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 grew quiet. This sounded like a far cry from the girl who had offered him a knife at the old tavern. Must be Noah's influence. Korbin didn't know what kind of relationship the two had, but it seemed intimate, familiar. He both envied it and did not. Knew he was in no condition to be involved with anyone; he could only take, not give. Had nothing to offer anyone, not even himself.
In theory, her solution (or Noah's, really) sounded good. Just do what he liked, and everything would be better. But part of him still resented the very idea of being happy when Weaver was dead, no matter how many times Chulane called bullshit on that line of thinking. Maybe it was, probably the guy was right, everyone was fucking right except for him, and yet he was the one who was feeling it. Guess that made him bullshit too.
"I don't like anything anymore. Everything just makes me nauseous, and angry, and tired. And I'm so sick of digging through my own head for reasons to keep going when they only mean something for an instant before it's all gone again."
He only kept the bar so someone else couldn't have it. He stayed alive so that someone else would not be forgotten. In the moment, when he was working and moving and wrapped up in a task, any task, he could almost fool himself into thinking that everything was normal, that he was fine, that Weaver wasn't gone.
But he couldn't keep moving forever. And in moments like this when he couldn't even rest properly... it all came back.
"I just want to sleep," he murmured, close to breaking again. Struggling to breathe, Korbin pulled his knees up, curling in on himself. It didn't help; nothing helped.
In theory, her solution (or Noah's, really) sounded good. Just do what he liked, and everything would be better. But part of him still resented the very idea of being happy when Weaver was dead, no matter how many times Chulane called bullshit on that line of thinking. Maybe it was, probably the guy was right, everyone was fucking right except for him, and yet he was the one who was feeling it. Guess that made him bullshit too.
"I don't like anything anymore. Everything just makes me nauseous, and angry, and tired. And I'm so sick of digging through my own head for reasons to keep going when they only mean something for an instant before it's all gone again."
He only kept the bar so someone else couldn't have it. He stayed alive so that someone else would not be forgotten. In the moment, when he was working and moving and wrapped up in a task, any task, he could almost fool himself into thinking that everything was normal, that he was fine, that Weaver wasn't gone.
But he couldn't keep moving forever. And in moments like this when he couldn't even rest properly... it all came back.
"I just want to sleep," he murmured, close to breaking again. Struggling to breathe, Korbin pulled his knees up, curling in on himself. It didn't help; nothing helped.
Doesn't matter if I hate you or embrace you
Nothing makes you turn around
Nothing makes you turn around
