It was easier to be numb. It was just so much fucking easier.
If you'd asked him a year ago, he would have granted that, yes, parental disappointment, a bad break-up, how many places do I have to send my resume to, he would have acknowledged they sucked, he knew how fucking much, but it was still better to feel every moment of it, because even if all it produced was angst, it was something.
He was only twenty-four, after all.
But now, it was endless sleep-walking, touch-typing with hands that felt like they'd been submerged in ice-water, feigned joy in fucking his boss on his lunch hour, dropping trou in the F-H section and vaguely noticing the faint licks of heat in his belly, because they were gone soon enough, and everything was Lisa Lisa Lisa Lisa Lisain a constant sickening chant in the back of his mind, no matter where he was what he was doing he dreamt of her and he could taste her lip balm every time he licked his lips endless strawberry flavor in everything he ate and everything he swallowed even Jack fucking Harkness's spunk and how long has it been since the last time he slept.
And when they shot her, both of her, Lisa's lips still scented with strawberries, because goddammit he would find her her lip balm if it killed him and hahaha it just might, his first feeling was "finally it's fuckingquiet."