KORBIN
But what does it take to break you, to awake you?
To make you bow and spit it out?
To make you bow and spit it out?
The light stabbed at his eyes. The smell of food made his stomach turn over, knees growing weak from nausea and hunger alike. Chulane's fingers dug into his elbow, and no matter how Korbin twisted and jostled to get loose, he was dragged in past the threshold. He knew the guy who passed them in the doorway. Just like he knew the faces and a few names of the people who carefully did not look his way in the sitting area. Their focus crawled about him like fleas, skin itching from all the things they didn't say.
Somewhere between the door and the washroom, the boy stopped struggling. Resigned to the futility of it perhaps, or finally drained of all strength but what remained to stay on his feet.
Korbin tried to find the chair, but missed. He crumbled to the floor in a heap of long limbs, head spinning and stomach turning over and over. Not wanting to hurl again - there was nothing left inside to expel anyway - he sucked in slow breaths between clenched teeth. Only vaguely aware of Chulane's ministrations with his hand.
"Shoulda jus lefme," he grumbled, leaning his head down on pulled up knees. Every inch of his body ached, face throbbing more and more as the warmth of the indoors made his skin thaw. "Who 'uckin cares if I 'un make it? I don'. You meddling bastard."
For some reason, the insult was the only thing that came out perfectly clear.
Somewhere between the door and the washroom, the boy stopped struggling. Resigned to the futility of it perhaps, or finally drained of all strength but what remained to stay on his feet.
Korbin tried to find the chair, but missed. He crumbled to the floor in a heap of long limbs, head spinning and stomach turning over and over. Not wanting to hurl again - there was nothing left inside to expel anyway - he sucked in slow breaths between clenched teeth. Only vaguely aware of Chulane's ministrations with his hand.
"Shoulda jus lefme," he grumbled, leaning his head down on pulled up knees. Every inch of his body ached, face throbbing more and more as the warmth of the indoors made his skin thaw. "Who 'uckin cares if I 'un make it? I don'. You meddling bastard."
For some reason, the insult was the only thing that came out perfectly clear.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
