Something reached into his chest and grabbed onto his heart, right about there. Just like always.
Sitting there with an unopened bottle in his hands. A lifeline. And he couldn't cry anymore. Everything was just still and stark and dead and dry, and there was an invisible hand clamping around his heart that refused to let go.
Just like always.
He didn't want to be there, anymore. Wanted to lose himself in the blur and the fuzz of it and not feel anything. Was easier. So much easier. Would take that hand out of his chest and maybe he'd breathe for a while, or he'd cry himself to sleep and it wouldn't matter because he'd be too pissed to remember it in the morning, anyhow. And he could deny anything was ever the matter, deny that anything was ever his fault, and he didn't have to feel.
"I'm fine."
It was almost cold, the way he said it. Cold and tired and empty and thirsty and dead.
no subject
Sitting there with an unopened bottle in his hands. A lifeline. And he couldn't cry anymore. Everything was just still and stark and dead and dry, and there was an invisible hand clamping around his heart that refused to let go.
Just like always.
He didn't want to be there, anymore. Wanted to lose himself in the blur and the fuzz of it and not feel anything. Was easier. So much easier. Would take that hand out of his chest and maybe he'd breathe for a while, or he'd cry himself to sleep and it wouldn't matter because he'd be too pissed to remember it in the morning, anyhow. And he could deny anything was ever the matter, deny that anything was ever his fault, and he didn't have to feel.
"I'm fine."
It was almost cold, the way he said it. Cold and tired and empty and thirsty and dead.