There's a noisy exhale at that last part, having already looked away at a midpoint, and away from disgust. It's nothing he wants to feel, and feelings are contagious.

"I'm not," is slightly more petulant than riled, finally tapping ash into ceramic before he can burn himself or smear his bedsheets. "Well no, I am. You can't talk about what I would have done or should have done or talk about what's normal and what difference it makes when you weren't there. No one was bloody there. Everything fell apart, everything was taken away, long before--"

Long before Charles did, but he swerves just in time. Quieter; "Long before I gave up. I just wanted something back."