He ain't sure how long they sit there, all wrapped into each other like they can't let go. Ben's got his head buried in her shoulder so she don't see his face, but his shoulders twitch and jerk as everythin' that's happened crashes down all at once. She's cryin' too, he knows, c'n feel it in her body and th'way she breathes. She's shakin' against him, tremblin' like a leaf in a storm.
He did that.
(you filth! don't touch me!)
He took it. How many time's he said it, that it ain't for him t'choose who lives and who dies? But it was there an' he took it, hurt her damn bad. It ain't right. It ain't a bit right, it's somethin' like Justin would'a done. If he hadn't stopped, if he hadn't ended it--
There's a sick taste at th'back of his throat, bitter, like puke and blood mixed together, like standin' at th'front of a courthouse in chains and hearin' what he did read out. Like watchin' his momma cough and choke on th'dust of th'farm, desperately reaching out Momma please and seein' her grab that cross like she's fightin' back a devil
(get away! you filth!)
so that he don't have no choice but to go from her and then Lodz had said, standin' in th'middle of th'black blizzard said that he'd let her die and that, that's what this tastes like. Like guilt.
(you're marked by the Beast, boy!)
Th'tears stop comin', eventually, don't have anythin' left to cry. Th'pain's still there, wrappin' around him but he don't care so much, 'cause it means he's still hurt deep and that means he didn't take it all outta Kate. He untangles himself from her, real slow-like, leaves patches of blood behind on her clothes - they're ruined, some little practical part of him thinks, he oughtta pay or somethin' - until he c'n sit on his own. He brings his knees up, hunches over them, coverin' his chest and what's there like a wounded dog, watchin' her close.
Sittin' in a dead circle, she don't look like she belongs there. Ain't his right t'go pullin' her into his world, into his business, t'go and take what weren't his and if he could give it all back right now, he thinks, with a sudden spasm that rocks him forward, not quite a sob 'cause it's swallowed too fast but somethin close, he thinks he would. Give it back in a heartbeat. She's got a life. He ain't got nothin', no more.
"You oughtta go in," he says finally, voice scrapin' raw over his throat, not quite meetin' her eyes. "Ain't no place - no place for you, out here."
So many things unspoken that even he don't know how many or what they all are, just know that they add up to a voice in his head still screaming
(you filth! don't touch me! don't touch me!)
and th'bitter knowledge that he's just done somethin' he ain't never gonna be able to atone for no matter how many times he confesses.
no subject
He did that.
(you filth! don't touch me!)
He took it. How many time's he said it, that it ain't for him t'choose who lives and who dies? But it was there an' he took it, hurt her damn bad. It ain't right. It ain't a bit right, it's somethin' like Justin would'a done. If he hadn't stopped, if he hadn't ended it--
There's a sick taste at th'back of his throat, bitter, like puke and blood mixed together, like standin' at th'front of a courthouse in chains and hearin' what he did read out. Like watchin' his momma cough and choke on th'dust of th'farm, desperately reaching out Momma please and seein' her grab that cross like she's fightin' back a devil
(get away! you filth!)
so that he don't have no choice but to go from her and then Lodz had said, standin' in th'middle of th'black blizzard said that he'd let her die and that, that's what this tastes like. Like guilt.
(you're marked by the Beast, boy!)
Th'tears stop comin', eventually, don't have anythin' left to cry. Th'pain's still there, wrappin' around him but he don't care so much, 'cause it means he's still hurt deep and that means he didn't take it all outta Kate. He untangles himself from her, real slow-like, leaves patches of blood behind on her clothes - they're ruined, some little practical part of him thinks, he oughtta pay or somethin' - until he c'n sit on his own. He brings his knees up, hunches over them, coverin' his chest and what's there like a wounded dog, watchin' her close.
Sittin' in a dead circle, she don't look like she belongs there. Ain't his right t'go pullin' her into his world, into his business, t'go and take what weren't his and if he could give it all back right now, he thinks, with a sudden spasm that rocks him forward, not quite a sob 'cause it's swallowed too fast but somethin close, he thinks he would. Give it back in a heartbeat. She's got a life. He ain't got nothin', no more.
"You oughtta go in," he says finally, voice scrapin' raw over his throat, not quite meetin' her eyes. "Ain't no place - no place for you, out here."
So many things unspoken that even he don't know how many or what they all are, just know that they add up to a voice in his head still screaming
(you filth! don't touch me! don't touch me!)
and th'bitter knowledge that he's just done somethin' he ain't never gonna be able to atone for no matter how many times he confesses.