[Lisbeth isn't the best at reading body language unless her survival required her to do so. She feels something strange about him, but she chalks it up to their last conversation. It's silent between them. Normally, Lisbeth enjoys silence, but this feels heavy. The proverbial elephant in the room is sitting right on her chest.
She shifts her weight from one foot to the next. Lisbeth is not really good at this, but she speaks first.]
I'm.. I shouldn't... [She takes a short breath.] No one fucking tells me what to do and that's the last time I'm letting you.
Staying away from you had nothing to do with the thing with Sonya or anything else. It had to do with a conversation we have constantly about how I can get hurt being around you, but fuck it.
[Lisbeth pauses.]
I say fuck it. I'm sticking around and whatever you attract that has made you believe that you are bad for me - if it's karma or whatever - better get used to me being here for a long fucking time.
[These are words that she's repeated to herself over and over, not knowing if she'd ever get to say them. But she has and her chest feels lighter.]
I love you and fuck the world if it doesn't like that.
[It's everything he wants to hear right now. He wants so much to take it at face value, to accept her love without question and to do what he should have done a long time ago and simply give himself up to it, embrace it wholeheartedly and let go of every doubt and insecurity that's stood in his way.
But he can't.
This isn't love talking. She didn't come to this all on her own, out of passion or desire or whatever makes people get over their inhibitions and go after something they really want despite all the risks and the danger. He knows exactly what prompted this. And it wouldn't be right, accepting something like this given out of guilt.]
[Lisbeth doesn't realize she's holding her breath until his response is the one she wasn't expecting. She releases, feeling physically deflated as well as emotionally. That's not the usual response to these things. Where was the elation? The happiness? The feeling that everything was going to be okay? Lisbeth's eyes dart around with her confusion.]
So somehow my guilt influences my perception of what I feel for you? Yeah, I'll admit that I laid in bed for almost a month because the only thing I could think about was what went through your head when it happened. That I compared myself to every motherfucker that probably left you out to dry almost every day.
But it's not like the moment I told you I had to think about your request, I washed my hands of you.
[She's still mad over the fact that at a moment where she wears her heart on her sleeve, it's not received as one would expect it to be. So mad that her lips are pursed and her hands are suddenly in her pockets as she looks away and to the ground.
But when he puts it into perspective, she repeats it to herself in her head. It shouldn't. Most people wouldn't go running back to an addict who overdosed. Most people came running back when they were clean. It should be something admirable, not deplorable.
Lisbeth runs her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip.]
[She has every right to be angry. Anger's probably the healthiest response to have. Jesse takes a breath and raises his chin, resisting the urge to look away from her.]
What happens now is what I called you for: I tell you how sorry I am.
Lisbeth, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. For what I did, for the past month, for the past year. And I'm not telling you this so you'll forgive me, or so you'll love me, or so you'll tell me it's okay. I'm just saying it for you. I know that I hurt you. I know I'm hurting you right now. I can't even promise I'll ever stop hurting you, and I'm sorry for that, too.
You don't owe me anything - least of all, what you're trying to give me. You're right, I can't tell you what to do. I can't tell you to stop loving me, but I can tell you I haven't earned it. I don't deserve it, just like you don't deserve the shit I been throwing at you since the day I met you.
I wanna stop being the mess you feel like you gotta clean up. I wanna deserve your love. I wanna be the kinda man you wanna be with because I'm good for you, not 'cause you're scared of what'll happen to me without you.
I'm sorry for what I done and I am begging for the chance to make it right. Let me prove myself. Then decide if I'm really the person you want.
[Lisbeth's kneejerk reaction is to say that he has nothing to be sorry for, but some little voice inside tells her to shut up. Everything he says is true, as much as it hurts her to admit it. Lisbeth felt the need to pick him up, dust him off, and keep him going. She even felt that if she didn't keep an eye on him, he would get himself killed.
Barring what happened last month, of course.
It's been a co-dependent relationship, mostly on her part. The need to control because that's what she understood as being loving. The control wasn't anything malicious - she didn't alienate him, she didn't hit him. Lisbeth doesn't care much when it comes to people, but she cared too much when it came to him.
He's also apologizing for hurting her and no one has ever done that. Even if whatever he's done doesn't compare in the slightest to what other men have done to her, it's still an apology.
[Jesse brings his hands together, almost as if in prayer, and bows his head. The next words are breathed with a sigh of relief:]
Thank you.
[He steps forward and reaches out, not to embrace her (though he wants to, very badly) but to gently cup her face and brush his palms over her cheeks.]
[As prickly as she may be most of the time and at that moment, her shoulders visibly relax when Jesse touches her face. She covers one of his hands with her own.]
It doesn't get any warmer than four degrees Celcius, I actually have to do manual labor to heat the house, and the coffee tastes like shit.
