How could I possibly forget? ( that particular infomercial seemed to run almost every night and her insomnia might not be as strong as his, but even she had seen it enough times to have the entire thing committed to memory. ) That lady was the entire reason I had to start hiding the credit card. ( not that she was ever super responsible with it herself, but that's what your 20s are for, right? being a giant fuckup, getting yourself in debt, digging your way out? things always seemed to balance in the end, and even if it didn't, they were together and fuck the rest. ) Or did you forget about the time you got high and decided we needed a Magic Bullet for every room?
( maybe this won't be so bad. if they just keep the conversation light, pointless and stupid, then maybe when she inevitably has to hang up, it won't feel so much like the air is being squeezed out of her lungs saying goodbye to him. it's a long shot, but maybe they'll be the ones to figure this friend thing out. what a freaking miracle that would be. ) I guess so, yeah.
( exhaling softly, she rests her head against the arm of the couch. the same position she used to take up during movie marathons with him except, strange as it might seem, his shoulder was infinitely more comfortable than the overstuffed arm of this not yet broken in couch. ) I'm just not really tired. I don't think I ever really adjusted to the morning shifts.
( it's not completely false, but it still sounds so incredibly pathetic it's all she can do not physically cringe. anything is better than admitting she she just needed to hear his voice. )
( the memory brings forth a huff of laughter and he remarks, ) Could never forget. Don't remember what the fuck I thought we'd do with a Magic Bullet in the bathroom, though. Oh well.
( there it is again, the "w" word. we. definitely a word that has different connotations now than he'd like. and he nearly opens his mouth to say something about it, interrupt this cordial little chat of theirs to say that they should cut the bullshit and be real with one another for five seconds. stop dancing around the fact that he still loves her, still wants her back, and he's certain that heather knows it.
he doesn't exactly hide it very well, in his longing glances when he sees her, baby carrier in tow, making her way up the walkway to the front door. aches to his very bones to reach out and touch her, just for a second, accidentally-on-purpose lets his fingers brush against hers when she hands off the carrier to him. watches her turn away and leave, a little bit of him dying inside every single fucking time she goes.
will bites his tongue. as much as he can, anyways. ) Yeah, I can imagine...
I mean, if you pull a complete and utter me and don't sleep at all, you can always just ... take the day off? I'm sure they'd survive a single shift without you. Don't wear yourself out completely, babe.
( will immediately feels the weight of what he's said, having slipped too easily into a conversation they could've had months ago, back when things were still good and things were still right. he covers his eyes, vaguely mortified and a little concerned that he's effectively ended the conversation, drags his hand down his face in frustration. fuck. )
( for all that she does her best not to acknowledge the fact, heather knows, or at least has an idea, that will isn't quite as done with the relationship as she pretends to be. sees the hopeful way he looks at her, only when he thinks she won't notice in the beginning and then constantly, or the way his face falls when, after a few minutes of strained conversation at the end of the day (and god, when did they become people who make small talk?) she announces that she and the baby really ought to get home. practically chokes on that word for the first few months after moving out because nothing as ever felt as much like home as this crummy little house. which, she's well aware, had far more to do with the guy inhabiting said house than the building itself.
but then, vehement denial aside, her own lingering feelings are no more subtle. there are days, rare though they might be, when she actually forgoes her mother as babysitter. says that will and simba need more time together, the father-son bond and all that, when she really just wants to see the way his eyes light up when he opens the door in the morning, all sleepy and disheveled. times when, instead of pulling away like she knows she ought to, her fingers curl briefly around his just to remember what it feels like. days when the urge to pull him closer, slip her arms around his waist and bury her face in his chest or pull him down for a fevered kiss, is so overwhelming she has to turn away. can't allow herself to look at him, in protection of of her already fragile self-control. )
Will. ( barely a sign, it's a small miracle if the word makes it all the way through the phone line, but her throat is too tight to attempt anything more. amazing how, in just a few months, that stupid little title could go from something she reveled in to making her heard drop out of her chest. debating briefly on simply hanging up, letting that be the end of it but that seems so petty, childish.
