R isn't sure what to expect when he answers the door; he isn't, at any rate, expecting Greta, and his stomach twists in guilt as he realizes how long it must be since he's told her anything.
It's hard to measure time. Sometimes it feels as though it hasn't been long enough to know anything, that maybe, around the bend, is some respite; sometimes it feels like it's been years instead of two weeks. It doesn't help that sleeping is a vague, elusive thing in this place that has memories pressed into every surface. Either way, he swings between hating himself and feeling utterly justified in his reactions, indignant even.
With Greta greeting him tersely but not entirely unkindly, it feels easier to loathe.
"Greta," he says, and ruffles his hair, considering that he might be about to be fired along with whatever gift she might have. "Yes, I -- please, come in." He steps back out of the way. "It's a little bit of a mess. Everything is, I guess," he adds wryly.
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It's hard to measure time. Sometimes it feels as though it hasn't been long enough to know anything, that maybe, around the bend, is some respite; sometimes it feels like it's been years instead of two weeks. It doesn't help that sleeping is a vague, elusive thing in this place that has memories pressed into every surface. Either way, he swings between hating himself and feeling utterly justified in his reactions, indignant even.
With Greta greeting him tersely but not entirely unkindly, it feels easier to loathe.
"Greta," he says, and ruffles his hair, considering that he might be about to be fired along with whatever gift she might have. "Yes, I -- please, come in." He steps back out of the way. "It's a little bit of a mess. Everything is, I guess," he adds wryly.