He wondered if she was making an innocent observation or a passive aggressive jab about his treatment of her. He put the half-eatened apple down. He couldn't help a half-hearted grunt as the words sunk in. "W-what are you t-trying to say?" He spilled out, allowing his statement to bellow out into the open. It was odd, in this fatigued state he felt more vulnerable and the observation, though true, was painful to hear from her. That was really how she saw him. His mind jumped ahead of himself, and he tried to take away some of the accusatory bite from his question. "I-I mean, what do you m-mean by that?" The last thing he needed to do is make the situation between them worse.
Shite. Gregory still had unquenchable, unresolved anger and shame stemming from his experience in childhood that he hadn't been prepared to examine. Anger prickled in his mind, he could feel his cheeks warm and pulse increase despite his attempts to calm his nerves. He really didn't know why he was putting in such an effort, and wasn't sure if he was staying miserable for himself or for the sake of his son and he supposed Molly?
A memory shared itself to him in this moment of weakness. He remembered coming back from his first year at Hogwarts, and their parents sitting him down to go his marks at school. Their mother wasn't pleased with his first semester performance and dug into how disappointed she was. He remember their dad just sitting next to their mom, and he said nothing. The absolute worst part of the memory was knowing he had done well. From outside of his child's body, he watched a figment of himself cry. The experience was strange and invalidating at the same time. Gregory thought he'd locked that memory away, in the back file of his mind, never to come out again.
He almost wanted to explain his own brand of dog shite their mother threw at him. Perfect was something that Gregory tried to strive for, but it always felt like he couldn't achieve it. This meltdown that lasted for several weeks, was a testament to the broken efforts he'd made to make their mother proud. A sense of pride and achievement that he wasn't sure he'd ever achieve. Every time he met a benchmark, the carrot was put slightly out of reach. No amount of items he acquired, 'perfect marriage', child, gifts to mum, job, [the list goes on] he participated in was ever enough. The short time he spent at Molly's home made him recognize, to some degree, that she experienced the same thing. She just choose a different path and way to deal with it. That, in itself, was admirable.
"What kind of creatures are you showing them?" He interrupted her while she was explaining what she meant. It made him too uncomfortable to address anything of substance and he didn't want her to linger on it. Well, he hoped she'd be amendable to the redirection. He yawned, rubbing his eyes, and tensed his calves into the breath out. When he drank, he could forget these feelings, and he wasn't sure how to handle this without the fog of substances. His fist, in his good hand, tightened into a fist and he gripped the end of his short. All he wanted to do was reprimand Molly for even mentioning him as a kid. Fuck her. Fuck this.
His mood fluctuated so quickly, he wanted to borrow Molly's wand and leave already, to find solace in a bottle. It took everything in him to not move and keep listening. Fuck her, fuck this. He just needed an escape. Fuck her, Fuck this. Close the door, and lock it again. Fuck her, fuck this. The raw feelings were too overwhelming, he wasn't ready to deal with them. Fuck her, fuck this. Even if he'd never be ready. Fuck her, fuck this. At least with a bottle, he could brave himself. Finally it came out, "Molly, I'm g-going to be honest with you." He paused. "All I w-want is a b-bottle. I-I-I-I" The stutter exasperated him, "FUCK!" He howled in frustration, "I-I'm feeling too much." The admission freed him enough to make connections.
How was he supposed to explain this pain to her? He wasn't sure. He came to recognize he didn't want to drink anymore, but his resolve wavered. Drinking solved many of his problems in the past, didn't they? Drinking made the black pit of criticism in his mind go away, and it took away his stress of his reality. Some of the feelings he was experiencing right now, were feelings he'd tried to forget. Fuck her, fuck this. He wanted to give up. He wanted to succeed. This was so hard.