His left hand hurts. It's all in his head, he tries to tell himself, just phantom pains because his fingers have healed. The cuts on his face have healed, the black eye and bruises on his neck have faded, it's been over a month; but he supposes this wouldn't be happening in the first place if simply telling himself that is all it would take. He shrinks into himself, praying--praying--that she doesn't try to touch him because his hand travels to his throat and he lets out a ragged breath as the image of Mark above him, slowly choking the life out of him--don't worry, I'll make it last--flashes through his mind.
It doesn't feel like it's been a month, it barely feels like any time has passed at all, and he just wants to feel numb. It's been so easy to forget because so much has happened since the night of the lighthouse, he's gained a friend and roommate in Raleigh and the love of his life in Joel, and he tries to focus on that until he makes the mistake of looking at her. The pain is written all over the face, and he realizes then how her leg is positioned, the strain in her body language and the blood pooling in her hand and staining her shirt and the floor by her foot.
Nobody is safe in this room, nobody, and the thought of having Joel in here makes him retch. It's dry, there's nothing left in his stomach to let out, but he feels the burn in his throat and it only sends another sensation of having those hands squeezing, of actually dying; and he knows that Eli's right, knows that nobody would have come for him if Joel hadn't tracked them to the lighthouse, and it makes him think of Raleigh and the texts and he looks at her with wide, wet eyes.
"I'm sorry," he says again, though she can't know what it's for because he's still too much of a coward to tell her, but he can't stop saying it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you-- you're bleeding, you need to-- if you don't take care of your hand, your hand's important, it's really important." He makes a fist with his own before flexing his fingers out, testing them just to make sure they still work.
Her words hit him again, that Joel's coming, and it makes him push off from the floor even though he's shaky on his feet. His gaze shifts back to the broken glass on the floor, and he doesn't even know what to do anymore. His face is flushed, and he's sweating, he's dizzy and thirsty and has no idea what to do. "I need to clean it up," he says suddenly, taking a step forward. "I need to clean it, and I need to fix your hand, I think there's glass in it. There was glass in my head, we need to get it out, Raleigh, it's not good to have glass there because it could get infected, and I have to clean this up because Joel can't come in here. He could get hurt, like you and me, and I can't let that happen again."
no subject
It doesn't feel like it's been a month, it barely feels like any time has passed at all, and he just wants to feel numb. It's been so easy to forget because so much has happened since the night of the lighthouse, he's gained a friend and roommate in Raleigh and the love of his life in Joel, and he tries to focus on that until he makes the mistake of looking at her. The pain is written all over the face, and he realizes then how her leg is positioned, the strain in her body language and the blood pooling in her hand and staining her shirt and the floor by her foot.
Nobody is safe in this room, nobody, and the thought of having Joel in here makes him retch. It's dry, there's nothing left in his stomach to let out, but he feels the burn in his throat and it only sends another sensation of having those hands squeezing, of actually dying; and he knows that Eli's right, knows that nobody would have come for him if Joel hadn't tracked them to the lighthouse, and it makes him think of Raleigh and the texts and he looks at her with wide, wet eyes.
"I'm sorry," he says again, though she can't know what it's for because he's still too much of a coward to tell her, but he can't stop saying it. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, you-- you're bleeding, you need to-- if you don't take care of your hand, your hand's important, it's really important." He makes a fist with his own before flexing his fingers out, testing them just to make sure they still work.
Her words hit him again, that Joel's coming, and it makes him push off from the floor even though he's shaky on his feet. His gaze shifts back to the broken glass on the floor, and he doesn't even know what to do anymore. His face is flushed, and he's sweating, he's dizzy and thirsty and has no idea what to do. "I need to clean it up," he says suddenly, taking a step forward. "I need to clean it, and I need to fix your hand, I think there's glass in it. There was glass in my head, we need to get it out, Raleigh, it's not good to have glass there because it could get infected, and I have to clean this up because Joel can't come in here. He could get hurt, like you and me, and I can't let that happen again."