if nothing else, he deserves more than that. ) We can't. ( and there's that we word again, though likely not how he wanted to hear it. ) You know that. ( her voice is smaller now than he's probably ever heard it, strained as she attempts to compose herself. to fight off the tears she can already feel burning at her eyes because no, she will not allow herself to cry over him. not again. she can't. )
( she's opened a can of worms -- or, in will's case, a heaping can of fuck it. )
Can't what? ( he dares question, trying to keep his voice as even-keeled as he possibly can. getting mad, upset, even showing a hint of emotion in his voice, won't do anything except push her further away. it isn't difficult to hear how quiet she's gotten, almost deafening through the tiny speaker of his phone. shit -- he doesn't want to make her upset, but -- fuck it, maybe he's upset, too. )
I can't just go from something to fucking nothing, Heather.
( it's been months -- months -- since she left. he's lost track of how long she's been dating this other guy, let alone living with him. meanwhile, he can hardly even bring himself to talk to another girl (or ... much of anyone, really) without thinking about heather and how fucking hollow he feels without her at his side. how can she be so -- okay without him, after everything they had together?
it doesn't seem plausible. and yeah, he's met her gaze a few times, felt compelled by the same forces of nature that brought them together so fervently in the first place to abandon his conscience and kiss her hard against the doorframe, and felt like she just might let him. but her walls immediately come back up and will immediately backs off. will hates it, almost to the point where he wishes that she'd cut ties completely, leave him to mourn over her empty spot on the couch. but that... well, he thinks he'd be physically incapable of handling it.
so he'll revel in those moments, where she lets her guard down and lets herself just look at him for a few fleeting seconds. they're the only little grains of hope he has left, and he's planning on holding onto them for absolute dear life, keeping him afloat and ready to fight for her. ) You can't just call me in the middle of the night and act like things are normal and expect me to not --
( but the sentence dies in his throat, brow furrowed as he fights back the rest. she can't expect him to not what? care? this shit isn't an on and off switch. if it were, well. things would be a lot simpler between them. )
(i can't just go from something to fucking nothing. there's absolutely nothing funny about this moment, about that statement, and still she has to physically bite her tongue to to hold back a harsh laugh. ends up huffing quietly into the phone, scrubbing a hand over her face and narrowly resisting the urge to scream into the receiver. wake up kyle and simba and the entire goddamn building because of course will doesn't see, doesn't understand the entire issue. only sees the part that most directly affects him.
and why shouldn't he? it isn't like he had been there for the months of silence passed on the couch. her fingers seeking out his only to be left empty and cold. calling his name endlessly while he stared off into space, until she had to shake his shoulder to finally get his attention only for him to jerk out of her reach. no, after johnny and tunny left and the reality of the situation finally sank in, will checked himself out entirely, leaving heather with an empty shell of the man she loved. one, she had truly believed, who wouldn't even notice when she finally decided that enough was enough. )
You're right. Nothing about this is normal, and we can't pretend like it is. ( a drawn out silence follows, punctuated only by a heavy sigh. getting to hear his voice, to talk to him in a way she hasn't allowed herself since walking out, was supposed to make her feel better. soothe that hollow feeling in her chest that she hasn't been able to get rid of. ) I thought maybe we could just talk, (like we used to. she swallows hard before continuing, voice thick and god wouldn't her life be so much easier, happier, if she could just give up? ) But I guess not. ( wrong once again. it seems to be a recurring problem lately. ) I'm sorry I bothered you.
Heather, stop-- ( he immediately interjects, desperate to jump in before she does what he fears she might: hang up on him. the thought of that is pretty unbearable, immediately stings him before it even happens, makes him ball up his fist into the worn fabric of his blanket.
maybe he's overreacting. maybe they're both overreacting. will's felt like he's taken steps since she left, once the actual reality of it set in. got his ass off the couch for the first time in a long time. reconnected with heather. finally, at long last, made an effort to have some kind of relationship with, take some responsibility for, their child. it's frustrated him that she hasn't really acknowledged his efforts, truthfully. yeah, she lets him watch simba, but it feels like it's just out of necessity sometimes.
maybe, though... maybe he's not acknowledging the steps that she's taken to ensure that the two of them aren't irreparably splintered. the thought is kind of unsettling, the idea of him being so oblivious (though, after his months-long spiral into a haze of altogether numbness, it probably shouldn't), but it kind of makes him hopeful, too. maybe this call was just another step for heather. )
You didn't bother me. I just -- fucked up. Please don't go. ( will's backed down considerably, sounds desperate as hell and somehow doesn't give a fuck. again, he repeats, smaller still: ) Please.
