He catches her gaze and looks at his own hand. The white band. 'Robert' gives a slight laugh.
"It's only a scar, my dear." He is both reassuring and sincere. There is nothing fake in his voice. He had this planned out perfectly, there would be nothing to stop him this time. His name wasn't Robert (he had stolen the name from Robert Englund, the man who had been Freddy Krueger), but he would tell the girl these things today. He would also tell her that his last name was Cunningham (as in Sean S. Cunningham, the director/producer of Friday the 13th). He would use his height against the girl. A man needn't too much charm if he was tall. Women were foolish. They gawked at tall men, especially tall black men. Women claimed that what they wanted was a sensitive, humorous man but the sooner that men figured this tale to be false, the better off they were. Women wanted dominance and sexual prowess. They assumed that a man of height was a man of size, and maybe they were right. 'Robert' found this out almost as soon as he reached the six foot mark back in the eighth grade, and it had served him well over the years since. It would especially become useful to this young girl who was still staring at him, awaiting an explanation to the white band on his finger.
"My finger was severed about a year ago," he explained. "The doctors sewed that sucker back on though. It's as good as new, and they say in a few years the color will have completely returned."