I chose to ruin my own life before they could ruin it for me."

"That must have been hard," Wally said. It sounded like he was attempting to comfort you, which was irritating because he was the one forcing you to talk about this in the first place.

"It was hard, Wally. It's not any easier talking about it," you huffed.

Wally's smile had yet to drop, and it irritated you even further. He sighed gently.

You scoffed.

"Don't get mad at me," Wally said. He looked at his food, taking a 'bite' with his eyes. He lifted his napkin and patted at his mouth as if he had actually taken a bite. "I just have to know who you are, (Y/N). I'm sure you understand —"

"And who are you, Wally?"

He stared at you. This time, you stared back.

Now that Wally seemed satisfied with the bit of information you gave him, your anxiety had lessened. What remained of your nervousness was slowly being replaced with the irritation that Wally's actions continued to foster. He thought he had the right to sit here and play games with you, calling you by your name in front of others and painting that god-forsaken picture of your old home, without giving you the chance to play games with him. Who gave him the right to keep you in such a vulnerable position without offering anything about himself?

"Who am I?" he repeated.

"Yeah," you said, leaning back in your chair. "I'm sure you have something fucked-up going on. Tell me what it is."

For a moment, Wally looked embarrassed. Then he chuckled. "Why should I tell you?"

"So you do have something fucked-up going on. You admit it."