( the words have only just left her mouth and already the phone is away from her ear by the time he calls out, finger hovering over the "end call" button. remains frozen there longer than it probably should. this phone call, the one she had hoped might re-build (or at least haphazardly mend) the bridges burnt between them only seems to have kindled that flame once again. hanging up won't take back anything that's been said (or unsaid) between them the last few months, but it can at least prevent the devastation from spreading.
but will, he's always been the weak link in her otherwise perfect armor, so she listens in silence. squeezes her eyes shut when tears start to burn there at his hushed plea.
none of this; leaving that night, calling him now, none of it was ever about hurting will. if anything, knowing that pain was an inevitability had allowed her to put things off for longer than she might have otherwise. he was already so shattered after johnny and tunny left, breaking him further seemed cruel. no, it was never about hurting him, it was about saving herself. taking this child, that she still had no idea how to take care of and still somehow loved more than life, and figuring out how to give him the life he deserved. which, in no way, included watching will drink and smoke his life away on the couch.
at a certain point, and with no real way of knowing how long she's been sitting here in the stillness of the living room, unspeaking, simply listening to him breathe on the other end of the phone, she lets out a shuddering breath. maybe her reaction to a harmless nickname was a bit exaggerated, but she and will are a slippery slope. a fact she knows all too well. no, putting her foot down was good. no matter how awful she feels now. )
That's what I want too. ( a small concession, all things considered. there are a lot of things she wants. this may just be one on a long list, but it's pretty goddamn close to the top. ) Things are really...god, things are really messed up, I know that. (this is why night time is the hardest. during the day, it's easier to smile and tell people that she's fine. to act like she has her life together even though most days it's all she can do to function. might not be able to at all if it weren't for the baby. but the truth is that she's still a mess (just a functioning one), doesn't tell anybody about the days she leaves work to go home and finds herself parked in front of that cramped little home they used to share. muscle memory leading her here before her brain can kick in to stop it. )
We can't just go back to the way things used to be and pretend like everything's normal. I know that. ( the longer she talks the more strained her voice becomes, until it's almost painfully obvious, at least to herself, that she's struggling. with the conversation, maintaining any small semblance of composure. just struggling. ) I just wanted to talk to you. ( a short pause, a pained little laugh. )Want to talk to you. Present tense.
his eyes sting and will squeezes them shut, staves off any strong emotions that threaten to swell up and overtake him, swallows the lump in his throat and exhales deeply into the receiver. he can't afford to not get his shit together, already tiptoeing that thin line of what's okay and what isn't with heather like it's some damn sobriety test. will's balance has never been anything less than shitty.
heather's voice is so sad, so clear over the phone that he nearly breaks. instead, he just holds that bundle of blankets closer to his chest, squeezes it tightly with knees curling inwards as though his life depends on it. allows her words to settle over him. it's all but impossible to think of what he can -- what he should say to her.
and still, it's hard not to linger on the whats and the whys of this conversation to begin with. after a drawn out silence, will finally manages: ) I know it's been rough but things are--
Things are okay, right? You're okay there?
( she's never really shown any indication, at least to his oblivious ass, of anything wrong between her and her new boyfriend. after all, he isn't sure if she would move in with the guy otherwise. will would rather drown guzzling a bottle of jack daniels and die instantaneously before giving the allegedly happy couple his blessing, but ...
at the end of the day, heather -- her wellbeing, her happiness -- means more to him than the heart-shattering pain it causes him. )
Yeah, of course. ( the response comes a bit too fast, as if trying to defend herself against an accusation that just isn't there. this new relationship is still very much in the fledgling stage, and she's all too aware how it must look to others. especially to will. dating someone else was bad enough, a betrayal of sorts. moving in with him would have been a punch to the gut. most would probably call it a rebound, but it's never been her style to take things slowly.
