He pushes to his feet, and only Jedao's natural grace saves him from overturning the chair with an unbearable clatter. He holds, for a moment, completely still, refusing to tremble, stranded in indecision, breath soft and shallow. I need air, he thinks, or I can't talk about this, but he can't even make his mouth move. How awful, how utterly exposed, like unarmored white bellies of the rolling bugs he sometimes finds in his onion's potted soil, sometimes spoils with cookie crumbs.
(He doesn't want it. He does. He always did. Only I will ever love you. That searing, tender, sick, endless attention, forever. Jedao killed him and now he can never have it.)
He breaks for the sink and doesn't throw up, although he swallows convulsively, turns on a hush of cold water and sticks his head underneath.
tw past emotional abuse, character being sort of triggered about it?
He pushes to his feet, and only Jedao's natural grace saves him from overturning the chair with an unbearable clatter. He holds, for a moment, completely still, refusing to tremble, stranded in indecision, breath soft and shallow. I need air, he thinks, or I can't talk about this, but he can't even make his mouth move. How awful, how utterly exposed, like unarmored white bellies of the rolling bugs he sometimes finds in his onion's potted soil, sometimes spoils with cookie crumbs.
(He doesn't want it. He does. He always did. Only I will ever love you. That searing, tender, sick, endless attention, forever. Jedao killed him and now he can never have it.)
He breaks for the sink and doesn't throw up, although he swallows convulsively, turns on a hush of cold water and sticks his head underneath.