[He stops listening after the first few sentences. By then, she's already proven that, as much as she says she knows, she doesn't understand a damn thing.]

[He retreats into coolness as she continues speaking, his mouth a thin, brutal line that does not open to interrupt. He never does. He's used to not being listened to. That's why he hates repeating himself. He hates explaining the same thing twice. Because if he has to, it's proof that the person wasn't listening the first time. Yet more evidence that they don't care.]

[When she's done, he nods. Crisp.]

You're wrong. I was not referring to the "invisible, untouchable boy". But what you've said has provided some clarity.

[That Trish does not understand, and perhaps can't understand; or maybe she's making the choice not to see it. Whichever is the truth, he's abruptly done explaining himself. She can figure it out, or not. And whatever it is she's talking around, it will come out in the wash eventually.]

. . . So thank you for that.

[He never wanted to see her as someone he couldn't trust, but he has no other way of interpreting this conversation. He's missing a piece, one that Trish is holding. The picture is obscured.]

[Standing up, he turns and ghosts out the door without another word.]