I've worked with cocky FBI agents, arrogant police sheriffs, corrupt politicians, compromised government officials, international arms dealers, and desperate families, and yet no one's behavior has been as utterly confusing as yours.
Japanese commercials are simply the best in terms of pure non-sense and folly and lack of any actual meaning except sheer fun. This one is for the upcoming Halloween lottery (about 4.5 million USD). I should maybe buy a couple of tickets, come to think of it.
Aaron set down his files but didn’t look up at the woman standing at the door. “You know, we usually have drinks in our hands before you start asking me these kinds of questions.”
Emily sat down in her usual seat and leaned on his desk. “Aaron,” the name was a plea. “You’ve told me so much. You don’t have to tell me everything. But let me help you.”
A smile flickered across his face as her cold hands reached for his in an old familiar gesture. “You’ve had your share of depressed encounters, too?”
It wasn’t really a question, since the profiler already knew, but she nodded anyway. “When a person you love doesn’t feel good and nothing you do can make it better, you start to blame yourself. Even when it’s not your fault. You blame yourself for so much, Aaron.”
Tears welled in his eyes as his knuckles whitened as they clutched her hands. “What does it say when a father hates his child? What does it say when a mother doesn’t love her son?”
“Your mother loved you, Aaron. But you’re father was a monster. Happy people don’t tie themselves to monsters.”
“Like you did?”
Emily breathed in sharply, withdrawing ever so slightly. He relaxed his grip on her hands and waited for her to break away, realizing what he’d done. “I’m sorry,” he began.
“Don’t,” she interrupted gently. “Don’t apologize. You’re right.” She chuckled softly, rubbing her thumbs in soothing circles on his hand. He was almost embarrassed at how much the simple gesture put him at ease. “I guess we’re both some kind of messed up, huh?”
Reluctantly but obligatorily, he pulled himself for her grip and reached into his drawer, pulling out a pair of glasses and half a bottle of scotch. She winced at the opened bottle- they’d need to go out and get more, but she could tell him that later. “I think it’s a job requirement.”