CHULANE
It wasn't fair. It wasn't easy. Grief wasn't easy to begin with, loss was never easy to process, but then the loss Korbin was suffering was made all the worse because of how he and his sister had set themselves up - to fall so hard when the other could no longer stand. Chulane hated it, hated that he was the one to do this, to say this, to hold the knife and keep poking, stabbing, twisting it into Korbin. It was as if he was trying to bleed the infection out, to slice off a dead limb, to extract dead organs, with nothing but a blunt cleaver to achieve his means.
He could never be happy to see another suffer, could never find satisfaction in it - but he held hope that as Korbin processed all that Chuy threw at him, he slowly but surely made his way towards a less destructive existence, a less painful one. He let Korbin's words roll over him, let the spite, the bitterness try to penetrate - he wouldn't let it. Korbin spoke from a place of hurt, his tortured mind spewing vitriol and venom - he wouldn't be dragged under, dragged down. He would take the words for what Korbin was trying to say, for the meaning hidden beneath a layer of scum.
But first, he would let Korbin cry, let him catch his breath. He would wait, as look as it took, even if it took Korbin to nearly be asleep, for the gasping and the choking to cease, for the breaths to come in deep and at least more steady than before. He would let Korbin sit with his words, his thoughts, let him possibly think more on what Chulane had said previously - for everything Korbin said was more of the same, more of the shifting blame, more of the excuses, the bargaining, the insults. Chulane would wait, even as he cried silent tears himself, even as he hated himself and the grief that wracked the boy.
He rose, at some point, to stoke the fire in the small hearth of the room, to stack more wood on it, to keep it burning hot throughout the night. Then he returned to his chair beside the bed, to where the raven-boy cried and rocked and clung to himself. It's not my time to feel, but oh, how he would break when looked past the wall at all the shit he was piling there. He felt like shit, like a monster, a bastard, a jerk. He breathed a shaky breath, re-centring himself, shaking the webs of fatigue from his mind - how late was it? How long until dawn? It didn't matter - he was here, and he would be here until he deemed it safe to go. Another deep breath filled his lungs.
"It won't stop." He repeated the last words Korbin said. It was along the same line of thought he had shared with Korbin on another day - the pain from grief never stopped, but it did get easier to carry, if one only endured it. "You are responsible for your own feelings, Korbin. We can and will do as much as we can to help you, but first you must own yourself. You must find a purpose - a new one. We can help, but you must be willing to accept it first." It was a difficult concept to communicate, to express - one had to let others in their life, to be able to rely on them without burning them out, to accept help when it was offered but also be able to look after themselves.
"I'm not pissed, Korbs. I care. About you. Because you matter." He reiterated - he would keep saying it until it penetrated the boy's mind as truth. "You can do this. We will help, but first you have to believe that you can do this." He looked to the boy, blue eyes seeking his in the dim light provided by the fireplace. "Do you hear me, Korbin? You can do this."
He could never be happy to see another suffer, could never find satisfaction in it - but he held hope that as Korbin processed all that Chuy threw at him, he slowly but surely made his way towards a less destructive existence, a less painful one. He let Korbin's words roll over him, let the spite, the bitterness try to penetrate - he wouldn't let it. Korbin spoke from a place of hurt, his tortured mind spewing vitriol and venom - he wouldn't be dragged under, dragged down. He would take the words for what Korbin was trying to say, for the meaning hidden beneath a layer of scum.
But first, he would let Korbin cry, let him catch his breath. He would wait, as look as it took, even if it took Korbin to nearly be asleep, for the gasping and the choking to cease, for the breaths to come in deep and at least more steady than before. He would let Korbin sit with his words, his thoughts, let him possibly think more on what Chulane had said previously - for everything Korbin said was more of the same, more of the shifting blame, more of the excuses, the bargaining, the insults. Chulane would wait, even as he cried silent tears himself, even as he hated himself and the grief that wracked the boy.
He rose, at some point, to stoke the fire in the small hearth of the room, to stack more wood on it, to keep it burning hot throughout the night. Then he returned to his chair beside the bed, to where the raven-boy cried and rocked and clung to himself. It's not my time to feel, but oh, how he would break when looked past the wall at all the shit he was piling there. He felt like shit, like a monster, a bastard, a jerk. He breathed a shaky breath, re-centring himself, shaking the webs of fatigue from his mind - how late was it? How long until dawn? It didn't matter - he was here, and he would be here until he deemed it safe to go. Another deep breath filled his lungs.
"It won't stop." He repeated the last words Korbin said. It was along the same line of thought he had shared with Korbin on another day - the pain from grief never stopped, but it did get easier to carry, if one only endured it. "You are responsible for your own feelings, Korbin. We can and will do as much as we can to help you, but first you must own yourself. You must find a purpose - a new one. We can help, but you must be willing to accept it first." It was a difficult concept to communicate, to express - one had to let others in their life, to be able to rely on them without burning them out, to accept help when it was offered but also be able to look after themselves.
"I'm not pissed, Korbs. I care. About you. Because you matter." He reiterated - he would keep saying it until it penetrated the boy's mind as truth. "You can do this. We will help, but first you have to believe that you can do this." He looked to the boy, blue eyes seeking his in the dim light provided by the fireplace. "Do you hear me, Korbin? You can do this."
it is better to know some of the questions
than all of the answers
than all of the answers