especially not when she's in pain, trying to leave her past behind her. )
Everything's...- ( fine? too bland. great? too enthusiastic. too cruel. ) Things are good. ( this is ordinarily where she would tell him how simba almost always sleeps through the night. how he tried his first taste of baby cereal earlier tonight and didn't even spit it up. how he looks so much like will that some days just holding him, watching him sleep is enough to break her.
though she might at least leave out how, on those occasions, she has to lock herself in the bathroom before allowing herself to cry. kyle is sweet, he's kind, he he doesn't understand her lingering attachment or the fact that she might not ever (probably never) get over will. not fully, anyway. ) Still kind of adjusting, I guess.
( it's the first real indication she's ever given that maybe she's still every bit as fucking lost as he is. the only real difference being that she's at least trying to move on.
rolling onto her side, she curls into herself faintly, lets her head rest flat on the couch cushion and her eyes drift shut. tries to remember what it felt like, lying in this position so many times before. her head resting in his lap and his fingers carding idly through her hair while some cheesy old movie or stupid reality show scrolled across the screen. ) Are you? ( she finally breaks the silence. voice soft. fragile, and completely unlike heather. ) Okay, I mean.
( immediately she steels herself for the response. it isn't as if he's made any attempts to act like he's happier than he is, or more settled than he is. not living, just surviving. )
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( maybe this won't be so bad. if they just keep the conversation light, pointless and stupid, then maybe when she inevitably has to hang up, it won't feel so much like the air is being squeezed out of her lungs saying goodbye to him. it's a long shot, but maybe they'll be the ones to figure this friend thing out. what a freaking miracle that would be. ) I guess so, yeah.
( exhaling softly, she rests her head against the arm of the couch. the same position she used to take up during movie marathons with him except, strange as it might seem, his shoulder was infinitely more comfortable than the overstuffed arm of this not yet broken in couch. ) I'm just not really tired. I don't think I ever really adjusted to the morning shifts.
( it's not completely false, but it still sounds so incredibly pathetic it's all she can do not physically cringe. anything is better than admitting she she just needed to hear his voice. )
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( there it is again, the "w" word. we. definitely a word that has different connotations now than he'd like. and he nearly opens his mouth to say something about it, interrupt this cordial little chat of theirs to say that they should cut the bullshit and be real with one another for five seconds. stop dancing around the fact that he still loves her, still wants her back, and he's certain that heather knows it.
he doesn't exactly hide it very well, in his longing glances when he sees her, baby carrier in tow, making her way up the walkway to the front door. aches to his very bones to reach out and touch her, just for a second, accidentally-on-purpose lets his fingers brush against hers when she hands off the carrier to him. watches her turn away and leave, a little bit of him dying inside every single fucking time she goes.
will bites his tongue. as much as he can, anyways. ) Yeah, I can imagine...
I mean, if you pull a complete and utter me and don't sleep at all, you can always just ... take the day off? I'm sure they'd survive a single shift without you. Don't wear yourself out completely, babe.
( will immediately feels the weight of what he's said, having slipped too easily into a conversation they could've had months ago, back when things were still good and things were still right. he covers his eyes, vaguely mortified and a little concerned that he's effectively ended the conversation, drags his hand down his face in frustration. fuck. )
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but then, vehement denial aside, her own lingering feelings are no more subtle. there are days, rare though they might be, when she actually forgoes her mother as babysitter. says that will and simba need more time together, the father-son bond and all that, when she really just wants to see the way his eyes light up when he opens the door in the morning, all sleepy and disheveled. times when, instead of pulling away like she knows she ought to, her fingers curl briefly around his just to remember what it feels like. days when the urge to pull him closer, slip her arms around his waist and bury her face in his chest or pull him down for a fevered kiss, is so overwhelming she has to turn away. can't allow herself to look at him, in protection of of her already fragile self-control. )
Will. ( barely a sign, it's a small miracle if the word makes it all the way through the phone line, but her throat is too tight to attempt anything more. amazing how, in just a few months, that stupid little title could go from something she reveled in to making her heard drop out of her chest. debating briefly on simply hanging up, letting that be the end of it but that seems so petty, childish.
