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That had not been a lie; not the real kind that meant what she said was entirely untrue, at least. Maybe she'd been a little evasive, a little disingenuous, but not a liar. And it was easy for Caroline to tell herself that the rest of those didn't count, because they were for his benefit, not hers.

Besides, she did need help with this. She could admit that. Approaching it without any reliable way to moderate her feelings after each new <******** infuriating discovery was probably irresponsible, and the last thing she wanted to do was allow these parts of a past life to ruin her in this one. That was supposed to be the whole point of drawing her lines and connections, of naming all of these things, but a considerable amount of time was instead being spent bargaining with herself to avoid some replicated trap of her own accidental devising.

She did need help. She would be grateful. She just had a third thing in mind too, as she often did.

While she waited on the roof, hoping that Horace really would show up, she scribbled a mindless tangle of endless loops in her notebook. A new one seemed like the best idea before she'd come up here, something with new life to it that let this all start over again - but when she found herself staring at a blank page, she'd felt compelled to fix it.

So fixing it was exactly what she was doing.

Being so engrossed in fixing the page caused her to miss both the sound of the door opening and the sight of Horace coming near her. Caroline startled when he sat next to her, but she didn't acknowledge that. She really had to be more careful.

"Hi," she chirped, stretching her arms as though she were suitably spreading her wings in turn. This was why she'd chosen the roof - much more free a feeling than being boxed up in four walls could give anyone. "Really glad to see you. Thanks for this. Most people...well, it's just. I feel like I can't ask. But you've got good vibes. And quick favor - if people don't say that now, pretend I didn't just sound old."

The books splayed out in disarray at her side were all in a similar vein, titled things like 'It's My Life Now' and 'Freeing Yourself From A Narcissist' and 'The Path Forward'. Some were more applicable to her than others, which she'd discovered well before now. Those that weren't, however, landed somewhere within a territory that might have been even a tiny bit beneficial to him.

Subtlety wasn't really Caroline's forte. It never had been. She'd relied on having that half of things from her partner in crime, and now that she wasn't doing anything remotely criminal, she still hadn't quite figured out how to tone down her more overt behavior. That didn't mean she couldn't tell that he wasn't buying this.

"I'm just trying to get through some s**t from the past, like I was saying." The pen was pressing a bit too hard into the page now that she had stopped the aimless scribbling. "Mimsy's daddy is a really bad man."

She avoided showing the strain in her smile by reaching for one of the books, setting the pen down to thumb through it.

"It's just--I just can't figure out why he lied. About things. What was even in it for him. And I'm thinking...you know, maybe an outside perspective...if I give you some dots and some answers, maybe we can connect them."

Caroline scoffed.

"Easy for me to use the cliche of 'what didn't he' but--no, there's true things." The motion of turning the pages was an absent gesture, empty and missing the purpose she'd meant to give it. "Guess it's--thinking back, I mean, seems like it's times he lied for the hell of it. He didn't want me, that's where the books get some wrong. Didn't want me but lies kept me there--um."

She smiled over at him, eyes glassy with tears she really wished would go away, and shifted her hand toward him if he'd hold it to save them both from fidgeting.

"Nothing all at once, you know? Just took things now and then. Every few years. My baby's dead. My job's gone. Vanessa doesn't love me. She hates me. Can't see her. Or our baby. Everything out there waiting for me's gone." Bitterly, she wrinkled her nose. "Other lies had even less reason. I'd know they were lies but he'd--it's like knowing didn't matter. Like...might as well be true. I'd forget what was."

"No, that's--it's part of it. He didn't isolate me. I did. If we start talking technicalities, it was all my choices. He told me all the time I could just go. That he wished I would. It was always my choices. He just had me believing there was only one. That there wasn't another option."

Gently, she squeezed his hand, remembering the ways they had that thought in common.

"I don't know why he kept me, though." She felt sick describing it that way. In any other circumstance, she would have stayed far away from those words, but sticking as close to what he said felt important. "The books give some reasons. Some maybes. That to someone like him, you're just a resource. A thing. One said think of it like furniture. So I guess--I guess it could be that. Something they don't give a real s**t about either way. If they're in the room and don't want their coat on the floor, they'll throw it on it. Only because it's there. They wouldn't go out of their way to, because they don't give a real s**t. So they'll let it sit there. But only since it takes effort to haul it off and throw it out, and all that would mean caring. But they don't. Not even that little bit."