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He was right.
The realization doesn't bring any joy, any satisfaction; it tastes like poison, vile and disgusting, twisting him from the inside out, running wild all over his body. His heart is still hammering, his hands shaking painfully as he keeps clutching to the panel, trying to breath through the fire burning within his stupid cartoon body— eating away the shreds of hope Caine had carefully ripped into tiny pieces, leaving nothing but the ugly, bottomless void inside, because that's exactly what he deserves.
He should've guessed. He should've known.
"Jax?"
He doesn't look at her. He doesn't dare.
(She should've stopped him, why didn't she stop him, why did no one—)
He can't breath.
His body feels heavy, too heavy, the room too small, closing in on him; he should run, he should find a hole and die in there because what else is he supposed to do after what he's done? But he can't move, limbs frozen, the static in his ears growing louder, deafening, the flashes of memory still burning in the back of his eyes; he was right from the very beginning, he shouldn't have dared to hope, even for a second.
"Jax…"
Why, why is Pomni still here? To yell, to blame him for everything just like everyone else? Because that's all he's good at, isn't it? The only thing he can do is fuck everything up for everyone. A good-for-nothing freak that only knows how to break everything he touches. He does it over and over and over and over again and he'd have done it once more, if Caine wasn't a piece of shit, if an exit was real, he'd have doomed them all—
"Hey."
Some quiet, shattered part of him notices her hand on his wrist, her warmth trying to climb up his fur but the coldness is deeper, the poison too familiar, easier to swallow. She's about to tell him everything he already knows, how everyone would be happier if he wasn't here— but she doesn't. Her hand moves up instead, closing on his, too gentle, too warm, too real and finally his knees give out; his body comes crumbling down, barely holding him together.
(He's laughing again. He can feel his body spazzing, can feel himself choking and suffocating on his own misery.)
His brain catches up on the presence around him, on the softness under his cheek. Pomni, just cradling him, pressing his face against her as if she cares, as if he deserves or wants any kindness from her or anyone else and it only makes him laugh harder, the tears escaping his eyes all but going ignored; she hates him, she should hate him so why is she still here, why does she care?
she hates you she wants you gone they all do
"Just try to breath with me, okay?"
He should push her away again. He's done that before, he can do it again, he doesn't need her pity, he doesn't need anything from her— but everything keeps betraying him today, just a toy for her and Caine and whoever else that decided to play with him and Jax feels himself trying to match her breathing against his will, nothing but a passenger on his own body again and again, watching helplessly. Funny how that keeps happening, isn't it funny.
you're the funny one, aren't you
"Everything's gonna be okay."
She'd said that before, right? And he'd believed her, he'd wanted so badly for her to be right about the plan, about an exit, about everything; isn't that why he'd allowed her to drag him around for the whole day, playing his part? And it's been for nothing, it hasn't meant anything because there's never been a way out, there'll never be an exit.
(There's nothing left for him out there, anyway.)
His throat hurts, the foul taste still clinging tight to his tongue. He vaguely registers Pomni's hand finding his again, intertwining their fingers together, brushing off his rejection from earlier as if it's never happened; funny how he'd wanted to hold her hand but too prideful to let her see even a glimpse behind his mask and yet here he is, in her arms, crying and laughing, unable to control himself.
She keeps holding him.
Why does she keep holding him?
And then Pomni is moving, talking but his brain refuses to make sense of her words, body on autopilot. It's easier if he doesn't fight it, if he doesn't fight her. The only thing he focuses on is her hand on his, her warmth real, painfully human, beautifully tragic— she drags him out of the room, away from yet another of his unspeakable sins, away from another reminder of Caine's endless cruelty. He should've noticed earlier, all the red flags, how easy it'd been…
(It feels like holding Ribbit's hand again.)
His throat closes up again, constricting, his breath lost; why, why did she have to go and abstract and leave him? But the thought is there and gone too soon, his body sinking into something soft, Pomni's warmth lost for a second before it's back, spreading fast all over his chest, climbing up his limbs, as if rebooting his system. It takes a moment for his mind to catch up but it finally does, and the vile taste fills his mouth again.
He's just laying in Pomni's bed now, being pressed against her body, her arms wrapped around him, keeping him grounded. The rabbit is stuck in her embrace once more, and some part of his brain jolts into working long enough for him to curl up, trying to make himself smaller, chasing a comfort he knows he doesn't deserve and never will, no matter what.
selfish you're so selfish
"We can deal with everything in the morning." Her voice is tender, careful. "But I'm not leaving you, okay? We're a team."
The laughter that escapes him is ugly, broken; a team, how can they be a team when he's so twisted, so damaged, when he keeps proving there's nothing good to find in him? Hasn't he caused enough heartache for her to get it, for her to understand he's not a good person and never will be, that he doesn't deserve any good thing she's offering, that he's not worth it?
But he can accept it, just for one night.
Just for one night, he can pretend he can be saved.