KORBIN
And my hands are not clean,
maybe they never will be
maybe they never will be
Again, they were back to talking about him, despite his attempt to steer the conversation away to something else. It seemed a pattern they were doomed to repeat until something changed, but the way Korbin was right now, he couldn't see a way out. Not of this, or his own darkness, or what kind of glittering bright future it was Weaver envisioned for herself. Clearly she was striving to get away from what they'd had, the place where Korbin had been happy and content, and it made him feel so worthless.
"I was happy," he replied, voice tight despite his lack of control over it - or perhaps because of it, because he couldn't hear the emotions that bled from it. "I never wanted anything else, never needed anything but what we had. I was living, to the fullest, every second of every day I could spend making sure you would be fed and healthy and safe. It was rough and it was hard but it was good. It was you, and me, and fuck the rest of the world."
He sat the tools aside, very carefully, and that care in itself was a sign of how tense he was. How much he had to focus in order to keep from hurling things across the room.
"I'm sorry that wasn't enough. I'm sorry I wasn't enough. Clearly I wasn't, because you've been steadily inviting the rest of the fucking world into our life one by one. You are the reason I get up in the morning, Weaver, why I keep drawing breath even though I'd really rather not. There is nothing that means anything to me except you. But clearly that's not the same for you."
He stood, stalked across the floor and headed for the door. They were getting nowhere with this. Even Korbin could see how unhealthy his obsession with his sister was, but it didn't mean he could stop it. Sister, mother, teacher, best friend, defender, goal and reason. Somehow, at some point, she had become his raison d'etre, and when she told him to let go and find something else, it hurt. When she gazed off at everything except him, it left him jealous, empty, lost. Set adrift on a sea with no point of reference, no goal or plan or even will to keep moving.
What could could possibly be better for him than her? Nothing.
"I was happy," he replied, voice tight despite his lack of control over it - or perhaps because of it, because he couldn't hear the emotions that bled from it. "I never wanted anything else, never needed anything but what we had. I was living, to the fullest, every second of every day I could spend making sure you would be fed and healthy and safe. It was rough and it was hard but it was good. It was you, and me, and fuck the rest of the world."
He sat the tools aside, very carefully, and that care in itself was a sign of how tense he was. How much he had to focus in order to keep from hurling things across the room.
"I'm sorry that wasn't enough. I'm sorry I wasn't enough. Clearly I wasn't, because you've been steadily inviting the rest of the fucking world into our life one by one. You are the reason I get up in the morning, Weaver, why I keep drawing breath even though I'd really rather not. There is nothing that means anything to me except you. But clearly that's not the same for you."
He stood, stalked across the floor and headed for the door. They were getting nowhere with this. Even Korbin could see how unhealthy his obsession with his sister was, but it didn't mean he could stop it. Sister, mother, teacher, best friend, defender, goal and reason. Somehow, at some point, she had become his raison d'etre, and when she told him to let go and find something else, it hurt. When she gazed off at everything except him, it left him jealous, empty, lost. Set adrift on a sea with no point of reference, no goal or plan or even will to keep moving.
What could could possibly be better for him than her? Nothing.
But they can still carry you home
when you are ready to sleep
when you are ready to sleep
