awareness is the enemy of sanity
Finn jerks his head in a nod of agreement at that - sometimes it is easier, to give the information and put an end to the questions he can hear scratching at the inside of other people’s heads. ”It must be a whore thing,” he says, a wry hint of amusement in his voice. Finn almost says it, almost shoves away every hint of whatever it is they have in common - your vivid imagination has nothing on my long memory - but he thinks better of it, leaving it caged behind his teeth.
Because perhaps Remi can imagine bruises in the shape of hands and a mind too young to understand what is being done to it. Maybe he can visualise the creak of a headboard, the sound of a voice breaking not through puberty but through something else entirely. Dark blue eyes meet green, though Finn’s colour is pallid again now, made all the more so by gaunt shadows beneath his gaze.
”What is it?” he asks of the not-tea, holding the empty whiskey glass in hand. It’s still warm under his fingers, and he flexes his grip on it and sets his jaw as his ribs are fully bandaged. Softly, he shakes his head - Finn has not dealt with an injury like this before. Others, yes. This? Not so much.
Because perhaps Remi can imagine bruises in the shape of hands and a mind too young to understand what is being done to it. Maybe he can visualise the creak of a headboard, the sound of a voice breaking not through puberty but through something else entirely. Dark blue eyes meet green, though Finn’s colour is pallid again now, made all the more so by gaunt shadows beneath his gaze.
”What is it?” he asks of the not-tea, holding the empty whiskey glass in hand. It’s still warm under his fingers, and he flexes his grip on it and sets his jaw as his ribs are fully bandaged. Softly, he shakes his head - Finn has not dealt with an injury like this before. Others, yes. This? Not so much.
for once you hear the screaming
it never stops
FINN
