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?
At one time, Korbin had overheard a conversation between two healers. Someone had broken a leg, and it had begun to heal crookedly. So, in order to make the person walk again, they had to break the leg all over, and then set it correctly.
Maybe Chulane had broken him. Maybe he was insane now. All broken pieces strewn on the floor, not one fragment intact. And somehow, from this mess, he now had to reasseble himself. The picture would never be what it used to. Too much had changed, chips and splinters were lost forever, and without them the old version would always be incomplete. Korbin had, up until now, not tried to even look at the mess. He'd had a few of them stuck together and called it quits, but now Chuy had stepped in, trampled apart those few remnants... And gleefully left Korbin to figure out what to do now. A few sketchy ideas sat as a serving suggestion in the corner, but it seemed impossible to gather all of this into something resembling a life. A self. A story worth telling.
Sadist. Chulane may look nice and innocent, but he was a bona fide douchebag and an ass. He'd hidden it well, but now Korbin saw it clearly, and for some reason it made him relax a bit. Never could he stomach samaritans and goody two shoes... but if Chuy was doing this for his own twisted amusement then it was fine. That was valid. Sick and twisted, but far more acceptable.
Korbin Hale was no hugger. Not one to seek physical contact, awkward and wary of being misunderstood as caring more than he did (wary of accepting responsibility he didn't want, as if a hug was a binding contract), and even the simple act of holding a hand made him crawl and squirm inside, horrified and dismayed at all the parts that softened and melted, exposed to cuts and blows, to tearing and bleeding. He wasn't supposed to rely on people. What was this trust bullshit, it would only leave him disappointed. Why was be letting himself cling to this hand like it wasn't going to leave, when it inevitably would?
Fuck. Fuck. It would never end well. But he couldn't bring himself to let go either. Not even as the storm of sobs gradually subsided and he was left in a daze, barely conscious. So tired that he was delirious.
Those hands had suddenly become the only anchor to reality, that let him know he wasn't dreaming.
"Do I really... have to stay?" he was vaguely aware of asking. Like a child pleading to go home but repeatedly told 'No.' On the verge of giving up, but... just had to ask one more time. "Can't I just.. go to them? Now?"
Korbin really just wanted to see his family again. Was it so much to ask for?
Maybe Chulane had broken him. Maybe he was insane now. All broken pieces strewn on the floor, not one fragment intact. And somehow, from this mess, he now had to reasseble himself. The picture would never be what it used to. Too much had changed, chips and splinters were lost forever, and without them the old version would always be incomplete. Korbin had, up until now, not tried to even look at the mess. He'd had a few of them stuck together and called it quits, but now Chuy had stepped in, trampled apart those few remnants... And gleefully left Korbin to figure out what to do now. A few sketchy ideas sat as a serving suggestion in the corner, but it seemed impossible to gather all of this into something resembling a life. A self. A story worth telling.
Sadist. Chulane may look nice and innocent, but he was a bona fide douchebag and an ass. He'd hidden it well, but now Korbin saw it clearly, and for some reason it made him relax a bit. Never could he stomach samaritans and goody two shoes... but if Chuy was doing this for his own twisted amusement then it was fine. That was valid. Sick and twisted, but far more acceptable.
Korbin Hale was no hugger. Not one to seek physical contact, awkward and wary of being misunderstood as caring more than he did (wary of accepting responsibility he didn't want, as if a hug was a binding contract), and even the simple act of holding a hand made him crawl and squirm inside, horrified and dismayed at all the parts that softened and melted, exposed to cuts and blows, to tearing and bleeding. He wasn't supposed to rely on people. What was this trust bullshit, it would only leave him disappointed. Why was be letting himself cling to this hand like it wasn't going to leave, when it inevitably would?
Fuck. Fuck. It would never end well. But he couldn't bring himself to let go either. Not even as the storm of sobs gradually subsided and he was left in a daze, barely conscious. So tired that he was delirious.
Those hands had suddenly become the only anchor to reality, that let him know he wasn't dreaming.
"Do I really... have to stay?" he was vaguely aware of asking. Like a child pleading to go home but repeatedly told 'No.' On the verge of giving up, but... just had to ask one more time. "Can't I just.. go to them? Now?"
Korbin really just wanted to see his family again. Was it so much to ask for?
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
