He was losing it—his sanity, his personality, his sense of morality and ability to figure out what would and would not affect him come tomorrow—but he wasn't losing his paranoia, which only worsened with each passing minute.
Billy barked out a laugh; it was high-pitched and broken by short, raspy inhales, and was laced with a hopelessness that he'd been holding in for some time now. "Untie you?" he asked, like it was simultaneously the funniest and most preposterous thing he'd ever heard. He laughed again, this time more solid, but his expression had slipped into one of unquestionable concern and suspicion.
"So you can what? Run away? Hit me back?!" he said, louder than he'd ever spoken before and spooking himself with the sudden echo. "Why should I think you'd want to help me? I tackled you, chased you and disarmed you, put a spell on you and tied you up. You probably think I'm - I'm..." His expression crumbled then, and tears began to flow freely down his face, but his expression was not sad—it was pure, hateful anger. Only the anger was not directed at Greengrass however it appeared outwardly, but himself.
"—but I'm not," he continued, his words quicker and a little more frantic. He was speaking to himself again. "I'm not a monster, but I can't untie you, because everyone will think I'm a monster, and I can't—" His words broke with a sob, and his shoulders slumped.
Billy barked out a laugh; it was high-pitched and broken by short, raspy inhales, and was laced with a hopelessness that he'd been holding in for some time now. "Untie you?" he asked, like it was simultaneously the funniest and most preposterous thing he'd ever heard. He laughed again, this time more solid, but his expression had slipped into one of unquestionable concern and suspicion.
"So you can what? Run away? Hit me back?!" he said, louder than he'd ever spoken before and spooking himself with the sudden echo. "Why should I think you'd want to help me? I tackled you, chased you and disarmed you, put a spell on you and tied you up. You probably think I'm - I'm..." His expression crumbled then, and tears began to flow freely down his face, but his expression was not sad—it was pure, hateful anger. Only the anger was not directed at Greengrass however it appeared outwardly, but himself.
"—but I'm not," he continued, his words quicker and a little more frantic. He was speaking to himself again. "I'm not a monster, but I can't untie you, because everyone will think I'm a monster, and I can't—" His words broke with a sob, and his shoulders slumped.
