[ Of course Robby tries to speak. The moment that first line comes out from the phone, the dull monotonous apology that speaks for Mister LaRusso, Robby pipes up himself with the plan to say more, maybe even the sliver of an urge to take the phone from him. It's only the shake of the head and look that Robby receives that stops him, both physically and verbally.
He bites down on his bottom lip with a frown, his own pathetic look shot right back at Mister LaRusso, even if the older man looks away to continue to text away onto his phone.
And nothing about it changes Robby's mind, the words he wanted to say to cut him off with. The expression he gives Mister LaRusso, a plea to understand. ]
I don't care about that anymore. I'm just...tired of the whole thing. Being angry at you and my dad, hating Miguel and Sam, it never got me anywhere. You were there for me more than anyone's been there in my life. But I...
[ How can he explain it? When there are some wounds there, sure, the kind he would like to leave buried, the type of hurt that has yet to be completely pushed aside. What about their talk in the rehab garden hurt, what he felt replayed when Sam came and found him in the skatepark. It's a hurt that breathes in slowly, a balloon inflating within his ribcage, pushing against it and his insides uncomfortably.
But where does he take it? A feeling so irrational, so exhausting--what good is there in unpacking it, when assigning blame just left him as miserable as he was after the tournament? When hearing it now, not exactly with Mister LaRusso's voice, but a stand-in good enough only makes his limbs tired? His heart ache.
His head hangs in the moment he unravels it, tries to find the words to say what he's already said. Looking up again at Mister LaRusso, the request still in his features, the slant of his brows. ]
I missed you, [ he settles on, softly. ] And I made choices that you can't take the blame for. And I would've been fine if you didn't want to forgive me for them, but I want to let go of what I've been carrying for this past year.
no subject
[ Of course Robby tries to speak. The moment that first line comes out from the phone, the dull monotonous apology that speaks for Mister LaRusso, Robby pipes up himself with the plan to say more, maybe even the sliver of an urge to take the phone from him. It's only the shake of the head and look that Robby receives that stops him, both physically and verbally.
He bites down on his bottom lip with a frown, his own pathetic look shot right back at Mister LaRusso, even if the older man looks away to continue to text away onto his phone.
And nothing about it changes Robby's mind, the words he wanted to say to cut him off with. The expression he gives Mister LaRusso, a plea to understand. ]
I don't care about that anymore. I'm just...tired of the whole thing. Being angry at you and my dad, hating Miguel and Sam, it never got me anywhere. You were there for me more than anyone's been there in my life. But I...
[ How can he explain it? When there are some wounds there, sure, the kind he would like to leave buried, the type of hurt that has yet to be completely pushed aside. What about their talk in the rehab garden hurt, what he felt replayed when Sam came and found him in the skatepark. It's a hurt that breathes in slowly, a balloon inflating within his ribcage, pushing against it and his insides uncomfortably.
But where does he take it? A feeling so irrational, so exhausting--what good is there in unpacking it, when assigning blame just left him as miserable as he was after the tournament? When hearing it now, not exactly with Mister LaRusso's voice, but a stand-in good enough only makes his limbs tired? His heart ache.
His head hangs in the moment he unravels it, tries to find the words to say what he's already said. Looking up again at Mister LaRusso, the request still in his features, the slant of his brows. ]
I missed you, [ he settles on, softly. ] And I made choices that you can't take the blame for. And I would've been fine if you didn't want to forgive me for them, but I want to let go of what I've been carrying for this past year.
[ He pauses, lips pressing together tight. ]
I don't it anymore. It just hurts.