Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. That's all wrong, he's asked the wrong thing, and he knows it's unfair, and he's said it wrong, everything is wrong.
He wants to stuff the words back down his throat, to unspeak them, let them hang in his chest and never let them near York. It's too late. "It won't come to that. I'll ask a doctor." Something. Something to make this better. A grin comes automatically and unbidden, though the rest of his face holds more grimace. This, at least, he can fight, somewhat. But it's still part of the myriad of problems.
No. He can't ask York to put a bullet in him. That is too much. Can't ask Carolina, either. It's fine. He turns away before he can make a bigger spectacle of himself, though his hand tights on the door. Has to remember to breathe, relearn it quickly, before bailing out into the springtime air. The fake springtime air. They still need their outer wounds tended to, after all.
Day 222 - afternoon - action
He wants to stuff the words back down his throat, to unspeak them, let them hang in his chest and never let them near York. It's too late. "It won't come to that. I'll ask a doctor." Something. Something to make this better. A grin comes automatically and unbidden, though the rest of his face holds more grimace. This, at least, he can fight, somewhat. But it's still part of the myriad of problems.
No. He can't ask York to put a bullet in him. That is too much. Can't ask Carolina, either. It's fine. He turns away before he can make a bigger spectacle of himself, though his hand tights on the door. Has to remember to breathe, relearn it quickly, before bailing out into the springtime air. The fake springtime air. They still need their outer wounds tended to, after all.