Hey so uh. What does a lap dance from Mr. Bonzo cost? Heh. An arm and a leg. And your other arm. And your other leg. And your head. And your bones. And your-
To go alongside my John thoughts, I also can't stop thinking about Arthur.
You love him, you lose him, you get him back, but not before mistreating a version of him that you don't recognize, one that isn't perfect, one that isn't right. You nearly die in front of him. Again. You escape. You leave. And at the crossroads, he asks you to trust him.
You know he is lying to you, but you trust him.
You gain friends, more people than you've spoken to in, what? Weeks? Months? Entire years? He pushes you away from them all, some more violently than others. He tries to kill one and doesn't even realize it. You give him another chance. You give him what he asks for. You let him feel seen.
And he is still lying to you. You realize later, it's with good reason. He's told you the horrors of that place, you cannot judge him for wanting to escape at any cost, and it would be hypocritical to judge him for dealing with the devil when you were the first to shake his hand.
You would have forgiven him that. Easily. You trust him.
But he doesn't trust you.
He asks for your memory to be taken. For revelations to be obscured, for you, who has spent this entire journey driven by the insatiable urge to seek, to find, to know, to forget. Because he does not trust that you can find him redeemable.