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?
He was not anyone's brother anymore. And it made him cold, hard, cruel. Korbin had been saying 'I don't care' so many times now that it began to feel true, as though the ice of Halo was slowly creeping in to take up residence where all the soft and kind parts had been. They weren't gone, not yet. Not completely. But too big a part of him relished the satisfaction of seeing her flinch, even as guilt and sickness roiled at his own reactions.
It was the part of him that he hated. That he shunned. That he had turned from all his life, going so far as to let his sister and brother beat him in spar after spar, refusing to strike back with all he had. He did not want to hurt anyone. Did not want relish hurting anyone.
But he had. Had strangled someone to death with the very hand that held this girl, and the thing that really got to him was how easy it had been. How easy it would be now...
Her palm connected with his face, with a force that jerked his whole head aside. The scab of a half-healed cut on his lip broke open and a dark trickle of blood began a slow descent down his chin. Korbin released her hand. The tip of his tongue searched out the stinging cut, his head ringing with the residual echo of the slap. Leaning slightly aside, he spat crimson into the snow beside the road.
"You really should leave," he repeated, more quietly this time. Half pleading; his hands had begun to shake, and Korbin was too dazed to know if it was shock or rage or if he just really needed another drink... yeah, that might be it. A glass or two would make it better.
It was the part of him that he hated. That he shunned. That he had turned from all his life, going so far as to let his sister and brother beat him in spar after spar, refusing to strike back with all he had. He did not want to hurt anyone. Did not want relish hurting anyone.
But he had. Had strangled someone to death with the very hand that held this girl, and the thing that really got to him was how easy it had been. How easy it would be now...
Her palm connected with his face, with a force that jerked his whole head aside. The scab of a half-healed cut on his lip broke open and a dark trickle of blood began a slow descent down his chin. Korbin released her hand. The tip of his tongue searched out the stinging cut, his head ringing with the residual echo of the slap. Leaning slightly aside, he spat crimson into the snow beside the road.
"You really should leave," he repeated, more quietly this time. Half pleading; his hands had begun to shake, and Korbin was too dazed to know if it was shock or rage or if he just really needed another drink... yeah, that might be it. A glass or two would make it better.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
