CHULANE
Spirals were dangerous. Vortexes of anxiety, of sorrow and depression, sucking in those near to them as well. Had they come full circle? Was this all Korbin had to say, again and again?
How deep had Chulane been pulled? How far had he travelled, how much had he learned, about Korbin, about his relationship with his sister, with himself? Was it enough - could it ever be enough?
He watched the boy, seeing and understanding how exhausted he was, how low, how broken, and determined to continue on anyway. He had let himself get angry, and in the silence that followed, in the shaky breaths, he regained control over himself, steadying himself in the here and now, even though the here and now was uncomfortable, frustrating and depressing all at the same time.
Chulane would endure this. It was the least he could do, with what he was trying to convince Korbin to endure.
He heard the words, as he at the last minute tried to shift the blame from Weaver, despite piling the blame onto her just before. He made some claim that he couldn't go on because she was vital to him, that he didn't want to exist in a world where she wasn't. And then he looked at Chulane, as if granting Chuy permission to get up and walk away, to wipe his hands of the mess that was Korbin and be done with it.
The vet merely looked right on back, meeting Korbin's swollen eyes with his own hard stare, his own steadfast determination.
"Bullshit," he said, in response to everything - the words, the look, everything. "Fucking bullshit, Korbin. Say you do die, what then? The whole Hale family name is blown away in the ashes of the home you so delicately put a torch to. The story of a barkeep and her lost little brother is told utterly inadequately by those who knew them for all of a few minutes, the rest of the family already forgotten, already unknown.
"Now, say you live. Say you carry the memory of her, of Weaver -" he said her name clearly - he would not shy away from it like Korbin "- with you always, you live through that memory, then she is never gone. She lives only as long as she is remembered. And the rest of us? We don't know her, not like you did. We need you, Korbin, to tell her story, to share her life, and to live and write your own. The only way you would live a life where she isn't a part of it is if you end the life you are living now. Live, Korbin, live and let her memory live on, stronger and clearer in the rest of us too - let us help you to remember her, always."
Korbin could pop holes in all of the arguments Chulane raised all he liked - Chulane would plug them right back up again, his mind wired far too logically to do anything different. Just as Korbin would give him permission to leave, Chulane would decline it, and take it as permission to stay instead.
"Life will never be the same," he murmured, "but that doesn't mean it's not worth living."
How deep had Chulane been pulled? How far had he travelled, how much had he learned, about Korbin, about his relationship with his sister, with himself? Was it enough - could it ever be enough?
He watched the boy, seeing and understanding how exhausted he was, how low, how broken, and determined to continue on anyway. He had let himself get angry, and in the silence that followed, in the shaky breaths, he regained control over himself, steadying himself in the here and now, even though the here and now was uncomfortable, frustrating and depressing all at the same time.
Chulane would endure this. It was the least he could do, with what he was trying to convince Korbin to endure.
He heard the words, as he at the last minute tried to shift the blame from Weaver, despite piling the blame onto her just before. He made some claim that he couldn't go on because she was vital to him, that he didn't want to exist in a world where she wasn't. And then he looked at Chulane, as if granting Chuy permission to get up and walk away, to wipe his hands of the mess that was Korbin and be done with it.
The vet merely looked right on back, meeting Korbin's swollen eyes with his own hard stare, his own steadfast determination.
"Bullshit," he said, in response to everything - the words, the look, everything. "Fucking bullshit, Korbin. Say you do die, what then? The whole Hale family name is blown away in the ashes of the home you so delicately put a torch to. The story of a barkeep and her lost little brother is told utterly inadequately by those who knew them for all of a few minutes, the rest of the family already forgotten, already unknown.
"Now, say you live. Say you carry the memory of her, of Weaver -" he said her name clearly - he would not shy away from it like Korbin "- with you always, you live through that memory, then she is never gone. She lives only as long as she is remembered. And the rest of us? We don't know her, not like you did. We need you, Korbin, to tell her story, to share her life, and to live and write your own. The only way you would live a life where she isn't a part of it is if you end the life you are living now. Live, Korbin, live and let her memory live on, stronger and clearer in the rest of us too - let us help you to remember her, always."
Korbin could pop holes in all of the arguments Chulane raised all he liked - Chulane would plug them right back up again, his mind wired far too logically to do anything different. Just as Korbin would give him permission to leave, Chulane would decline it, and take it as permission to stay instead.
"Life will never be the same," he murmured, "but that doesn't mean it's not worth living."
it is better to know some of the questions
than all of the answers
than all of the answers
