He does not have the energy for this. He can't tap into some hidden cellar and draw out a few more hours of endurance, though he wish he could. Oh what a dream it would be to have energy flowing from the taps. But here they are in a hospital bed, sandwiched together like two misfit puzzle pieces. The blood pressure cuff whirs to life, the machine humming low in the silence that falls, accompanied by her tears, his ragged breathing.
Klaus feels the familiar sensation of anger coursing through his blood, though it isn't necessarily directed at Allison. A cruel part of him wants to remind her that she left. She left him as much as they all left each other and maybe caring now is too little, too late. He doesn't, however, because he knows too well that anger is meant for himself, not for her.
"Normal?" A hysterical laugh bursts from his chest. "You think I resemble normal? Oh yes, let's sit here and have a heart to heart while John who died next door is fucking breathing down my god damned neck." He yanks his hands away from hers and rubs his forearms as they pimple with goose flesh, his hands quaking, with anger, with fear "But yeah, A+ nanny material, sign me up."
He needs to get out of this place. The realization is so sudden and so real that he scrambles for the blankets, shoving them off to reveal skinny, pale legs, spotted with the occasional bruise. The oxygen and heart rate monitor wails as he rips the tape from his finger. "Then lets go. I need to get out of this place." Does he have a choice? He can't look at her, see those tears and deny her anything. While he wants the chance to go to California, see what his life could be there, a small, childish part of him wants it to have been his choice.
The IVs come next, frantic hands peeling back tape and digging. Nothing worse than the bite of a needle on a hot night in a sleazy apartment, right. His hands shake too much to pull the IV out, however, shake to the point he lets out a near growl of frustration that dissolves into a quiet sob. He presses his palms over his ears instead, sucking in shaky, uncertain breaths, whimpering.
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Klaus feels the familiar sensation of anger coursing through his blood, though it isn't necessarily directed at Allison. A cruel part of him wants to remind her that she left. She left him as much as they all left each other and maybe caring now is too little, too late. He doesn't, however, because he knows too well that anger is meant for himself, not for her.
"Normal?" A hysterical laugh bursts from his chest. "You think I resemble normal? Oh yes, let's sit here and have a heart to heart while John who died next door is fucking breathing down my god damned neck." He yanks his hands away from hers and rubs his forearms as they pimple with goose flesh, his hands quaking, with anger, with fear "But yeah, A+ nanny material, sign me up."
He needs to get out of this place. The realization is so sudden and so real that he scrambles for the blankets, shoving them off to reveal skinny, pale legs, spotted with the occasional bruise. The oxygen and heart rate monitor wails as he rips the tape from his finger. "Then lets go. I need to get out of this place." Does he have a choice? He can't look at her, see those tears and deny her anything. While he wants the chance to go to California, see what his life could be there, a small, childish part of him wants it to have been his choice.
The IVs come next, frantic hands peeling back tape and digging. Nothing worse than the bite of a needle on a hot night in a sleazy apartment, right. His hands shake too much to pull the IV out, however, shake to the point he lets out a near growl of frustration that dissolves into a quiet sob. He presses his palms over his ears instead, sucking in shaky, uncertain breaths, whimpering.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."