A book. That's better. He knows Reid wouldn't be a part of that, which is another layer to why he's trusting him now, but it still helps to hear the words. This can be safe, the same way group at the VA is. He can spill out his heart right here on this table, and no one has to know.
He's just never been very good at it. The sharing, the trusting. Talking about himself is like an exercise in torture and he only does it once a week, and only in theory really since he has to change the details in order to keep his anonymity. Frank swallows, leaning further back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest. His body language keeps changing up, from open to completely closed off, like he can't decide whether to go on the offense or defense here. Like he can't fully decide which side of the table he wants to be on.
His eyes focus on Reid's hand, the repetitive motion. People in his line of work were predicated to that sort of behavior, he thinks. He's not the analyst here, but it reminds him of Micro all the same. Nervous and too damn smart for his own good. "The beginning," he repeats, and it gets a gritty smile. He's not even sure what the beginning is, anymore. "You want to hear about my childhood, doc? That I was never good at making friends, fitting in. Always rearing for a fight. Because you'd be right. I like to fulfill a stereotype every now and then just like the next asshole."
no subject
He's just never been very good at it. The sharing, the trusting. Talking about himself is like an exercise in torture and he only does it once a week, and only in theory really since he has to change the details in order to keep his anonymity. Frank swallows, leaning further back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest. His body language keeps changing up, from open to completely closed off, like he can't decide whether to go on the offense or defense here. Like he can't fully decide which side of the table he wants to be on.
His eyes focus on Reid's hand, the repetitive motion. People in his line of work were predicated to that sort of behavior, he thinks. He's not the analyst here, but it reminds him of Micro all the same. Nervous and too damn smart for his own good. "The beginning," he repeats, and it gets a gritty smile. He's not even sure what the beginning is, anymore. "You want to hear about my childhood, doc? That I was never good at making friends, fitting in. Always rearing for a fight. Because you'd be right. I like to fulfill a stereotype every now and then just like the next asshole."