[She turns her head slightly to smile gently into his hand.]
[Jesse lets out a laugh. Not a derisive or scoffing laugh, but softer, like there's deeply comforting about what she just said. Because if those are the worst of her problems, then everything's alright here.]
[He laughs again. And god, it feels good. He hopes he doesn't wake up from this, doesn't blink and find himself in the meth lab again or down in his cell.]
[Lisbeth laughs again. It's good to hear him laugh, to hear his laugh. The house has been quiet ever since they moved in. Anne and Max talk most of the time, Lisbeth just listens. She'd participate if she had a thought on the subject, but that was rare.
Her ears turn red at his suggestion.]
I only like large crowds if there's loud music and alcohol.
[She's really not used to being called cute. Cute to her meant fragility, non-threatening and she tried her hardest to seem opposite of all those things. But his compliment only further fuels her embarrassment and her blush only gets worse.]
You know you're the only person who can get away with calling me that.
[He shouldn't. She's feeling vulnerable and guilty and he shouldn't take advantage of that. Before he died, she was revolted by him. Sooner or later, it'll come back to her and she'll remember what people said about him and what it means and she'll hate him even more.
But he also can't resist an invitation to warmth and affection. After everything... God, it means so much just to be touched with gentleness. He eases closer, his smile fading into a soft sort of melancholy. He has a lot to say, but he doesn't want to start. It's written on him, though, with a look like that in his eyes.]
[Her smile is somewhat opposite of his, but she could feel something different. Lisbeth is unused to the look in his eye - as much as she's been through, she's never shared it with anyone because she's never felt that burden on her chest. That doesn't mean she doesn't actively avoid talking about those years, but from what she knows about his home, she proceeds cautiously.]
I'm not really good at reading people, but I've heard what home was like for you so if you want to tell me about whatever happened this time, you can when you feel comfortable.
There's some things I don't talk about from my home so I'd understand.
[Nor is he kidding himself about a time when any of this will feel comfortable. If anything, it'll only get harder to talk about the longer he waits. The more it fades into the background as part of some other life, only to jump up every now and then and grab hold of him unexpectedly, send him reeling. No, he should talk about it now. Then she won't be taken by surprise when he loses his mind later.]
It was all... so much worse than I ever expected.
Did you even think that'd be possible? Everybody here always acted like he wasn't... Like he wasn't anything. Like he was somebody you could just take out, get rid of, no problem.
[Lisbeth listens carefully. She's been one of the lucky ones - she's never gone home once while she was staying in either Siren's or Exsilium except for that brief moment when one world ended. Even then, she's pretty sure she relived that same year over again.
[Jesse nods. He's sure he doesn't know everything about her father, but from what she's let slip, he bets she knows exactly what he means.
God help him if he ever finds out her father put her through what Walter White put him through. He shudders, unwittingly leaning closer to her as if being in her orbit will steady his gravity somehow.]
He was gonna execute me. Straight-up, on my knees, bullet to the head.
But he changed his mind. Gave me to his gang to torture me instead. They locked me up in a cell and now I'm their slave, I guess. 'til they decide to finish me.
[Lisbeth noticeably grips Jesse's elbows tightly as he describes what's happened to him at home. It resonates deeply with her - too deeply. She wants nothing more than to jump on a transport pad to Albuquerque, find the bastard, and stab him repeatedly in the face.
Everyone would do well without him: Skyler, Mike, Saul, and Jesse. Especially Jesse.
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She shifts her weight from one foot to the next. Lisbeth is not really good at this, but she speaks first.]
I'm.. I shouldn't... [She takes a short breath.] No one fucking tells me what to do and that's the last time I'm letting you.
[Oh shit, did that sound right?]
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Okay.
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Staying away from you had nothing to do with the thing with Sonya or anything else. It had to do with a conversation we have constantly about how I can get hurt being around you, but fuck it.
[Lisbeth pauses.]
I say fuck it. I'm sticking around and whatever you attract that has made you believe that you are bad for me - if it's karma or whatever - better get used to me being here for a long fucking time.
[These are words that she's repeated to herself over and over, not knowing if she'd ever get to say them. But she has and her chest feels lighter.]
I love you and fuck the world if it doesn't like that.
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But he can't.
This isn't love talking. She didn't come to this all on her own, out of passion or desire or whatever makes people get over their inhibitions and go after something they really want despite all the risks and the danger. He knows exactly what prompted this. And it wouldn't be right, accepting something like this given out of guilt.]
Lisbeth... It's not your fault I killed myself.
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So somehow my guilt influences my perception of what I feel for you? Yeah, I'll admit that I laid in bed for almost a month because the only thing I could think about was what went through your head when it happened. That I compared myself to every motherfucker that probably left you out to dry almost every day.
