He's got his future laid out in front of him.
He's done – he's got the girl, avoided prosecution, fought and clawed and bit and thrashed his way to the top, and now he's about to realize his dreams. He's about to leave.
He's about to leave you.
There are two Jeromes in this room. One of them has failed only at failing; one of them has failed everything. Guess. Which one are you? Which one isn't he?
He's facing his future made tangible in rows of blood, hair and piss, and do you know what he does?
He asks about you.
"Where are you going?"
Straight up, you think to yourself. Same as you. Straight up to the heavens – or, rather, the Heaven.
You say, "I'm traveling, too," and he eats it up.
Only once he's gone do you realize that you never wanted him to believe you.
You always were a good liar.