NONE OF THIS SHIT IS REAL. right? it couldn't be, not with the way that her body is feeling, like, hers and not. rue can't tell you what she's drank in the last few hours, or the drugs she's taken. maybe lines and pills and pills and lines, or bottles of things that go down, meant to inevitably come right back up. or was that last night? or the night before? in a way, she ought to be feeling badly about it... she's kind of just dragged yukwon into the insanity of her life, just by like... needing a charge on her phone. and maybe he makes a song out of this, all the sorrow, the loss... the pain of not knowing how to let go of the things that you really loved, and treasured, with all of your heart. there's an art to it, rue thinks... to moving on. to growing up. part of her hopes that maybe she'll get that one day. the other just thinks... maybe she won't make it. she meant it that night in the diner, with ali. telling him that she wasn't planning on sticking around, not after looking at the way the world was just so fucking ugly on both the inside, and the out.
how she's reminded of that in the run because, like, nobody seemed to care as they weaved through that crowd, claustrophobic and strobing with light. out here, the air burns crisp within her lungs, fizzling as she's trying to let everything catch up and whiplash itself within her skinny frame. it's supposed to be cold, she thinks... but everything in her is burning hot, from the run, from that club, from the way that she's still just like, NOT HERE because in her mind, she's still looking at that glass on the floor, the blood on the sink, anything but the boy on the floor. what was his name again? rue can't say she remembers how she even like, got there... it's just supposed to be a chill night, right? how she's trying to check out if he's okay, but yukwon's just... he's yelling and he's yelling and she's like startled by it all because it's not supposed to be like this because he's the one who's hurting, so why is he asking to look at her hands right now, and just -
the fumbling, the anxiety, the noise, all of it comes crashing right into her high, from both the drugs she's meant to take, and not. and almost whimpers, pulling away to like, find something sturdy in her but he's got her fast, and his phone is out and he's trying to wipe at her hands as if something's wrong but rue's staring down and they don't even feel like hers. she's somewhere else, isn't she? floating away. because he drops her hands, his shirt staining rust-like from what he's cleaned off, and like, WAIT, when did that get there? ooooohhh... tongue left to slice between her lips, that worry, that wonder, it's thumping alive against the inside of her skull, it's going to split her apart. is he angry with her? what's she going to explain? how she got there ( she doesn't know ), how much she took ( a mystery, really ) or even just like, where did she get it all from ( stolen, from one of his friends' medicine cabinets, and she couldn't read the label )?
how mad he reads. it's like NATE FUCKING JACOBS or some shit like that, minus the violence that typically followed, he's closer, and, that hand is there and she isn't sure what he wants with it, left blinking, wide eyed. a breath drawn in like life itself, and like pinocchio, she remembers how to reanimate the parts of her that aren't simply dragged through on chemical highs. that shit's burning off anyways. yukwon crouching closer to the ground, the cement left slick wet from what must have been rain, rue moving in closer, a cautious animal. but he's up, he's coming towards her before she's able to think about it, all jolting, jagged action that leaves her clutching to a jean jacket, as if bewildered, before rue's like... oh... right. her shirt, all colourfully made out in graphic patterns split open, revealing more lace then she ought to be showing, right? bothered as she's suddenly pulling it on and buttoning it up, like, oops, she shouldn't be... fuck... fuck. "you okay?" her voice sounds alien, strangled around the smoke and the alcohol from that place. "it's okay... i'm okay... are you though??? your... your hand..." the way it had made that sickening connection with someone's face, again, again, until she's like- until she just can't look anymore.