But it's not like the moment I told you I had to think about your request, I washed my hands of you.
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But you weren't sure before. And you're sure now. And the only thing that's happened between now and then is I made one more big goddamn mistake.
Me shooting myself full of heroin shouldn't be the thing that convinces you that you wanna be with me. I can't let it be.
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But when he puts it into perspective, she repeats it to herself in her head. It shouldn't. Most people wouldn't go running back to an addict who overdosed. Most people came running back when they were clean. It should be something admirable, not deplorable.
Lisbeth runs her tongue along the inside of her bottom lip.]
What happens now?
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What happens now is what I called you for: I tell you how sorry I am.
Lisbeth, I'm so sorry. I'm so fucking sorry. For what I did, for the past month, for the past year. And I'm not telling you this so you'll forgive me, or so you'll love me, or so you'll tell me it's okay. I'm just saying it for you. I know that I hurt you. I know I'm hurting you right now. I can't even promise I'll ever stop hurting you, and I'm sorry for that, too.
You don't owe me anything - least of all, what you're trying to give me. You're right, I can't tell you what to do. I can't tell you to stop loving me, but I can tell you I haven't earned it. I don't deserve it, just like you don't deserve the shit I been throwing at you since the day I met you.
I wanna stop being the mess you feel like you gotta clean up. I wanna deserve your love. I wanna be the kinda man you wanna be with because I'm good for you, not 'cause you're scared of what'll happen to me without you.
I'm sorry for what I done and I am begging for the chance to make it right. Let me prove myself. Then decide if I'm really the person you want.
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Barring what happened last month, of course.
It's been a co-dependent relationship, mostly on her part. The need to control because that's what she understood as being loving. The control wasn't anything malicious - she didn't alienate him, she didn't hit him. Lisbeth doesn't care much when it comes to people, but she cared too much when it came to him.
He's also apologizing for hurting her and no one has ever done that. Even if whatever he's done doesn't compare in the slightest to what other men have done to her, it's still an apology.
Lisbeth looks up at him and then nods.]
Okay. Then let's start over.
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Thank you.
[He steps forward and reaches out, not to embrace her (though he wants to, very badly) but to gently cup her face and brush his palms over her cheeks.]
Are you okay?
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It doesn't get any warmer than four degrees Celcius, I actually have to do manual labor to heat the house, and the coffee tastes like shit.
[She turns her head slightly to smile gently into his hand.]
I'm doing horribly.
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I thought Swedish people liked the cold.
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This winter wonderland is a little excessive, but my grayscale wardrobe doesn't look out place. That's a silver lining.
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Did you just make a pun on purpose or by accident?
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[She quickly thinks back on what she said.]
Oh fuck me.
[She laughs, embarrassed, and uses his hands to cover her face.]
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You oughta become a comedian.
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Her ears turn red at his suggestion.]
I only like large crowds if there's loud music and alcohol.
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[His hands slip back down, thumbs tracing her cheeks.]
You're cute when you blush.
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You know you're the only person who can get away with calling me that.
[Her hands slide down the length of his forearm.]
You can move closer if you want.
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But he also can't resist an invitation to warmth and affection. After everything... God, it means so much just to be touched with gentleness. He eases closer, his smile fading into a soft sort of melancholy. He has a lot to say, but he doesn't want to start. It's written on him, though, with a look like that in his eyes.]
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I'm not really good at reading people, but I've heard what home was like for you so if you want to tell me about whatever happened this time, you can when you feel comfortable.
There's some things I don't talk about from my home so I'd understand.
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[Nor is he kidding himself about a time when any of this will feel comfortable. If anything, it'll only get harder to talk about the longer he waits. The more it fades into the background as part of some other life, only to jump up every now and then and grab hold of him unexpectedly, send him reeling. No, he should talk about it now. Then she won't be taken by surprise when he loses his mind later.]
It was all... so much worse than I ever expected.
Did you even think that'd be possible? Everybody here always acted like he wasn't... Like he wasn't anything. Like he was somebody you could just take out, get rid of, no problem.
But he's so -
[Jesse's voice catches and he swallows.]
He's so evil.
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Still...]
So evil that he's somehow immortal. Invincible.
[She chews on the inside of her bottom lip.]
My father's like that.
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God help him if he ever finds out her father put her through what Walter White put him through. He shudders, unwittingly leaning closer to her as if being in her orbit will steady his gravity somehow.]
He was gonna execute me. Straight-up, on my knees, bullet to the head.
But he changed his mind. Gave me to his gang to torture me instead. They locked me up in a cell and now I'm their slave, I guess. 'til they decide to finish me.
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Everyone would do well without him: Skyler, Mike, Saul, and Jesse. Especially Jesse.
She eases her grip.]
Torture's worse.
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