His first instinct is to say no - no, I never did anything that bad, or at least not bad enough to deserve any of what I got - but he quashes it just as quickly. She couldn't understand and he wouldn't explain; experience is a killer, even at so young an age, and he knows the difference between hers and his is too far to gap with nothing but words. His words, anyway. They're never really enough.

"...Yeah," he admits, at length, a work in progress as he casts about for - if not the right words (or even good words), then just something to say to gloss this whole thing over. He hasn't told anyone else (not even Zack), and there's nothing practiced or easy to fall back on. No memory of how this is supposed to go, revealing the most vague version of the worst, rock-bottom, easily most horrible chapter of his life. He doesn't think that kind of thing comes recommended, anyway, shuffling to nowhere on the hard, wood floor. Stopping when another little needling spike of pain races up from his badly barked shin, and tightening his fists in the rough fabric of his jacket. He's been saving up for an advance issue of a new one (Shinra likes to wait until the boots are falling off and the pants don't fit, and that's not really soon enough), and that one tiny, lonely scrap of a thought makes him regret this situation all the more. He doesn't even have a nice coat to give her. (That she won't accept.)

"I... Hurt somebody. I hurt a lot of people."