"Right." Tim's not bothered. He wouldn't be bothered, not if he's been here two years. Fuck. Fuck.
"I'm on EnsÅ, and instead of my phone, I've got this--" He rummages into his bag until he's got it, resist the urge to chuck it against a wall. "--magic rock."
He's panicking. He's losing it, and Tim's not, but maybe he should be, because none of this makes any sense.
Rosswood shifted around. He called Tim, said he wanted to work together again. He apologized, and then he blacked out, and--this. He's got Tim. He's out of Rosswood, but it's wrong. It's completely wrong.
No. No, he knows wrong. This isn't wrong, it's different, and he should think that's an improvement, but he can't keep it together, can't just sit back and explain like Tim's doing, can't just breathe and move on.
Finally, he manages a few words, flat and forced through grit teeth, nearly a whisper. "Why are we here."
no subject
"I'm on EnsÅ, and instead of my phone, I've got this--" He rummages into his bag until he's got it, resist the urge to chuck it against a wall. "--magic rock."
He's panicking. He's losing it, and Tim's not, but maybe he should be, because none of this makes any sense.
Rosswood shifted around. He called Tim, said he wanted to work together again. He apologized, and then he blacked out, and--this. He's got Tim. He's out of Rosswood, but it's wrong. It's completely wrong.
No. No, he knows wrong. This isn't wrong, it's different, and he should think that's an improvement, but he can't keep it together, can't just sit back and explain like Tim's doing, can't just breathe and move on.
Finally, he manages a few words, flat and forced through grit teeth, nearly a whisper. "Why are we here."