dizzy, fucking dizzy, and blood that comes up in a weak sputter. with a broken gasp, he tastes the iron in his teeth, and glasses have landed somewhere off the side. exhausted by struggling, exhausted from taking her swings without much of a fight. not that talking to her had gotten him anywhere but the ground, barely keeping liu off him, barely breathing over the hard metal lacrosse stick coming down on his throat. and yeah, she’s always been stronger than him. he was always fucking skipping gym class. but this feels different.
dimly, loudly, the thought; it’s not her, whatever is holding him down in the mud now is not his sister. his vision is hanging dark on the edges when he looks up at her, wild rain slicked hair, his blood on her shirt, on her knuckles. he can’t make sense of cursed radio signals and monsters in the woods, but he thought he could always read liu. maybe it’s why he’s so adamant–because the scarier thought is that he hadn’t known her at all. that she could be so angry at him, that it isn’t the violent scream of radio static forcing him to choke on his words.
one white-knuckled hand releases the bar, coming up to catch the fabric of her red, red jacket. and the words are hard, and maybe she really is going to kill him. even if you wanted to, you probably wouldn’t win. but he still talks, that’s all you’re good at, isn’t it?
“liu,” he forces his eyes to level, even when his breath jolts and stutters; “y-you’re really gonna let that thing win? look at me– please j-just, look at me. i’m sorry.” for whatever he’s done to hurt her, for letting the monster out of the box. “i’m fucking–sorry.”
you hate him. you hate him. the words twist and gnarl like thorns, like undergrowth around her rib cage. it’s a mantra she can’t shake now, even if her head were her own. every insidious thought she’s had, however small, however fleeting, that’s ugly, dark, twists and boils with an ancient thing’s desires. “ you’re sorry? no. ” she spits, the static red, and hot, and burning; she pushes down harder on the metal bar. liu feels it in her fingertips, numb, all pins and needles. “ you’re fucking pathetic. ”
it feels good, doesn’t it? to squeeze the life out of something so violently. to hear something choke and sputter. to feel strong, powerful, to feel some fucking sense of control. but there’s a moment that something seems to click with the thing, by lilt of her head and how, even briefly, pressure on his throat lightens. “ ... but you see me now, don’t you? ” realization rattles her lungs with laughter, cold and hollow, static. “ you believe. ” and that is worth so much more than a dead body in the woods.
“ you... ” a stammer, falter, and blind ferocity seems to slowly blink away; the white hot look in her eyes slips into a different kind of realization when she regains her voice. horror, when she sees the blood.
lacrosse stick is tossed into the mud when she realizes what she’s doing, and shaking fingers reach to hold his face. her knuckles ache. “ jun -- what the fuck? what the fuck did i do? ”
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