Started shedding my skin until there was nothing left... (Openish)
Robin is sitting pressed up against the door to the room that they brought Jo to. He's wearing a short sleeve shirt and plain black pants, because he's tired of ruining suits. He's running out of suits and running out of money to continue buying them. He should ask Wyatt to pay him for being a fucking guinea pig. The short sleeves show off the bandage around his arm... getting sliced by a knife is fun.
He left the case of needles on the sidewalk in mid chase so he used the last one he had in his room, and then positioned himself here in front of Jo's room so she couldn't run before he'd had a chance to do... something, but that was awhile ago, and he's wishing he had another.
Last night pulled him painfully thin, and he knows he's on the verge of something stupid. Something like destruction of all the coffee pots or any of the other stupid things he's done in his time in Chicago. His head rests back against the door. He needs Wyatt to do a fucking home delivery, because he can't leave. He can't leave and risk something happening, again, before he has a chance to force help on someone even when he can't even begin to know how to help himself.
If he thinks about it too much, his hands will start shaking, again, which is why he's not thinking about it. He's just sitting there with his head against his knees. His legs are pulled up so people can walk by, and he's really hoping no one stops to talk to him, because he'll probably tell them to fuck off and leave him alone.
He left the case of needles on the sidewalk in mid chase so he used the last one he had in his room, and then positioned himself here in front of Jo's room so she couldn't run before he'd had a chance to do... something, but that was awhile ago, and he's wishing he had another.
Last night pulled him painfully thin, and he knows he's on the verge of something stupid. Something like destruction of all the coffee pots or any of the other stupid things he's done in his time in Chicago. His head rests back against the door. He needs Wyatt to do a fucking home delivery, because he can't leave. He can't leave and risk something happening, again, before he has a chance to force help on someone even when he can't even begin to know how to help himself.
If he thinks about it too much, his hands will start shaking, again, which is why he's not thinking about it. He's just sitting there with his head against his knees. His legs are pulled up so people can walk by, and he's really hoping no one stops to talk to him, because he'll probably tell them to fuck off and leave him alone.