kafkaesque: having a nightmarishly complex, bizarre, or illogical quality.
Sophia gently reached out and placed her small hands over his. She chose not to say anything just yet, but make the gesture. Yes, she was upset just from hearing his story but she also wanted him to know that it was alright and no one was going to judge him for that. “But, you need to talk about it sometimes. It often makes it easier to deal with day by day if you discuss it first.” The brunette said, hoping she didn’t come across as a life coach or that she was trying to change his ways. “I understand where you’re coming from. I think we all keep secrets in at some point. You’re not always ready to share them so hiding them away sounds like the best option.”
“You don’t get it.” He never really knew if anyone grasped the sort of mentality he did, the cold shell that he built for himself ever since he moved out of his parent’s home. “Why would someone ever care about some random boy’s problems? Don’t they have their own to think about? Why would I ever burden someone like you into carrying mine, too? That’s complete and utter shit, and whether you want to believe it or not isn’t my goddamn problem.” He pulled his hand back from hers, despising himself for even mentioning his parents. “And you— why do you even act like you care?” There it was, that one, large, tear. “You don’t give a rat’s ass, I’m sure.” He strove to continue speaking, but the only thing that came out was a crack in his once strong voice.