[he's been trying to sleep all day. There's no desire to go outside. See the world through new-old eyes. Not the green of nature, the blue sky. He just wants darkness and silence. Too much is happening in his head. Too much. He just wants to sleep so he doesn't have to feel or remember. Remember the life taken from him, remembering the parents he never cared to mourn, the atrocities he committed and thought about committing after he died.
That's how he views the drastic change. Petre died and in his place lived a total stranger. Someone he would have hated to meet, someone who would have hated to meet him. They're both in his head now, and it's welcoming neither one.
Then he's interrupted by John. The first and last person he ever wants to see again. He can't turn around, he tells himself. He can't - but a quiet energy pulls at his muscles and brings him to sit up, sliding his legs from the edge of the bed. His hands press down at his sides nervously. His eyes barely make it to John's face before they look away with shame. He doesn't know what he's expecting. He doesn't know what he thinks he deserves.
Petre says nothing. He looks tired, eyes swollen from the crying.]
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That's how he views the drastic change. Petre died and in his place lived a total stranger. Someone he would have hated to meet, someone who would have hated to meet him. They're both in his head now, and it's welcoming neither one.
Then he's interrupted by John. The first and last person he ever wants to see again. He can't turn around, he tells himself. He can't - but a quiet energy pulls at his muscles and brings him to sit up, sliding his legs from the edge of the bed. His hands press down at his sides nervously. His eyes barely make it to John's face before they look away with shame. He doesn't know what he's expecting. He doesn't know what he thinks he deserves.
Petre says nothing. He looks tired, eyes swollen from the crying.]