>>20130217You unconsciously rub your face in her spats. Nobody is in her office except for you and her, "I can't stop. There's nothing to believe in anymore. All is lost. I think I'm gonna completely lose it and go mad eventually. No one here is trustworthy except the warden ironically, everyone else is an enemy out to get me, I'm all alone otherwise, I should just sit down and kill myself now to save the trouble."
"Sixty-four years isn't fucking long you little dyke. You'll only be around eighty when you get out."
"EIGHTY. EIGHTY. Eighty. Everytime I hear that word I just wanna lay down and die."
"Anyone ever tell you you talk too much, kid?"
"Can we do this every day from now on? I just lie here and talk, while making no advancements at all towards your glory orifices. I'm just so lonely right now, I need companionship or I'll go crazy and die of scoliosis."
She starts running her hands through your hair to relieve some stress, ruffling it up and shit, but she definitely doesn't look like she's having fun with it. It's almost the kind of face a big sister makes when she has to deal with her shitty siblings, that deadpan look that just screams 'take this kid away I don't want to deal with this I NEVER ASKED FOR THIS.'.
"It'll be alright," she forces herself to say, "It's just prison. Get a grip."
"I can't. I'm too sad."
"Repeat after me: Who's going to get a grip?"
"Who's going to get a grip?"
"I am."
"*I* am."
"'K, that's good. Feel better yet?"
A) "I wanna die."
B) "I REALLY wanna die."
