The boy's face, usually so impassive, is an open book of grief and trauma. That woman is dead and it's his fault. "The police...what I did..."
Because he lied. He does remember doing it. He just doesn't know why.
He can feel the panic rising within him again. He's hungry and he's trapped in a car with someone he can hurt. Not the man claiming to be his father, who oddly smells extremely unappealing to him, but their driver. He can hear the blood pumping in the man's veins. The boy closes his eyes and sits back against the leather seats.
no subject
The boy's face, usually so impassive, is an open book of grief and trauma. That woman is dead and it's his fault. "The police...what I did..."
Because he lied. He does remember doing it. He just doesn't know why.
He can feel the panic rising within him again. He's hungry and he's trapped in a car with someone he can hurt. Not the man claiming to be his father, who oddly smells extremely unappealing to him, but their driver. He can hear the blood pumping in the man's veins. The boy closes his eyes and sits back against the leather seats.