(no subject)
He still hasn't left.
It's been four days, now, that he's kept himself hidden away in his apartment. He doesn't sleep much anymore, and when he does, he wakes up on the floor with his limbs shaking and a throbbing headache. He feels bruises on the back of his head. His palms are covered in cuts from fingernails that don't belong to him (but sometimes do), and his knuckles are welted from pounding the walls and floor. His throat is raw from screaming.
It was bound to fall apart. One month being hunted. Four months dead. Three weeks without a real identity. Five months in total as nothing at all.
(Because you see, what he is right now is no better than being dead.)
It was after Nick invaded his soul that his world collapsed. When he woke up from it, he slammed his own hand (and so Jeff's hand) in the door and ran. The pain was enough that everything that followed was a blur. He can only remember Jonathan and his canister, and the way his hand jerked irregularly, betraying him, when he fired his gun into nothing. When he snapped out of it, finally, lying on the sheetless bed in his apartment, the hand he had crushed hours before was only bruised.
He didn't know how he escaped.
So much for staying calm. So much for planning his way through this. Something snapped that night. The walls are filled with holes. The furniture is broken. His body is shaking. And now it's official. Extra, extra. Keyser Soze has completely lost control. Keep an eye out for updates.
He isn't eating, either. At first it was accidental, but now it isn't. It's less obvious than causing physical damage, he tells himself through the cloudy haze of his mind. People are less likely to drag him off and pump him full of sedatives for Jeff's sake. He can keep his freedom-- or what's left of it-- and he can still fight back.
He feels like his body is rotten inside. His head bursts into sudden, inexplicable pain, and he can hardly walk in a straight line anymore. The only thing that keeps him going is the knowledge that Jeff is suffering along with him. He reminds himself of this fact, again and again, murmuring out loud so that he can hear his own voice.
Sometimes, though, to his horror, he wonders if it's the right thing to do in the first place.
It's been four days, now, that he's kept himself hidden away in his apartment. He doesn't sleep much anymore, and when he does, he wakes up on the floor with his limbs shaking and a throbbing headache. He feels bruises on the back of his head. His palms are covered in cuts from fingernails that don't belong to him (but sometimes do), and his knuckles are welted from pounding the walls and floor. His throat is raw from screaming.
It was bound to fall apart. One month being hunted. Four months dead. Three weeks without a real identity. Five months in total as nothing at all.
(Because you see, what he is right now is no better than being dead.)
It was after Nick invaded his soul that his world collapsed. When he woke up from it, he slammed his own hand (and so Jeff's hand) in the door and ran. The pain was enough that everything that followed was a blur. He can only remember Jonathan and his canister, and the way his hand jerked irregularly, betraying him, when he fired his gun into nothing. When he snapped out of it, finally, lying on the sheetless bed in his apartment, the hand he had crushed hours before was only bruised.
He didn't know how he escaped.
So much for staying calm. So much for planning his way through this. Something snapped that night. The walls are filled with holes. The furniture is broken. His body is shaking. And now it's official. Extra, extra. Keyser Soze has completely lost control. Keep an eye out for updates.
He isn't eating, either. At first it was accidental, but now it isn't. It's less obvious than causing physical damage, he tells himself through the cloudy haze of his mind. People are less likely to drag him off and pump him full of sedatives for Jeff's sake. He can keep his freedom-- or what's left of it-- and he can still fight back.
He feels like his body is rotten inside. His head bursts into sudden, inexplicable pain, and he can hardly walk in a straight line anymore. The only thing that keeps him going is the knowledge that Jeff is suffering along with him. He reminds himself of this fact, again and again, murmuring out loud so that he can hear his own voice.
Sometimes, though, to his horror, he wonders if it's the right thing to do in the first place.