Wayland
He/Him
Twenty-Eight
March Twenty-First
Vermillion City
Heterosexual
League Turncoat
Eh
Should I bite my tongue, until blood soaks my shirt?
TAG WITH @king
KING WAYLAND
shattered illusions
POSTED ON Oct 13, 2021 4:44:27 GMT
[nospaces][attr="class","king4"]A RECKONING LONG DUE...[break]
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[break]
"i'm sure ye didn't." [break][break] his voice drips with venom, and sarcasm; both emotions tasted even more bitter than the last. [break][break] "but it happened — 'n i don't need ta justify myself ta you, matty, or 'nyone else. i was yer friend, and ye didn't just lie ta me — ye faked yer fuckin' death, gira. ye and matty both faked yer death." [break][break] it takes all the effort he has to not take a step forward involuntarily. [break][break] "i'm sure ye both had a real good fuckin' laugh at my expense as i was ridiculed, shamed 'n all but exiled by the people i've known fer years." [break][break] he'd thought of this moment for years. how he'd beg for her forgiveness, and give her permission ta end his life. she was the ghost he was chasing at the end of every shot of whiskey, and now, here she was. only, she wasn't a ghost, or vengeful specter, and never had been. [break][break] king runs his hands through his hair, a stinging pain from the force and tension on his roots. his chest felt heavier than lead, and the lump in his throat made swallowing, and even breathing, difficult. [break][break] he'd gone over the events of that night in his mind thousands of times. his anger, resentment, and grief, had cost the lives of dozens of men and women. not all were to blame for the treatment of him, but at the time, it didn't matter — nothing did — and as time went on, he dwelled on it more, and more, to the point of a near-psychotic break on more occasions than he'd care to admit. [break][break] though, no one else would know, he himself hadn't taken a life that night — not even the rocket members who attacked the safehouse — or any day thereafter. he rationalized to himself that even he had limits, and that night alone was an insult to the memory of the woman he cared so much for. [break][break] but none of that mattered. [break][break] five years he spent in the wallows of self-pity, and hatred, mulling over his betrayal and mistakes when all along they had betrayed him. [break][break] five years. [break][break] his eyes widen for a moment, and he pulls his attention back down towards the child. his pupils dilated in focus, red veins of irritation filling the whites of his sclera. for one solitary moment, just one, his anger dimmed and his voice softened to just above a whisper against the dryness of his mouth. [break][break] "how old are ye kid?"
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