Now it's Howard's turn to turn red, to have his eyes wet with tears, to have anger wash over his face like a stain of paint. He's surprised. As far as he's concerned, he was completely justified. She was the one who got in his face, she was the one who said mean things about someone he's with, she's the one from this awful, awful society that likes to see him get cut up on TV and then ask for a picture and a smile because he's so entertaining and vulnerable. They're the ones who bay for his blood one moment and then expect hm to go around like nothing's wrong, like he didn't kill three people, like he isn't torn up by that almost as much as he's torn up by being, well, physically torn up.
And then a switch flicks inside, and his face deadens. This is petty. This is pointless. He's helpless here and he's helpless in the Arena, and arguing about his feeble displays of resistance with a zombie just spirals upwards into patently ludicrous.
"She was insulting you."
He says it as if it explains everything. R's with him. He thinks back to hanging out with Orc at school, listening to other kids whisper about the fat, ugly, stupid bully kid, and he passed the message on to Orc back then and pointed out the perpetrators so they could get their asses beat, because it wasn't fair for them to go without comeuppance for their arrogance, for their intolerance.
None of it's fair.
He crouches own and picks up the piece of crust that fell to the floor, eats that, ignores that it has a piece of hair on it. Then he sits back up on the booth, palms down on the seat between his knees, shoulders hunched, looking off to the side as if eye contact is painful. He tells himself this is dumb to be angry about, a dumb thing to be hurt over, but he's still angry enough that his blood feels like an electric wire coiled through his neck and gut.
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And then a switch flicks inside, and his face deadens. This is petty. This is pointless. He's helpless here and he's helpless in the Arena, and arguing about his feeble displays of resistance with a zombie just spirals upwards into patently ludicrous.
"She was insulting you."
He says it as if it explains everything. R's with him. He thinks back to hanging out with Orc at school, listening to other kids whisper about the fat, ugly, stupid bully kid, and he passed the message on to Orc back then and pointed out the perpetrators so they could get their asses beat, because it wasn't fair for them to go without comeuppance for their arrogance, for their intolerance.
None of it's fair.
He crouches own and picks up the piece of crust that fell to the floor, eats that, ignores that it has a piece of hair on it. Then he sits back up on the booth, palms down on the seat between his knees, shoulders hunched, looking off to the side as if eye contact is painful. He tells himself this is dumb to be angry about, a dumb thing to be hurt over, but he's still angry enough that his blood feels like an electric wire coiled through his neck and gut.
"You didn't deserve it."