"Hey Jin, aren't you going to get changed? You've been wearing the same thing for at least two days; a month."
"No"
Jin forked and forced more food down his throat. It sank like lead, a sense of bliss or 'catching up' followed. Did cars feel that way when fuel was poured into the tank?
"Why?" Paige asked, elbows on the counter, resting her face in her hands.
It was the innocent look he missed.
"Um I don't know about you but I'd like to find out why someone threw a car at us."
"Who did what?" Paige asked sitting up straight.
Jin sighed, immediately defeated, like remembering he'd lost a limb. It was worse than talking to a wall. At least there was a mutual understanding between a person and a wall.
"Never mind, look I've got more important stuff to do than to worry about my clothes, anyway I'm not going back to school. Not yet. I hope you understand. You should go though, but only if you see Drake, otherwise don't go. I'll meet you there. I'll be fine. After all, it's not as if I'm failing."
Thankfully the old, ignorant, yet unblissful, Paige nodded. They finished and walked. Not a word spoken when Paige suddenly sped up to keep pace. He slowed. They were side by side, but it wasn't what he was used to. There was only silence, no rhythm or flow. The distance cemented. Paige let them out and they passed the squinty eyed doorman who glared with blatant loathing.
Without a word, they parted.
Guilt hit, but he had things to do. The old man had been wearing a uniform, there had to be meaning to it. An organization, people with answers. There was a lot unexplained and he had to try find something. Somewhere there was a rock big enough to turn. If the answer was in the city, then he'd be damned if he didn't find it. A list of names ran through his mind, people he knew, people whose fate had crossed his. It was all so much, in so little time… he was exhausted just thinking about it.
But at the same time an image of yesterday formed: There was a little blood between Paige's teeth, she'd not rinsed enough, there were a couple more specks of fresh blood on her shirt, faded layers of dirt all across her back, what likely had remained after she beat her shirt until the pale white skin of her hands bruised, even her arms and wrists had bruises, the scuffmarks of other people's shoes on once pristine white socks.