However, the table was cleaned off. Plate in the trash can and drugs off of the table, and for several moments , fingers dig into his hair and knees drawn still disheveled how the woman had left him...
Better than the man. He would never just deiced to slip a blue pill between his lips and fuck him, Vincent would make him want him, draw him out of the growing labrynth. Into reaity, only to shatter him into little pieces.
"Better," the shell murmured softly, knees drawn to his chest. Laughing softly although the sound seemed stuck between a dry laugh and crying. Forehead pressed almost roughly into his knees, he tried to take steady breaths only for his chest to tighten harshly. Eventually he forced himself to move, tenderly placing the cracked picture frame back on the shelf upon the wall.
Shaky legs and spinning head from hunger, usually easily to ignore now he was unable. Not that Satoru could not fend for himself. Starving himself was just a slow road to death that he silently pleaded for, only to feel guilty if he took his own life. His mother had fought valiantly for her own- what was he to snuff his own out? On the other side, it was not like he was truly using the life that he would have much rather given every last drop to the kind, caring, and wonderful woman whose smile he only saw in pictures.
On his own, he would not be able to afford drugs let alone know where to find them. He'd have to be care, but maybe... Maybe he could truly 'get better' rather than more than what Kathrin meant to stay pleasing for their games.
...But then a smile drew to his lips- a hallow thing as the man's smile felt like it was burning through his back even if he knew the man was not there... A soft laugh escaped his lips and rushing tears which dropped on the floors as a rush of utter helplessness over took him. More so the fierce self loathing because Satoru knew he was letting them have so much power- more so that is did not matter any more of him 'letting' them do anything. . Not even having to threaten the red head, oh no, his will to live, will to leave had left when his mother took her last breath on her death bed, maybe before then. When the doctors told him, she was not even there. That she could not ever possibly know he sat in the chere, there. That sitting there was a waste because she had long left. Nothing in the brain was left there, that was her. Possibly there was were he had left as well