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He was being contained. Physically held together by Kostya's overly restricting grasp. He wanted to flail, to kick and yell. He felt like a bottle of soda that had been shook, in need of exploding but given no outlet to do so.

Kostya was doing what he thought was best, because he cared. Otto knew he did. He knew all his friends did.

The teen stomped his foot in frustration, dipping his head down and gritting his teeth tightly. He wanted to push him away, but he didn't want to lose him either. He hated everyone, but he hated no one. Everything hurt, and it didn't stop. Nevada left him with a great hole in his heart, and anger was taking it's place.

"Lemme go.." He whimpered, shuddering in hostility.

The teen glared the whole time, obstinate and ornery. Through gritted teeth he gave a short reply, "Fine."

He turned sharply, retreating to his forgotten bedroom to lock himself away. He hated everything the world had to offer at the moment, especially himself. Everything he chose to do, allowed himself to do. It was all wrong, never right, never allowed.