[ Fourteen. Pardon his fucking French, but Eddie can barely even imagine what Roland would have looked like as a fourteen-year-old, never mind conceptualise the fact that Susan had known him then. He gapes at her for a moment, frowning as he turns it over in his mind, but he has to put it all aside before he can really spend any time digging into that – reedy, he has to imagine, tall and slim but well-built, straight-backed and serious – there are tears spilling over, and Eddie squeezes an arm between the bars so he can reach for her.
His hand lands a little awkwardly on her upper arm. He's wanted to get out from behind these bars ever since he was first locked up in here, but it's never felt like a keener, more desperate need. There's very little he hates more than watching someone upset and knowing there's very little or nothing he can do about it. ]
He's... old. [ Eddie doesn't want to badmouth Roland behind his back; badmouthing him to his face is fine, but not here, not now. It'd be a cowardly thing to do. But there's a difference between talking shit and warning, he thinks. ] Older than he looks. And sometimes I hate him. But only sometimes.
[ There's a lot more he'd say if he had the luxury. Maybe he'll tell her later. ] He did talk about you. I mean, not really. He said your name, back when I first met him. We were both sick, I don't think either of us was really awake. I thought I was gonna fuckin' die right there on the beach and I think he was thinking the same goddamn thing, but he was mumbling to himself a lot. I don't remember a lot of what he said but I remember your name.
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[ Fourteen. Pardon his fucking French, but Eddie can barely even imagine what Roland would have looked like as a fourteen-year-old, never mind conceptualise the fact that Susan had known him then. He gapes at her for a moment, frowning as he turns it over in his mind, but he has to put it all aside before he can really spend any time digging into that – reedy, he has to imagine, tall and slim but well-built, straight-backed and serious – there are tears spilling over, and Eddie squeezes an arm between the bars so he can reach for her.
His hand lands a little awkwardly on her upper arm. He's wanted to get out from behind these bars ever since he was first locked up in here, but it's never felt like a keener, more desperate need. There's very little he hates more than watching someone upset and knowing there's very little or nothing he can do about it. ]
He's... old. [ Eddie doesn't want to badmouth Roland behind his back; badmouthing him to his face is fine, but not here, not now. It'd be a cowardly thing to do. But there's a difference between talking shit and warning, he thinks. ] Older than he looks. And sometimes I hate him. But only sometimes.
[ There's a lot more he'd say if he had the luxury. Maybe he'll tell her later. ] He did talk about you. I mean, not really. He said your name, back when I first met him. We were both sick, I don't think either of us was really awake. I thought I was gonna fuckin' die right there on the beach and I think he was thinking the same goddamn thing, but he was mumbling to himself a lot. I don't remember a lot of what he said but I remember your name.