[ It's all still such a haze, a dreamlike blur. Nightmarish, like something a person shouldn't look back on, a manifestation of fears and hurts. He can't be sure any of it really happened. Can't be sure of anything.

But he does remember..... getting hurt. The act of it, even if his mind can't process or understand how and why it happened the way it did. Something.... went wrong in him. Something..... ]

....At school. I was at school.

[ He starts there, words mumbled softly as he looks down to the bottle placed in his hand. Something for pain— he nods mutely, obediently, slowly works the cap off and fishes two out. It's robotic, movements on autopilot, the act of taking pills. They go down dry and he winces a little, but ultimately doesn't care. Then he's blinking back up at Mob, belatedly reacting to the second part of that, nodding again, slow. ]

Yeah— sorry. I think I'm bleeding. [ It's probably not pleasant, cleaning him up. He can smell the blood, taste it. More pieces get voiced, almost dazed; he's still stunned about it all. ]

I think my nose might be broken. My head hit my desk— really hard.