[Isaac looks on, watching Hector put more and more distance between them.
Only this time he makes no attempt to follow, despite the urge to break his jaw over the accusation of devil-fucking. His inner demons sneer in triumph, promising him their parting can only be for the best. That anything is preferable to following Hector like a hungry stray and apologizing by way of caving and telling him what he wants to hear, affirming just how consumed he was by him and his desire, how Hector was once at the centre of his world and everything in it. Better to drive him away now than risk knowing the sting of his betrayal later, the voices whisper; no one could hurt him if he were alone.
He tugs on his leather pants with some struggle and takes up his walking stick, watching and waiting and plunging at the stillness of the pond until he manages to gouge a fish. He then fillets it with a few deft, economical cuts of his knife, lightly searing it in his hands and tearing chunks out of it half-raw.
He misses the easiness of casual sex. No attachments, no trust, or entangling emotions, the entire experience boiling down to the simple fulfillment of a need. Just another hit of adrenaline before the next came around.
Of course, a man who knew love for three good years would surely never understand it, he thinks. Just as a man who could waltz into town without most humans batting an eyelash before he opened his mouth would understand what it's like to live on the other side. So he decides he won't wait for Hector's return, wandering off in no particular hurry with a theory to test and more energy and anger to burn off than he knows what to do with. To the first people he comes across, he'll throw off his hood and announce his peaceful intentions -- and whatever comes of it, all he knows is he wouldn't walk away from the exchange empty-handed.]
asshole is an asshole, more news at 11
Only this time he makes no attempt to follow, despite the urge to break his jaw over the accusation of devil-fucking. His inner demons sneer in triumph, promising him their parting can only be for the best. That anything is preferable to following Hector like a hungry stray and apologizing by way of caving and telling him what he wants to hear, affirming just how consumed he was by him and his desire, how Hector was once at the centre of his world and everything in it. Better to drive him away now than risk knowing the sting of his betrayal later, the voices whisper; no one could hurt him if he were alone.
He tugs on his leather pants with some struggle and takes up his walking stick, watching and waiting and plunging at the stillness of the pond until he manages to gouge a fish. He then fillets it with a few deft, economical cuts of his knife, lightly searing it in his hands and tearing chunks out of it half-raw.
He misses the easiness of casual sex. No attachments, no trust, or entangling emotions, the entire experience boiling down to the simple fulfillment of a need. Just another hit of adrenaline before the next came around.
Of course, a man who knew love for three good years would surely never understand it, he thinks. Just as a man who could waltz into town without most humans batting an eyelash before he opened his mouth would understand what it's like to live on the other side. So he decides he won't wait for Hector's return, wandering off in no particular hurry with a theory to test and more energy and anger to burn off than he knows what to do with. To the first people he comes across, he'll throw off his hood and announce his peaceful intentions -- and whatever comes of it, all he knows is he wouldn't walk away from the exchange empty-handed.]