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?
Was he lying? Not intentionally. Not on purpose, with intent. Korbin believed what he said. That he wasn't enough, not good, not nice. The accusation of lying made him twist in discomfort, wanting to object, but Chulane was moving on and he didn't have strength enough left to interrupt, let alone sit up again. His body was spent, the warmth and the soft bed draining away the feral alertness he had maintained so far. Exhaustion from crying and resisting, from the long abuse he had put himself through... it was all catching up.
It was hard to listen to what the older man said. Hard to let down the guard enough to accept any of it, to even listen. Ego and pride wished to listen, to swell and absorb. The child wanted to reach out for the offered hands and just weep in relief, so ready to curl up against a new chest and let that become the reason, the guide, the beacon. Didn't really matter who, and wasn't Chulane offering already? He wanted to help, he said so.
But the wolf in him was a wounded beast, wary to let anything close that smelled similar to what had hurt him in the past. To accept help would be to soften, to lower the guard, to open up for feeling, for caring, for more of this. Because let's be honest, it wasn't that Korbin didn't care about the people around him. Rather, he cared way too much and would happily spend himself to carry them, as unable to stand aside and let them live their lives as he was to let them close in the first place. There was no balance, no middle ground. Feel everything and let it ruin him, tear him to pieces and spend until he became the ghost. Or feel nothing, only to fester and rot behind walls of his own making.
And it was the greatest conundrum. For them. Or not for them. Give them everything or nothing, and always, always forget about himself because... well. He didn't matter, remember? His needs did not actually exist, or were less important, or not good enough to pursue.
"Not her fault I'm like this," he tried to object, and struggled to sit up. The world spun, dancing and twisting around him, and as he sank back down he closed his sore eyes again, seeking refuge in the dark when the nausea returned. "She tried to help, to make me do things, but..." He hadn't listened. Couldn't change, or find the reason to, any more than he could now.
If he had died and she remained, would she have let herself break like this? Korbin somehow doubted it. She always had a bigger heart. Wide and generous, and galvanized. Loss hurt her too, but she always bounced back. Knew the trick to caring without being consumed, to taking everything that appeared and make it serve her, somehow, someway. Maybe she had been her own guiding light.
He didn't know himself well enough for that. Didn't love himself, or value himself enough. Wouldn't even know how to start building one.
"I know. I don't... don't want to try. Don't want to see if I can make it without her. How can I... How can I? It would be like saying I don't need her. Like she wasn't vital. When she is everything. I don't want to live a life that she is not part of."
And that whispered confession brought on the tears again. Hot, painful, never ending. He couldn't really curl up anymore but he wanted to, the repeated shattering demanding that he yield or snap, and it was frustrating that he could do neither.
It had gone full circle now. Chulane had witnessed a full revolution of his spiral, carved him open and laid him bare. Ugly, wasn't it? Pathetic. A hopeless case. Too many things were broken, start to repair one thing and another would snap; watch it poke new holes in what had just been rebuilt. No easy fixes, no quick solutions...
Why even try? That was indeed the million dollar question. So many reasons not to, and not one that felt good enough to make an effort for.
Painstakingly prying his red, swollen eyelids open, Korbin turned his gaze on Chulane. Aware, of how difficult he was being. Keenly aware that he wasn't helping. But he couldn't lie. Couldn't pretend to see hope when it wasn't actually there. Wouldn't pretend to accept a truth when he didn't understand or believe in it. And it was a heavy burden to put on someone. Weaver had carried him like it was nothing, but...
Korbin's gaze was a quiet shrug. A wry smile, an offer to drop this and walk away. It was okay to give up. He had; wouldn't blame Chulane if it turned out that saving a life was harder than expected.
It was okay to back out.
It was hard to listen to what the older man said. Hard to let down the guard enough to accept any of it, to even listen. Ego and pride wished to listen, to swell and absorb. The child wanted to reach out for the offered hands and just weep in relief, so ready to curl up against a new chest and let that become the reason, the guide, the beacon. Didn't really matter who, and wasn't Chulane offering already? He wanted to help, he said so.
But the wolf in him was a wounded beast, wary to let anything close that smelled similar to what had hurt him in the past. To accept help would be to soften, to lower the guard, to open up for feeling, for caring, for more of this. Because let's be honest, it wasn't that Korbin didn't care about the people around him. Rather, he cared way too much and would happily spend himself to carry them, as unable to stand aside and let them live their lives as he was to let them close in the first place. There was no balance, no middle ground. Feel everything and let it ruin him, tear him to pieces and spend until he became the ghost. Or feel nothing, only to fester and rot behind walls of his own making.
And it was the greatest conundrum. For them. Or not for them. Give them everything or nothing, and always, always forget about himself because... well. He didn't matter, remember? His needs did not actually exist, or were less important, or not good enough to pursue.
"Not her fault I'm like this," he tried to object, and struggled to sit up. The world spun, dancing and twisting around him, and as he sank back down he closed his sore eyes again, seeking refuge in the dark when the nausea returned. "She tried to help, to make me do things, but..." He hadn't listened. Couldn't change, or find the reason to, any more than he could now.
If he had died and she remained, would she have let herself break like this? Korbin somehow doubted it. She always had a bigger heart. Wide and generous, and galvanized. Loss hurt her too, but she always bounced back. Knew the trick to caring without being consumed, to taking everything that appeared and make it serve her, somehow, someway. Maybe she had been her own guiding light.
He didn't know himself well enough for that. Didn't love himself, or value himself enough. Wouldn't even know how to start building one.
"I know. I don't... don't want to try. Don't want to see if I can make it without her. How can I... How can I? It would be like saying I don't need her. Like she wasn't vital. When she is everything. I don't want to live a life that she is not part of."
And that whispered confession brought on the tears again. Hot, painful, never ending. He couldn't really curl up anymore but he wanted to, the repeated shattering demanding that he yield or snap, and it was frustrating that he could do neither.
It had gone full circle now. Chulane had witnessed a full revolution of his spiral, carved him open and laid him bare. Ugly, wasn't it? Pathetic. A hopeless case. Too many things were broken, start to repair one thing and another would snap; watch it poke new holes in what had just been rebuilt. No easy fixes, no quick solutions...
Why even try? That was indeed the million dollar question. So many reasons not to, and not one that felt good enough to make an effort for.
Painstakingly prying his red, swollen eyelids open, Korbin turned his gaze on Chulane. Aware, of how difficult he was being. Keenly aware that he wasn't helping. But he couldn't lie. Couldn't pretend to see hope when it wasn't actually there. Wouldn't pretend to accept a truth when he didn't understand or believe in it. And it was a heavy burden to put on someone. Weaver had carried him like it was nothing, but...
Korbin's gaze was a quiet shrug. A wry smile, an offer to drop this and walk away. It was okay to give up. He had; wouldn't blame Chulane if it turned out that saving a life was harder than expected.
It was okay to back out.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
