he felt bile rise to his throat as he looked at the broken expression on his friend’s face. he had always planned to tell him. to not keep him in the dark, to even ask for his help. but phillip, he got to adam first. he ployed and slithered his way into adam’s psyche that henry didn’t know if he could trust him. for this man in front of him, was not the adam that he trusted, he was not melody’s adam. “ so what , do i not honor the dead as i do with the living adam? do you think that she’d be happy with all of the shit that’s going on now? i’m telling you now so that you can–as much as i try to blame myself, as much as i want to blame myself–i couldn’t stop her if i tried, you knew her better than me. you knew how stubborn she was.”
He lights up a cigarette (he can’t seem to go without these nowadays), looking away from Henry once more. Adam doesn’t talk about her. He hasn’t heard her name in anyone’s voice but his own in a rather long time, he isn’t used to thinking about her anywhere but in the cages of his own soul. He chooses to go like this, you see. Forgetting, or, in his case, pretending to forget, is the best medicine to grief and heartache he could ever find (especially when added to revenge). He drags in the smoke, tilting his head to the side before blowing away the smoke. “You should have tried harder. To keep her safe. You knew of her DOUBLE LIFE. It was your responsibility. You should—–” She truly was stubborn. It was one of his favourite things about her, how she could convince him of nearly anything if she tried hard enough - and she always, without doubt, tried hard enough. “I think she would be ALIVE, Henry. And I wouldn’t need to care about a black widow, or a hammer, or a mermaid.”