Wherein something has to give, and an epiphany is needed.
The first thing he did when he got back to his apartment after the gigantic disaster that was graduation was throw up, overcome with complete and utter disgust for his situation.
The second thing he did was change out of the goddamn tuxedo, haphazardly throw clothes and essentials into a duffel bag, toss said duffel bag into the back of the Blue Falcon, get in the car and go.
He didn't know where he was headed but he told himself he was going to drive until he ran out of gas. And seeing how he was driving an exceedingly fuel-efficient hovercraft that traveled at several times the speed of sound, he expected to end up somewhere very, very far away. Falcon didn't have to worry about not being able to get anywhere after he ran out of gas. That was what the Flyer was for but...
Oh God, he wished more than anything that he didn't fuck everything up all of the time. And that there was a way for him to fix things.
But all he could do was leave with barely a word. He felt as though any further speech or actions would only serve to make things even worse. For him, for everyone. All he could think to do was go somewhere else. There was no sense in staying somewhere that made him absolutely miserable.
He needed time. To think, to figure things out, to make decisions. Try and fix things for himself. He felt like he was going crazy. This...this same question. He'd asked himself over and over. How long could this possibly go on, how long before something finally snapped?
As he drove as fast as he possibly could down the empty highway, he was beginning to think something finally did.
-------
I'm leaving. I'll be back eventually but I don't know if I'm going to stay. I need to sort things out before I decide.
I-
I wish I had more to say here, but I don't.
The second thing he did was change out of the goddamn tuxedo, haphazardly throw clothes and essentials into a duffel bag, toss said duffel bag into the back of the Blue Falcon, get in the car and go.
He didn't know where he was headed but he told himself he was going to drive until he ran out of gas. And seeing how he was driving an exceedingly fuel-efficient hovercraft that traveled at several times the speed of sound, he expected to end up somewhere very, very far away. Falcon didn't have to worry about not being able to get anywhere after he ran out of gas. That was what the Flyer was for but...
Oh God, he wished more than anything that he didn't fuck everything up all of the time. And that there was a way for him to fix things.
But all he could do was leave with barely a word. He felt as though any further speech or actions would only serve to make things even worse. For him, for everyone. All he could think to do was go somewhere else. There was no sense in staying somewhere that made him absolutely miserable.
He needed time. To think, to figure things out, to make decisions. Try and fix things for himself. He felt like he was going crazy. This...this same question. He'd asked himself over and over. How long could this possibly go on, how long before something finally snapped?
As he drove as fast as he possibly could down the empty highway, he was beginning to think something finally did.
-------
I'm leaving. I'll be back eventually but I don't know if I'm going to stay. I need to sort things out before I decide.
I-
I wish I had more to say here, but I don't.