Private SL: I am free and that is why I am lost
Loker was sitting at the kitchen counter, a six pack of what he knew to be Cal's favorite beer sitting untouched as he waited. Emily had let him in, and they'd talked briefly -- that new song, small, meaningless things, until she'd left with a friend, left him there to wait for Cal. Even she had seemed to notice that something was wrong, giving him a concerned look as she grabbed her coat and headed out the door.
Loker was still in the suit he'd worn to the funeral. It wasn't the sort of suit he wore when they were meeting clients, it was nothing he'd admit to owning. It was expensive, hand-tailored, with classic lines, expensive fabric. His tie was loose, the collar and cuffs undone, and there was something to how he wore it that said defiance and not a long day.
He was still waiting for it. That fairytale moment where he realized that despite their troubled relationship he'd been lucky to have him, that he'd never wanted him to die, that his father had tried his best. He didn't think death was the cathartic resolution the movie made it out to be. His father was dead, and Eli still hated him.
He picked at his cuffs, hanging his head. He should feel bad, but he couldn't.
Loker was still in the suit he'd worn to the funeral. It wasn't the sort of suit he wore when they were meeting clients, it was nothing he'd admit to owning. It was expensive, hand-tailored, with classic lines, expensive fabric. His tie was loose, the collar and cuffs undone, and there was something to how he wore it that said defiance and not a long day.
He was still waiting for it. That fairytale moment where he realized that despite their troubled relationship he'd been lucky to have him, that he'd never wanted him to die, that his father had tried his best. He didn't think death was the cathartic resolution the movie made it out to be. His father was dead, and Eli still hated him.
He picked at his cuffs, hanging his head. He should feel bad, but he couldn't.