@killertwin you get what you get man.
there was no other word for this experience other than exhaustion, a cigarette haphazardly hanging from his lips while his lungs tried and failed to regulate themselves. this was awful. his car had become impossibly smaller, the air somehow thinner. why did this always happen? why did people always leave --- what was it that he kept doing wrong? the road was zipping by in a big black blur, his eyes failing to focus on anything. autopilot. he was easily pushing seventy, the soft thud of the groceries being the only thing reminding him that he was meant to be focusing on road. or he could turn the wheel, it didn't take much, he was going fast enough anyway, right? but that would be selfish; he promised kai he would go home, so that's what he'd do, and maybe if he was lucky enough kai would kill him. that'd have to be some kind of poetic justice.
his fingers dug into the material of the steering wheel, their temporary home coming into view. everything seemed to be temporary with him. make-shift, half-assed. like no one could put in the effort to commit all the way. something always fell short.
he watched his cigarette skitter down the driveway, shoulder pressed against the door as he tried to push it open.
a moment for composure. the pseudo-sensation of silence, of nothing. a zippo flicked close. did he leave his keys in the car? probably. groceries were there too. what did it matter, what did anything matter? and he still couldn't manage to make sense of anything kai had said. more silence.
the door clicked open and he tried to find something to say but his throat was dry. had it been dry this whole time? "hey." an attempt to call out --- but his voice was too small, he felt too small. how was it that he'd so quickly gone back to feeling so small? "i'm back."
