E:I didn’t sleep with everyone, he says.
I don’t understand why you can’t just forgive me and get it over with.
Perhaps it’s just to soon for Alicia Florrick to forgive her husband. Perhaps it’s because when she steels herself to ask just what it was he did, he won’t tell her. Perhaps it’s because – in flagrant disregard of the Alexis Castle rule of apologies – nothing about Peter Florrick looks or sounds truly apologetic. He just wants to get on with his life and pretend it never happened. Even in prison, the man is loose and relaxed and in control, while Alicia coils inward with rage and tension. Isn’t that part of an old Howard Jones song – you can feel the punishment but you can’t commit the sin? Alicia looks like the one with the guilty conscience. Call me old fashioned, call me Victorian, call me Catholic; you’d be (mostly) right. I believe marriage ought to be forever. I feel like I ought to admire her more for staying. But I also don’t know how you get past this one.
And perhaps that’s because where ever she goes, there are the photos and the videos she can’t bring herself to watch; the hands that touched her, that held their children, now touching those other women, reaching back and poisoning her past. The images haunt her dreams. They’re sent to her by nasty little coworkers. They’re slipped under her door by oily power brokers eager to prove that she owes them something for their kind forbearance. Continue reading