Wally was a runner. He always had been, even before the “accident”. Less an accident and more proof that he was meant to be like the Flash. If he wasn’t, he probably would have died when he recreated the experiment. He could overcome anything if he just thought it through enough. Running gave him the time to do just that; always had and always will.
So why wasn’t it helping this time. Why couldn’t he figure out just why he felt the way he did. He knew it wasn’t anyone else’s actions that made him feel so... Ignored. No one was purposely ignoring him, no one was purposely trying to make him feel unwanted. No one was standing there telling him to shut his mouth.
-Most of the time-
So why did one little sentence- one little brushed off statement that she wouldn’t even have thought twice of- make him feel so horrible.
“What do you want.”
It was enough to make him scream, oddly enough. He knows in his head that she didn’t mean it that way. He knows that she was busy, that she was thinking about what she was doing and not him. So why did he feel so bad, and why wasn’t the running helping.
His mom might say he was running from his problems. His prompt, “I need to go run an errand,” was quickly followed by him leaving. She hardly got a chance to tell him to be safe. She didn’t get to say goodbye before he was out the door in an attempt to cool his head off, to leave the sinking feeling in his stomach behind him.
She didn’t mean it like that.
It almost reminded him of the people who had brushed him off when he spoke. It was just Wally talking, after all. What could he possibly have to say that was worth the time to listen.
But she didn’t mean it like that.
She was his partner, his best friend. And she didn’t mean to make him feel like maybe he shouldn’t even try to speak. She was working on a big project, it wasn’t her fault.
His train of thought was brought to an abrupt halt as his distraction caused him to miss a pothole, causing him to skid and roll to a stop on the floor. It wasn’t any worse than any tumble he had taken before, and the scrapes on his hands would quickly clear up with his speed healing; they weren’t bad and he wasn’t hurt.
So why was he crying.
Why did she snap at him.
He needed to stand up and keep moving.
Why did it feel so horrible.
It's not hard to stand up.
Why couldn’t he calm down.
She didn’t mean it like that.
Why did she snap at him.
It wasn’t like that.
