It's the first time Robby's wanted to do something violent to a specific person in a while.
There's been the desire; or more a need, a want to lash out and hurt, to inflict it on others and himself. He's been keeping it in, knowing it's irrational, that it's not who he is; and it's been getting better in the last week with his recovery. With feeling more like himself. With being loved, knowing that he's not a monster. This happens to people here.
They make mistakes. It's not what defines them.
(The next part is always hard, but he hasn't needed to be alone.)
His fingers scrape against the bowl, fortunately a metal texture for the way the pads turn white, for the sound his nails make before they click off from the surface. Robby doesn't look at what he's doing. Staring off in some spot under Mister LaRusso's head once he's finished speaking, his own lips pursing, tightening.
He did it when Robby wasn't even there. When he couldn't have been there, when Mister LaRusso hadn't even liked him going in the first place. Lured him. Did this to him over and over, his entire life. It's all their story is--a tale of violation, over and over.
Robby keeps the words he wants to say trapped, but he can't; he digs into the metal of the bowl, and looks at Mister LaRusso with an expression as anguished as it is furious. A voice low.
"...if he touches you again, I'll kill him. I don't care. If he shows his face--"
He cuts himself off, mouth shutting tight again, but there's nothing vague about what he would have said, repeated again. I'll go for him.
But there's more than fury behind it. There's a pain to it, even when he doesn't speak, an apology in his eyes that his mouth can't give. He wants justice for Mister LaRusso, the man he's about to make a bond with--the man he's loved in more ways than one.
How can he want anything else than to hurt his abuser?
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There's been the desire; or more a need, a want to lash out and hurt, to inflict it on others and himself. He's been keeping it in, knowing it's irrational, that it's not who he is; and it's been getting better in the last week with his recovery. With feeling more like himself. With being loved, knowing that he's not a monster. This happens to people here.
They make mistakes. It's not what defines them.
(The next part is always hard, but he hasn't needed to be alone.)
His fingers scrape against the bowl, fortunately a metal texture for the way the pads turn white, for the sound his nails make before they click off from the surface. Robby doesn't look at what he's doing. Staring off in some spot under Mister LaRusso's head once he's finished speaking, his own lips pursing, tightening.
He did it when Robby wasn't even there. When he couldn't have been there, when Mister LaRusso hadn't even liked him going in the first place. Lured him. Did this to him over and over, his entire life. It's all their story is--a tale of violation, over and over.
Robby keeps the words he wants to say trapped, but he can't; he digs into the metal of the bowl, and looks at Mister LaRusso with an expression as anguished as it is furious. A voice low.
"...if he touches you again, I'll kill him. I don't care. If he shows his face--"
He cuts himself off, mouth shutting tight again, but there's nothing vague about what he would have said, repeated again. I'll go for him.
But there's more than fury behind it. There's a pain to it, even when he doesn't speak, an apology in his eyes that his mouth can't give. He wants justice for Mister LaRusso, the man he's about to make a bond with--the man he's loved in more ways than one.
How can he want anything else than to hurt his abuser?