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Summary
This isn’t fair, Stanley wanted to argue, to ask what was so wrong with what he said, to understand why it seemed he could never say the right thing, that he could never please Xeno enough. Still, nothing else left his mouth. His eyes abandoned Xeno’s resentful expression, landing on his wounded leg instead. Xeno never spared any efforts to ensure Stanley was well aware about how inadequate he acted, how bothersome the circumstances he caused were and how much he despised that Stanley ruined whatever they had previously.
He never asked to lay in a bed with a useless body, a useless brain and haunted by the ghost of the man he had once been. The man Xeno mourned openly, in his presence, as if he was nothing but an impostor that had taken his body without permission.
It wasn’t fair.