The question takes him completely off guard, and he just stares, a blank stare. His mouth goes dry, and he suddenly feels he should grab his crumpled up jacket and cover his arm. But he can't really move, he's just stunned, frozen by the compulsion to share, to find answers--
What was it like?
He wants to answer and he doesn't want to answer, but maybe it would give a clue. The red lines extend over the scars, maybe there was a reason.
"It's...complicated." He's not actually looking at Flynn right now, but it's hard to tell with how his eyes are blankly red. Why is his mouth so dry? "I do...regret it. But then again, I don't. Because if someday this saves lives, I can't regret it. But I hate the fact that the town is this bad that I had to resort to this."
There's a visible pause as he seems to be fighting with himself.
"It was horrible. Think of someone trying to do this to you..." he waves his other hand at his arm. "Feeling every cut, slowly, knowin' it won't end anytime soon until it's done. And then...and then it's worse, because it's you, man. You're making the cuts, you're overriding this...deep...instinct thing to protect yourself, and it's just...and it's still goin', and you're feeling sick from the pain, and there's blood dripping everywhere, and you can't stop, but you need to stop because there's something fighting, screaming in your head that no, no, stop this, but you can't stop because it might save your friends and this information is important. And then it's over and this guy you hate more than anyone else here helps you, and you've done him a solid and now you owe him songs and a favor and just...it's there now, this thing you've done to yourself and and you've endured someone slowly torturing you, but it's you. And you can't ever, ever take it back."
cw self-harm, torture, blood
The question takes him completely off guard, and he just stares, a blank stare. His mouth goes dry, and he suddenly feels he should grab his crumpled up jacket and cover his arm. But he can't really move, he's just stunned, frozen by the compulsion to share, to find answers--
What was it like?
He wants to answer and he doesn't want to answer, but maybe it would give a clue. The red lines extend over the scars, maybe there was a reason.
"It's...complicated." He's not actually looking at Flynn right now, but it's hard to tell with how his eyes are blankly red. Why is his mouth so dry? "I do...regret it. But then again, I don't. Because if someday this saves lives, I can't regret it. But I hate the fact that the town is this bad that I had to resort to this."
There's a visible pause as he seems to be fighting with himself.
"It was horrible. Think of someone trying to do this to you..." he waves his other hand at his arm. "Feeling every cut, slowly, knowin' it won't end anytime soon until it's done. And then...and then it's worse, because it's you, man. You're making the cuts, you're overriding this...deep...instinct thing to protect yourself, and it's just...and it's still goin', and you're feeling sick from the pain, and there's blood dripping everywhere, and you can't stop, but you need to stop because there's something fighting, screaming in your head that no, no, stop this, but you can't stop because it might save your friends and this information is important. And then it's over and this guy you hate more than anyone else here helps you, and you've done him a solid and now you owe him songs and a favor and just...it's there now, this thing you've done to yourself and and you've endured someone slowly torturing you, but it's you. And you can't ever, ever take it back."