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He sat on his bed, miserably texting. Horace knew he'd been stupid as ******** to take the lamp - but he also hadn't expected death threats over an appliance. Especially one the normal America wouldn't give a s**t about. He stretched his hands out, hissing in pain. Things hadn't healed yet, of course, although Jannisari was working on it. The lamp was gone, and he felt nothing, after all. Nothing but an odd pit in his stomach that seemed to suck most of his emotions away.

Horace flopped onto his back, wondering if he could at least muster up a smile as America beat the s**t out of him. When the knock on his door came, he tensed up all over, then forced his body to relax. "It's unlocked." He had actually gotten up to unlock his door when the threats from America took on a more serious turn, figuring it was inevitable and some sort of penance, even though not a normal one.

"I only burgle specifically," he said in a voice that sounded like he was trying to joke but fell flat. "I don't think that will work, but thank you, Melvin." He gestured to the lamp with bandaged hands. Shifting, he sat instead of lying down haphazardly, making sure there was room for Melvin. He'd reread the messages Melvin had sent while he waited in his room and while they stung, the majority of the time Melvin was right. And it was near impossible to explain why he'd taken the lamp when he couldn't quite explain it to himself.

He ran his hand over his hair, wincing, and tied it up into a messy bun. "Okay is not a thing I really am, no. I wonder if she really wants to kill me. Promised not to maim me at least."

Horace shrugged. "Sure, I think I did a piss-poor job of bandaging though, sorry." He extended one hand towards Melvin. Once unwrapped, it would become quite apparent that these were not wounds won in a fight, but slices and thick cuts caused by glass. White flecks were still in one of the nastier cuts - paint from the lamp.

"I didn't think there would be death threats over a lamp." He barked out a laugh devoid of any mirth. "Almost wish she hadn't found me in that cave, that way she couldn't t-threaten me with it." Horace coughed to hide the sudden waver in his voice.

"I broke a lamp."

Quite deliberately broke a lamp. He rolled his hsoulders, all tense muscles and misery. "Her place wasn't locked or anything - no need to smash stuff to get in, if that's what you're asking." He sighed. "The thing is... the lamp isn't important to her; she doesn't care about it. She took it because she knew it mattered to Jan and to me." Horace grimaced, wondering why theh clone cared so much. She seemed to like aggravating people far beyond the norm. Real America was big on apologies, so maybe if he apologized... And, this time, he would actually mean it. The lamp had been nothing after all, and that was the most disappointing thing.

With his other hand he scrolled through his phone. "I... wanna show you something, Melvin. Before America gets here. Jan was... not a good man, before. He did terrible things and maybe you'll understand why I react the way I do, why America's sudden interest in him worries me, why I keep coming off as some ridiculous person who can't handle it if someone even looks at their boyfriend. I dunno..." There was a sinking feeling in his stomach, a sense of impending despair, and he didn't know if it was fron America's threats or everything else. Wordlessly, he proffered his phone to Melvin.

He waved Melvin off. "I'm sure it'll heal fine. I thought if I got my hands into it it would... clear my mind, something." His jaw clenched. He'd not felt clear-headed while he did it, digging his palms into the broken glass, clutching the pieces so toightly they tore at him. For now, until it healed, it would serve as a reminder - or a way to focus. Horace could simply flex his hands and there was pain, shooting up from his palms.

"They are dated accurately: December of last year, May, March, December of the year before... Jan cut off her minipet's foot because she ignored him, Melvin. This is the kindof man he was." He took a deep, shaking breath. "When I had confronted him about it, he told me he had lied, how everything he had told me was a lie. He did those things to her, stalked her, everything." Horace hadn't realized how much he moved his hands nervously until now. Each fidget was a sharp jolt, a warning not to get so wrapped up that he lost the narrative. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"Horace, my darling, I always lie. Or at least, almost always. Everything I am is a lie, there is nothing where a person should be in me."

"And when he... when he came back-" Horace still couldn't openily talk about the incident, even in his mind, things were deliberately kept hazy, pushed aside, labeled with words like 'incident', 'when Jan got podded', 'misunderstanding'. It made things safe. "When he came back, he promised me he wouldn't do, didn't do any of these things anymore - the stalking, the obsession. But I'm afraid Melvin, do you see why? I t-thought maybe if he loved me enough, or tried to love me, then this wouldn't happen." He swallowed. He had hoped Jan was different, was trying, but everything seemed to point otherwise and the more he tried to hold on to Jan, the more he pulled away. Horace didn't want to give up, didn't want to only half-heartedly try. He just had to be good enough. Better.Bright enough to take his eyes off of her or something, anything.

His voice was quiet, tense. "I'm... worried I'm failing. Not trying hard enough. I don't know."

He flinched as Melvin picked at his hands. "I don't know, Melvin. It's... it's a possibility I can't deny. But that's why I didn't want him to have the shoes, the lamp that connected them... I wanted... I wanted to try and sever that thread." He had believed in Jan, and it was all going alright. Not perfect, he couldn't ask for perfect, but alright. And maybe, just a little, Horace had hoped. But America (not America) had decided she wanted him and was enough of a facsmilie that Jan wanted. And it tore at Horace. He didn't know how to fix it, was so damn scared and tired and miserable and certain he was never going to win, to be enough.

"There's no way America would leave this island anyway; she'd not accept living on some far-flung base, altering her life because of Jan." And Horace had never expected her to. Even though he hated her, had expected her to leave Jan and him alone, he had never thought she would run from him that far. But things had changed. With the clone, everything was different. His face twisted.

"But you understand now, right?"

"His self-control... it just... it doesn't work around her. I don't want him to become obsessed again or hurt her or anything." He sighed, allowing Melvin topick away at the wounds in his hands. "You're right, but I don't know how to do that."

He found himself balking at Melvin's language. He couldn't wish being podded on anyone... except maybe America's clone. Alright, Americlone could be podded - not the real America, of course. Even personal feelings and intense dislike could not get in the way of Horace's need for professionalism and some form of justice and fairness. But Horace didn't say anything about poddding, not yet.

"I... guess you're right. He's not going to want to be watched - I mentioned it, when I went to see him, but..." Horace wasn't exactly comfortable with Jan moving into Melvin's room, but he conceded that the feeling was probably just due to his own insecurities and jealousy. It was uncomfortable. "Maybe moving in with someone will help, and I don't have the facilities yet, sorry. Would you be alright, though, just sharing your space like that?" Horace rolled his shoulders nervously. Everything about this whole situation had made him so uncomfortable that he had almost forgotten Americlone's threats on twitter.

He gritted his teeth looked at Melvin, searching his face. Time to bite the bullet."We cannot falsely pod America, Melvin. It would not be right. But if she comes over to murder me, I guess we have an easy solution."