Consumerism Ch. 20-29

I didn't want to admit it. The truth is I'm weak and worthless. I deserve it. To be beaten and controlled. It's true. I don't stand up for myself. Why would I? I've done it before. Didn't work out well for me. It takes too long for me to respond, exhausts me, and I usually say something awkward that just gets thrown back in my face. I'm not irrational. Giving in is better than wallowing in misery and anxiety. I sigh. Besides, Mr. Bentley does everything for me. I don't even remember the last time I showered myself, dressed myself, fed myself, etc. I'm in no state to act on behalf of the police.

You say you can protect me, but you can't. You're just a cop. Dr. Welker, Mr. Bentley, they're corporate executives. Rich and powerful. The law doesn't apply to them. In some ways, you understand this. That's why you were so excited. The prospect of forcing them to face justice for their actions. But you're wrong. It won't play out that way. How you imagine it in your mind. While you can't protect me, I can in fact protect you. By leaving, ending your misguided ambitions to investigate Vanholt, and forcing you to return to whatever you've been doing since the riot. You've been through enough cruel bullshit you didn't deserve. There's no reason you should get sucked into my depressing situation.

My heels clack on the stairs and later the concrete pavement. I walk to a nearby gas station. My hands retrieve a cell phone from my Saint Laurent handbag. The phone dials. I speak into the receiver. After a chunk of time passes, a Porsche Panamera pulls up. I open the front passenger side door and climb in.