Fox's Glade [m] Two Birds, no Stone

Nothing was clear. His own breath was baited out, only to be crushed again, again, and again. Staggered and unkempt, he stood a chained dog, now a shell of a man in a home he'd never taken the decency to claim before. Before he knew it, before he could have it, before he had cherished it, and yes, when he knew he had broken it, it was gone. Gone again, and to every cruel joke that was played upon him, and for as many as he had raked others through, there could not have been one more sick now. Now that he couldn't see, both ahead of him and behind him, he was blinded and lost beyond recognition to an empire of found. So many had been found, and why hadn't he? Why had others, who did not yet deserve to be, and why did it take others when it was far too soon. It was too soon.

It brought him to here, to now, outside of this woman's doorstep, trembling and bitter. Angry. So, so very angry.

This was also the way in which things worked, and the part in which he was supposed to play. "COME OUT!" wailed again, until his voice gave out, and fuck, he could've been rabid. Felt rabid. Beaten, battered. and still standing, asking for more again. Bonnie would until it killed him.

"I'm not going to go give out this time, you hear?!" It was hard to swallow. He wasn't looking at her. Spoken as if blades were driving through his chest. The notches in his ears were scabbed, having been reopened and torn through every week.  "I'm not in the best of shape, either. So, when I come at you,-" His chest. His breath. It all hurt. "You better not dare hold back on me!"

When he tumbled towards her again, it was like a missile. The first time, he had been messy. This time, first punches came in strong, and his teeth fired at her nape. He'd collide if he needed to, mindlessly. This was not the Bonnie she had met before.