'Of course I don't soddin' remember. That's not me. That's...him.'
He can't explain it better than that. Especially not when she's laying out the gory details of what that shotgun did to him, all the stuff he's been trying not to think about. He shuts his eyes, and shakes his head.
'You think I'm real, Alex? One minute I'm a skinny, twenty-two year old, the next I wake up an' I look like this. He's back there, in the ground, and he's probably more real than I am.'
He grabs her hands away from his face, and slaps one down on his chest. His heart is thudding. Of course it is.
'It might be beatin', but it's not real. None of it is real. It doesn't matter what he wanted.'
Keats told everyone he was a fake, and he was right. Maybe his previous self was telling her the same thing, but it doesn't feel like it came from him, so he can't relate to it. That ghost doesn't feel part of him. It just looks how he used to look, before someone blew his head off.
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He can't explain it better than that. Especially not when she's laying out the gory details of what that shotgun did to him, all the stuff he's been trying not to think about. He shuts his eyes, and shakes his head.
'You think I'm real, Alex? One minute I'm a skinny, twenty-two year old, the next I wake up an' I look like this. He's back there, in the ground, and he's probably more real than I am.'
He grabs her hands away from his face, and slaps one down on his chest. His heart is thudding. Of course it is.
'It might be beatin', but it's not real. None of it is real. It doesn't matter what he wanted.'
Keats told everyone he was a fake, and he was right. Maybe his previous self was telling her the same thing, but it doesn't feel like it came from him, so he can't relate to it. That ghost doesn't feel part of him. It just looks how he used to look, before someone blew his head off.