Gabe shouts and makes noise as much as he possibly can until the door closes--and even then, it takes him a few more moments of yelling at the top of his lungs until he tires himself out.
His chest is heaving, his entire world pulled out from underneath him. He knew he was playing with fire--but Gabe had always won. Always. This was different.
He slumps down the wall and puts his head in his hands, concentrates on breathing evenly. Getting worked up won't help. Being anything but his true nature wouldn't help. He needs something else. Some sort of--anything. A distraction. Anything.
But Gabe is alone.
He does, in an irrational display of hatred, yank of his shoes and pitch them across the small cell, just for one little fuck you to Wells and his idea.
The sad thing is he actually thinks about it and he thinks about it fairly quickly. He's not going to commit suicide, though. Wells would like that. Instead, he feels like he's starving. He feels like his entire body is eating itself from the inside; not being able to connect with someone. It doesn't matter if it's happy or sad--he needs someone. Anyone.
He hums. Humming turns into singing, and he doesn't actually have half a bad voice.
Gabe's not sure how long it's been. The last time these shakes, this feeling like he was going to tear himself apart happened, it was when he hit the 12 hour mark without talking or being near a single person. He tried it, locking himself in his hotel room. Couldn't do it.
He's starting to get desperate. Starting to get almost twitchy. The songs have stopped, and desperately tapping at his knee has started. He doesn't realize it. All he realizes are those shoes and those shoelaces. Wells had put the idea in his mind. Why not do it?
No. No, he couldn't. He couldn't, that was stupid. He wasn't going to die from lack of human emotion. That was ridiculous.
And yet, he felt like he was being drained, somehow.
"I can't take it," He murmurs, and considers the shoelaces again. The only problem is that they're across from him and he can't reach. He literally doesn't have the energy to move. It's sapped from him.
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His chest is heaving, his entire world pulled out from underneath him. He knew he was playing with fire--but Gabe had always won. Always. This was different.
He slumps down the wall and puts his head in his hands, concentrates on breathing evenly. Getting worked up won't help. Being anything but his true nature wouldn't help. He needs something else. Some sort of--anything. A distraction. Anything.
But Gabe is alone.
He does, in an irrational display of hatred, yank of his shoes and pitch them across the small cell, just for one little fuck you to Wells and his idea.
The sad thing is he actually thinks about it and he thinks about it fairly quickly. He's not going to commit suicide, though. Wells would like that. Instead, he feels like he's starving. He feels like his entire body is eating itself from the inside; not being able to connect with someone. It doesn't matter if it's happy or sad--he needs someone. Anyone.
He hums. Humming turns into singing, and he doesn't actually have half a bad voice.
Gabe's not sure how long it's been. The last time these shakes, this feeling like he was going to tear himself apart happened, it was when he hit the 12 hour mark without talking or being near a single person. He tried it, locking himself in his hotel room. Couldn't do it.
He's starting to get desperate. Starting to get almost twitchy. The songs have stopped, and desperately tapping at his knee has started. He doesn't realize it. All he realizes are those shoes and those shoelaces. Wells had put the idea in his mind. Why not do it?
No. No, he couldn't. He couldn't, that was stupid. He wasn't going to die from lack of human emotion. That was ridiculous.
And yet, he felt like he was being drained, somehow.
"I can't take it," He murmurs, and considers the shoelaces again. The only problem is that they're across from him and he can't reach. He literally doesn't have the energy to move. It's sapped from him.