Sebastian L. Moran, 38, Chief of Staff for J. Moriarty
“Right. Yeah. I wonder why.” Langdale put his glass down on the table a little too roughly. He leaned forward, ran his hands through his hair again and sighed, rubbing his eyes.
“I don’t think I want to have this conversation. You certainly don’t want to have this conversation. Or maybe you do, maybe that’s why you came to me, maybe I’m the only vaguely normal person you know and subconsciously you’re hoping I’ll try and talk some sense into you. I don’t know. I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but I think your head is in a far worse state than your body, that’s for sure.”
“What conversation?” He asked, rather bluntly.
“What conver - the conversation. The Conversation that happens when someone turns up half-dead on someone’s doorstep because some psychopath stuck them with a knife and god knows what else he’s done to you. I mean, what am I supposed to do? Say nothing? Yeah, I should probably just say nothing, but you should know by now I’ve got a thing about sticking my nose in other people’s business, yeah? So I’ll just say it; you need help. You need to get as far away from him as you can. Run. Hide. You won’t - that’s fine, I know you won’t. That’s why we’re not going to have The Conversation.”
He took a deep breath to steady himself. “You can sleep in my bed, the sheets were just changed this morning. Wouldn’t want you to go back to Jim smelling like some other bloke, not after the nice doctor patched you up so well.”
He didn’t move to get up, just folded his arms and looked positively sulky.
Sebastian’s eyes seemed to close in increments as Langdale laid into him. He couldn’t find the words to respond to any of the accusations. Jim was a psychopath, yes, but he gave Sebastian something nobody else could. All the danger, the uncertainty, the doubt, it was how he lived, it was so ingrained in him he couldn’t imagine anything else. What would his life be if her were comfortable? Would he remember it? His adrenaline gland would shrivel up and die and he’d be left tamed instead of simply caged.
He swallowed and then opened his eyes to look at Langdale for just a second, not able to even stare the man in the face as he spoke next.
“I only want to go home.” He said softly, sadly, regretfully, his shoulders sinking forwards as he tried to ignore the dull ache of his hurts and the pounding in his skull.
