Chapter Thirteen
He stands at the window of his apartment, looking out. He took my coat, served me coffee—not very good coffee, but it is the thought that counts—then left to me to wait until he was ready to start talking.
It’s hardly like the stoic Pierre to brood so darkly. Oh, yeah, he broods consistently, but that’s just his normal manner. This heaviness comes from a place I’ve never been with him and frankly, I’m scared. Maybe I don’t want to know the darkness in his past. Maybe there’s a horror in his life I can’t accept. Maybe it was a very bad idea to prod him, to open up a can of worms that we won’t be able to contain. Anxious as I am to hear what he has to say, half of me wants to call a halt to any more self-revelations. What good is it going to do to revisit a truth you cann