if nothing else, he deserves more than that. ) We can't. ( and there's that we word again, though likely not how he wanted to hear it. ) You know that. ( her voice is smaller now than he's probably ever heard it, strained as she attempts to compose herself. to fight off the tears she can already feel burning at her eyes because no, she will not allow herself to cry over him. not again. she can't. )
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Can't what? ( he dares question, trying to keep his voice as even-keeled as he possibly can. getting mad, upset, even showing a hint of emotion in his voice, won't do anything except push her further away. it isn't difficult to hear how quiet she's gotten, almost deafening through the tiny speaker of his phone. shit -- he doesn't want to make her upset, but -- fuck it, maybe he's upset, too. )
I can't just go from something to fucking nothing, Heather.
( it's been months -- months -- since she left. he's lost track of how long she's been dating this other guy, let alone living with him. meanwhile, he can hardly even bring himself to talk to another girl (or ... much of anyone, really) without thinking about heather and how fucking hollow he feels without her at his side. how can she be so -- okay without him, after everything they had together?
it doesn't seem plausible. and yeah, he's met her gaze a few times, felt compelled by the same forces of nature that brought them together so fervently in the first place to abandon his conscience and kiss her hard against the doorframe, and felt like she just might let him. but her walls immediately come back up and will immediately backs off. will hates it, almost to the point where he wishes that she'd cut ties completely, leave him to mourn over her empty spot on the couch. but that... well, he thinks he'd be physically incapable of handling it.
so he'll revel in those moments, where she lets her guard down and lets herself just look at him for a few fleeting seconds. they're the only little grains of hope he has left, and he's planning on holding onto them for absolute dear life, keeping him afloat and ready to fight for her. ) You can't just call me in the middle of the night and act like things are normal and expect me to not --
( but the sentence dies in his throat, brow furrowed as he fights back the rest. she can't expect him to not what? care? this shit isn't an on and off switch. if it were, well. things would be a lot simpler between them. )
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and why shouldn't he? it isn't like he had been there for the months of silence passed on the couch. her fingers seeking out his only to be left empty and cold. calling his name endlessly while he stared off into space, until she had to shake his shoulder to finally get his attention only for him to jerk out of her reach. no, after johnny and tunny left and the reality of the situation finally sank in, will checked himself out entirely, leaving heather with an empty shell of the man she loved. one, she had truly believed, who wouldn't even notice when she finally decided that enough was enough. )
You're right. Nothing about this is normal, and we can't pretend like it is. ( a drawn out silence follows, punctuated only by a heavy sigh. getting to hear his voice, to talk to him in a way she hasn't allowed herself since walking out, was supposed to make her feel better. soothe that hollow feeling in her chest that she hasn't been able to get rid of. ) I thought maybe we could just talk, ( like we used to. she swallows hard before continuing, voice thick and god wouldn't her life be so much easier, happier, if she could just give up? ) But I guess not. ( wrong once again. it seems to be a recurring problem lately. ) I'm sorry I bothered you.
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maybe he's overreacting. maybe they're both overreacting. will's felt like he's taken steps since she left, once the actual reality of it set in. got his ass off the couch for the first time in a long time. reconnected with heather. finally, at long last, made an effort to have some kind of relationship with, take some responsibility for, their child. it's frustrated him that she hasn't really acknowledged his efforts, truthfully. yeah, she lets him watch simba, but it feels like it's just out of necessity sometimes.
maybe, though... maybe he's not acknowledging the steps that she's taken to ensure that the two of them aren't irreparably splintered. the thought is kind of unsettling, the idea of him being so oblivious (though, after his months-long spiral into a haze of altogether numbness, it probably shouldn't), but it kind of makes him hopeful, too. maybe this call was just another step for heather. )
You didn't bother me. I just -- fucked up. Please don't go. ( will's backed down considerably, sounds desperate as hell and somehow doesn't give a fuck. again, he repeats, smaller still: ) Please.
I just want to talk to you.
