dramatispersonae | (no subject)

(no subject)

You lurch sideways with the abrupt sensation of being punched in the heart.

For a few moments, darkness clouds your vision. You can't breathe, your chest is clenching, you gasp and no air comes. Your skin crawls with frantic fear. Your body feels heavy, your limbs awkward, your belly distended. Needle-shocks of pain shoot through your legs, and you want to throw up, but can't. You're hiccuping; you hear someone screaming and you can't tell whether it's you. Your mind feels fragmented, and for a moment, you cannot even remember your name--

Everything goes black.

And then you are, almost gently, set on your feet in a new place...

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[struggling to find words]

I don't—think so. Of course we—all have some measure of responsibility for everything we do. The choices we make . . . we can't just shrug that off onto other people. And we have to answer for what we do. But if—if we do something . . . while affected by something that's twisted up in our hearts, then I can't—I can't see that as anything that you should carry the blame for. M-maybe on some level the responsibility is there, but you're—you're not that malicious sort of person who—would need to carry the burden for that. You've already carried too much . . . and it—something like that can't be excused but you can't always hate yourself for doing something that sickens you because sickening things were done to you . . .

He looks up at you, struggling to process, and then a faint measure of relief starts forming on his face.

"...th-thank you."

People who deserve to wallow in misery and self-hatred over their actions are usually the ones that don't. And the ones that do find that their actions weren't even really their own. It's not—easy to decide one way or another . . . when something awful is done, and you think, what more could I have done—? What measure of responsibility is mine in this situation . . .? And I don't—know much about that . . . not really. But I know that . . . what you've already carried is . . . punishment. Maybe enough. Because . . . ugh, it's not like you can erase the past, and I don't think you should, but you still—have the future to consider. So . . .

Long silence as he digests that, and then a brief bitter laugh. "Like Night and Pascal. No--I'm more responsible, I can't blame some magical monster controlling me from the back of my mind. But I always get so upset when I see them wallowing. I..."

"She's not here. I don't know if I'll be able to find her when I get back home. I want to apologize. I barely knew her, really, but."

"I'm...one of those people who never thinks I can be punished enough, I suppose. That goes deep down, and it's not really...part of this me, to understand it. But if you, of all people, can say that..."

Me . . . of all people?

He just nods, unhuddling a little to lean against the bed, relaxing a bit.

[leans against the wall, breathing out shakily]

"It always seemed like you...understood me more than most. Not...just this me, but...all of me, maybe. How hurt when people did whatever they wanted with my body. So I figured you'd be...the angriest, that I tried to do the same to somebody else."

I'm—angry! I just—also . . .

He flinches slightly, then accepts that.

"But...all the rest too." He shakes himself slightly. "I'd be worried if people weren't angry, I think."

[just quiet . . .]

Also quiet, and as he slowly unclenches one hand, you can see he's holding the note you left for him up in Maree's room.

"You should...go."

Yeah . . .

[pauses a little, biting his lip]

I—do understand. As well. That feeling that nobody is going to . . . want you.

He nods slowly.

"I...yeah. I know. I don't always...remember it properly, because it wouldn't be true where I come from, but..."

He takes a deep breath.

"If you were always like you are now...would you believe people would want you?"

The circumstances would be totally different . . .

An awkward, tight little smile. "It's all...hypotheticals, I suppose. I could wonder what it would be like if the doctors hadn't cut down my body, but..."

[just nods]

[I have just realized that I've forgotten to mention this in the initial room descrip like a winner, but] After the lights came up, you would have noticed a door on the far side of the room from where you entered.

"It seems like this is one of those times where people just say it'll be okay, but...that's meaningless. I guess it's just...I reject hope, a lot of the time. It hurts and I don't know what to do with it. But even then, it's still there. There's a girl who...asked me to dance once. So if it's there for me, it's probably there for you."

[I do like to know where doors are yes]

. . . haha, aren't I supposed to be the one reassuring you, in this situation?

He lets his head fall back with a faint noise that might almost be a laugh.

"Probably. But mutual reassurance is also satisfying."

. . .

[touches a hand to his chest]

Do you know why . . . I'm like this, here?

He considers that for a moment. "I don't know. Maybe some part of me thought you'd be more comfortable that way, but...well, it's not like we could have asked whether it was what you wanted, I suppose."

[. . . nods slowly]

I'm—going to go, now. There's probably more things to . . . do. I want to help.

He also nods.

"There's...probably parts of me who need it, further on. Thank you."

Sorry I couldn't do more here.

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