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Oct. 26th, 2008 04:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
beforeyoucanblinkHis Door won’t open.
All that… shit with Jenny and Oliver Queen the (surprise!) Drug Junkie (what the fuck is he doing hanging out with him in the future? And AC and just… what the hell is all that?) and he hasn’t even seen Clark since he got royally pissed with Jenny for getting in his head and now Billy and his spell-
-and now, finally, because if all that stuff being in the Bar’s put him through isn’t enough, his Door won’t open.
He’s Bound, and it’s like being stuck in Billy’s spell all over again, only this time it’s the entire bar, and he just stares at his Door in disbelief for a second before speeding up to his room.
He just-
can’t-
-do this. All of it. Any of it. He wishes he’d just stayed away from the bar, out on the streets where no one cares and he’s alone and he doesn’t have to open up to people just so he can get torn down all over again and all the anger and frustration and pain just builds and stacks and grows until finally he takes it out on the wall, because maybe somewhere the Bar feels it and knows what she’s done to him, but mostly because it’s there and he needs this.
And then, when he’s done, he slides against the wall until he’s sitting on the floor.
“Don’t hit me with the big cow eyes, there, Stretch. Okay? I can always take care of myself.”
“Yeah, you’ve done a great job so far.”
All that… shit with Jenny and Oliver Queen the (surprise!) Drug Junkie (what the fuck is he doing hanging out with him in the future? And AC and just… what the hell is all that?) and he hasn’t even seen Clark since he got royally pissed with Jenny for getting in his head and now Billy and his spell-
-and now, finally, because if all that stuff being in the Bar’s put him through isn’t enough, his Door won’t open.
He’s Bound, and it’s like being stuck in Billy’s spell all over again, only this time it’s the entire bar, and he just stares at his Door in disbelief for a second before speeding up to his room.
He just-
can’t-
-do this. All of it. Any of it. He wishes he’d just stayed away from the bar, out on the streets where no one cares and he’s alone and he doesn’t have to open up to people just so he can get torn down all over again and all the anger and frustration and pain just builds and stacks and grows until finally he takes it out on the wall, because maybe somewhere the Bar feels it and knows what she’s done to him, but mostly because it’s there and he needs this.
And then, when he’s done, he slides against the wall until he’s sitting on the floor.
“Don’t hit me with the big cow eyes, there, Stretch. Okay? I can always take care of myself.”
“Yeah, you’ve done a great job so far.”