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but will, he's always been the weak link in her otherwise perfect armor, so she listens in silence. squeezes her eyes shut when tears start to burn there at his hushed plea.
none of this; leaving that night, calling him now, none of it was ever about hurting will. if anything, knowing that pain was an inevitability had allowed her to put things off for longer than she might have otherwise. he was already so shattered after johnny and tunny left, breaking him further seemed cruel. no, it was never about hurting him, it was about saving herself. taking this child, that she still had no idea how to take care of and still somehow loved more than life, and figuring out how to give him the life he deserved. which, in no way, included watching will drink and smoke his life away on the couch.
at a certain point, and with no real way of knowing how long she's been sitting here in the stillness of the living room, unspeaking, simply listening to him breathe on the other end of the phone, she lets out a shuddering breath. maybe her reaction to a harmless nickname was a bit exaggerated, but she and will are a slippery slope. a fact she knows all too well. no, putting her foot down was good. no matter how awful she feels now. )
That's what I want too. ( a small concession, all things considered. there are a lot of things she wants. this may just be one on a long list, but it's pretty goddamn close to the top. ) Things are really...god, things are really messed up, I know that. ( this is why night time is the hardest. during the day, it's easier to smile and tell people that she's fine. to act like she has her life together even though most days it's all she can do to function. might not be able to at all if it weren't for the baby. but the truth is that she's still a mess (just a functioning one), doesn't tell anybody about the days she leaves work to go home and finds herself parked in front of that cramped little home they used to share. muscle memory leading her here before her brain can kick in to stop it. )
We can't just go back to the way things used to be and pretend like everything's normal. I know that. ( the longer she talks the more strained her voice becomes, until it's almost painfully obvious, at least to herself, that she's struggling. with the conversation, maintaining any small semblance of composure. just struggling. ) I just wanted to talk to you. ( a short pause, a pained little laugh. ) Want to talk to you. Present tense.
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his eyes sting and will squeezes them shut, staves off any strong emotions that threaten to swell up and overtake him, swallows the lump in his throat and exhales deeply into the receiver. he can't afford to not get his shit together, already tiptoeing that thin line of what's okay and what isn't with heather like it's some damn sobriety test. will's balance has never been anything less than shitty.
heather's voice is so sad, so clear over the phone that he nearly breaks. instead, he just holds that bundle of blankets closer to his chest, squeezes it tightly with knees curling inwards as though his life depends on it. allows her words to settle over him. it's all but impossible to think of what he can -- what he should say to her.
and still, it's hard not to linger on the whats and the whys of this conversation to begin with. after a drawn out silence, will finally manages: ) I know it's been rough but things are--
Things are okay, right? You're okay there?
( she's never really shown any indication, at least to his oblivious ass, of anything wrong between her and her new boyfriend. after all, he isn't sure if she would move in with the guy otherwise. will would rather drown guzzling a bottle of jack daniels and die instantaneously before giving the allegedly happy couple his blessing, but ...
at the end of the day, heather -- her wellbeing, her happiness -- means more to him than the heart-shattering pain it causes him. )
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especially not when she's in pain, trying to leave her past behind her. )
Everything's...- ( fine? too bland. great? too enthusiastic. too cruel. ) Things are good. ( this is ordinarily where she would tell him how simba almost always sleeps through the night. how he tried his first taste of baby cereal earlier tonight and didn't even spit it up. how he looks so much like will that some days just holding him, watching him sleep is enough to break her.
though she might at least leave out how, on those occasions, she has to lock herself in the bathroom before allowing herself to cry. kyle is sweet, he's kind, he he doesn't understand her lingering attachment or the fact that she might not ever (probably never) get over will. not fully, anyway. ) Still kind of adjusting, I guess.
( it's the first real indication she's ever given that maybe she's still every bit as fucking lost as he is. the only real difference being that she's at least trying to move on.
rolling onto her side, she curls into herself faintly, lets her head rest flat on the couch cushion and her eyes drift shut. tries to remember what it felt like, lying in this position so many times before. her head resting in his lap and his fingers carding idly through her hair while some cheesy old movie or stupid reality show scrolled across the screen. ) Are you? ( she finally breaks the silence. voice soft. fragile, and completely unlike heather. ) Okay, I mean.
( immediately she steels herself for the response. it isn't as if he's made any attempts to act like he's happier than he is, or more settled than he is. not living, just surviving. )