A heavy silence fell in the room when JJ finally finished talking. I sat immersed in the happenings of the past. It was hard to imagine the shrieking harpy I've met as a kind, normal, human woman—but this story let me.
JJ's chin was propped on his intertwined fingers. His shoulders leaned heavily towards the floor. His entire posture telegraphed how hard it was for him to tell this tale, and I remembered again about the emotional traces I felt in his coffin.
I could understand now why he was so tight-lipped about this before. I'm pretty sure that if he could, JJ would be glad to never talk about this all again. Not in this millennium, at least. I knew that forgetting won't ever be an option for me, but I could forgive him.
At least JJ himself knew, too, that he fucked up royally on all accounts possible.
