The woman before him looks away, and it is that which unleashes the tidal wave. The painful pressure in his eyes begins to make them burn. It is no metaphor, the panicked tears that begin to buildup within them causes genuine pain. A distant part of his mind notes this, and ponders why that is. The only logical explanation would be that his eyes are dry, but would it not make sense for tears to wet his eyes and soothe them, not burn? A distant part of his subconscious mulls over the thoughts, trying to find anything to focus on other than the invasive shouts of his anxiety.
But it's not enough. Of course it isn't. The disease has sunk it's claws too firmly into his mind for mere ponderings to ever be enough. There's no choice but to ride it out.
And riding it out, means that as the mare before him snuffles around the ground, he can feel his limbs begin to shake. Tremors wrack his body, rattling his teeth as he trembles as though assaulted by the freezing winds of winter. He cannot still himself when she turns back to him, extending the shoot of a young plant she had pried from the ground. He feels as though he ought to recognize it, but through the tears clouding his vision, now dripping down his cheeks, he is hardly able to see it. Only the messy shape of plant matter twisted in the kaleidoscope of salted water that obfuscates his gaze.
She is extending it towards him. Does she want him to take it? Does she want him to keep it? Eat it? If she wants him to eat it, is it something to hurt him? No, no, it couldn't be. The anxiety is so focused on screaming the same mantra of danger that it can't grab onto anything else, and this new information, new situation, he can think about more clearly. If clear could even be used to describe his thoughts.
Does she want to help him? Maybe. If so, he wished he could take it. He would love some help right about now. But he can't open his mouth, why can't he open his mouth? Every muscle in his body feels locked, yet he is shaking. He is trembling, yet he is unable to move. It is truly, so very strange. So very against what logic would dictate.
He wished he could say sorry, wished he could apologize. What a pathetic mess he is, unable to keep it together to give a proper introduction. He barely managed to get his name out, never mind anything else. She shouldn't have to deal with someone like him. Especially if she truly is trying to help. If she's trying to help him, she must be kind, and no kind person should have to put up with a wreck like him.
Muffled whimpers are the only sound he can make as he rides the attack out, soft sounds, almost like choked moans of fright that groan from his throat. He's not trying to make them, just like he's not trying to shake, not trying to cry. He doesn't want to be crying, especially not if she really is a nice woman who is only trying to help.
All he can do is stand there, looking back at her. The woman who did nothing wrong, who seemed to even want to help. All he can do is look at her, trembling, crying, whimpering.
DANGERENEMYFEARRUNTERRORNOTSAFENOTSAFETHREATENATTACKDEFENSETROUBLEDEMONMONSTERWRETCHEDFOULHIDEOUSDANGERDANGERDANGERMONSTERPREDATORRUNRUNRUN
He really wished he didn't have to cry.
@
OOC: HEY FAM GUESS WHAT
also the attack should be over by his next post, if you still want to continue this of course after my long hiatus, if not just let me know <3
