[His face wrenches up. And in the silence, he fights to quietly swallow back the sob swollen in his throat, the grief too big for his body. Left mourning an offer that seems too little too late in a world that has done all it could to beat him to his knees and fold in his heart. Tears slide, tickly-hot, down his cheeks, dripping into the blanket.
He never thought the idea of receiving kindness could hurt as much as the absence of it. But after everything that has happened, it shouldn’t surprise him at all. Nothing should anymore.
He draws a sharp, quivering breath.]
There is nothing you can do for me.
[He rests the empty whisky bottle over the bed and puts his arms around himself.]
no subject
He never thought the idea of receiving kindness could hurt as much as the absence of it. But after everything that has happened, it shouldn’t surprise him at all. Nothing should anymore.
He draws a sharp, quivering breath.]
There is nothing you can do for me.
[He rests the empty whisky bottle over the bed and puts his arms around himself.]
Just let me be.