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[He's staring at a piece of paper. Staring for - for a really long time, long enough that she's sure he can't realize how long it's been, long enough for her throat to close on all the things she wants to say. And then he speaks again and she moves back to his side, meaning to throw her arms around him again, to reassure him that she'll never give up on him -

and instead she shoves him, hard. Eyes dark and bright and full of hurt.]

That's bullshit! You think I'm gonna go easy on you? You think I'm gonna back off and leave you alone so you can just waste away like a fucking coward and not feel guilty? Bad fucking news, Shepherd. I'm really, really bad at giving up.

[Alex isn't nearly prepared for the shove, so he stumbles backward, letting the wall catch him. The words make him flinch more than the physical violence, of course. Not that he's unused to either; he's just not used to the sharp, angry tone to come from a woman instead of a man. Elle wasn't the type to scream if he pissed her off. His mother was practically a blank slate, except for those sparse days he'd hear her crying through the walls.

He's not sure how to react, either. So he looks down at his own feet and lets her berate him as much as she wanted; he deserved it, even if his side of things isn't particularly changed. Yeah, he's a coward. He'd rather run away and pretend nobody gave a damn about him. Because why would they?

Why would they?

It's all he's ever really known, for a while. People leaving him to himself. Leaving him to his father and mother, not taking a second glance that that Shepherd kid.

He clutches the paper in his hand, crinkling it roughly.]

[That was uncalled for. The right thing to do would be move in and help him up from the wall. Apologize, explain that she's on edge with worry but she knows it's not an excuse.]

Fight back! Damn it, Alex! You heard me upset, you tried to talk to me about it, tried to help me, and now I'm screaming at you. Doesn't anything about this make you angry? You deserve better than this! Fight back!

[Shame she's not that good a person.]

[He doesn't deserve better. He used to think he did; when his father screamed at him, he defiantly looked back with the thought that he deserved more than what his father said he should get. Eventually, though, you get tired. Or... you do things that earn you whatever hole you dig yourself into. He was so determined to fight everything back: when he arrived in Silent Hill, in Shepherd's Glen, after escaping the hospital, he fought back, but what was his reward? A destroyed town, a dead brother, a warped state of mind. Should he be strong enough to withstand all that? What kind of fucked up person could ever walk away with their head held high?

That's just the problem. He's spent the last ten years 'fighting back'. Whether it's monsters, doctors, fate, mysterious ships, an angry father; it's all he's done. Now that Heather's the one trying to dish out the hurt--the unbottled anger--he's all out of room to shove it down away in his heart and mind. Especially when it comes to her.

And so, his resolve bows easily, to the point where he doesn't even flinch or turn when she yells.

He just stands there and looks down and acts like this really isn't anything new.]

Edited 2013-02-13 09:37 (UTC)

Fight back!

[It's not really even yelling now. Her voice cracks and wavers, hitching hoarsely with the tears that she's not even trying to hold back anymore. She throws the few papers she'd collected at him, still loose leaves. They don't even reach him. She lifts her hands to shove him again, gets them as far as his shoulders but bunches them into fists in the fabric of his shirt instead.]

Please. You have to fight. You have to.

[He's quiet while she takes his shirt in her hands, and remains that way for a heavy pause.]

I did... fight back. I really did--you gotta' believe me, I really tried. But every time I did, someone else suffered. I... killed so many people, at the church. When they tried to kill me, I--

[he stops, gaze wandering from heather to the journal]

I had to kill my mom, killed Judge Holloway--couldn't save Wheeler... Couldn't save my brother. My friends. Everyone in the town, gone... and now...

[Now Chase and Murphy. He can't bring himself to say it. But there's a desperation behind his words, like he's genuinely seeking answers--he needs them, so badly.]

... Tell me--what good have I ever done, fighting back?

You're still alive.

[It's quiet. Plaintive. The fight's left her completely by the time he's finished talking, and even as she says it she knows he won't see that as good.]

You're still here to help people. And you do. It's like you think it doesn't count because you have this messed-up idea that you need to do penance, but that doesn't mean the people you help get less out of it.

[But he does need to do penance. He'll always need to. It's his punishment for what he'd caused; while he never really thinks it literally, it's completely and utterly true. So he looks at her, trying to look for something—maybe hoping she doesn't believe that, or hoping it's true despite his every thought that it isn't. Eventually he just swallows hard and softens his stare, and his shoulders slump at the sudden invisible weight; added weight, without warning.]

... I'm just tired.

[That's it. He's just—tired. But it's gotten to the worst point of weariness: the point where living exhausts you, down to the bone. He's so tired, Heather. He closes his eyes and scrubs a hand across one eyelid, looking the part. And then he says it again, like he's trying to make it a casual statement for himself, against all the odds.]

I'm just tired.

Edited 2013-02-18 09:51 (UTC)

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