PAM
I put my hand up over my mouth, as if to forcibly keep inside everything I want to say to Georg. He looks so pathetic in the hospital bed, hooked up to wires, his gaze somewhat unfocused. His expression is confused, hurt, even a little angry. There is longing there, too. He's wearing it all right now, I think because his injury prevents him from controlling himself like he normally would.
He's never had a very good poker face in the first place. When he feels silly, he looks silly. When he's happy, it's obvious. When he's mad, you know it. Georg really feels whatever is on his face in a given moment. Or rather, his face shows what he’s feeling in a given moment. And right now, I know I owe him an explanation.
"I'm sorry I ran out the other night," I start. "I really am. It's just that I saw Devon's Instagram feed and there was a picture of you two together. Hearts and such in the caption. It was like a blow to the stomach to see it."