Matt Murdock (blindlawyer) wrote in incompletedata, @ 2017-10-09 17:16:00 |
|
|||
Entry tags: | marvel: mcu: matt murdock |
Who: Matt Murdock
What: Sorry not sorry Darcy
Where: Alpha
When: After arguing
Forgive me Father for I have sinned. It’s been… far too long since my last confession. He hadn’t meant a few of the messages he had ended up sending to her. It just-... seemed to be for the better. Once Matthew could walk around and not feel like the world was closing in on him, once he regained his bearings and relearnt how to navigate his surroundings, he was back on his feet again. And those old destructive habits came rolling back in, like dependable crutches he couldn’t simply shake off. For the most part Matthew kept to himself. He had a newfound appreciation of how much he’d taken his extra senses for granted, but he chose not to mention anything and went back to being the quiet observer in the corner. The air in the ward was tense - understandably so as some of the people here were responsible for putting others here. He didn’t like it. They were just as divided here as they had been when they were pitted against each other. Maybe he should say something, even though it wasn't really his place. Would anyone even listen to him? I have been unnecessarily cruel to someone kind, and compassionate - someone who just wanted to help a lost cause. For now the only fighting that had broken out was vandalism, damage to property, and other outbursts of anger. Like the one he unleashed on Darcy when she’d been overly pushy about the fact that he’d only eaten half a can of peaches and some leafy bits in 14 days. While he regretted that - among a lot of other things he's said to her since - tempers were running understandably hot around here. As long as they didn’t start fighting each other, he’d be content with inaction. It seemed much better than action given how things have turned out so far. All I’ve wanted to do was help people. All I’ve done so far is hurt them. Maybe I was wrong about my calling all along. These gifts have turned to rusty old daggers in my hands. Walking quietly into the other ward in the darkness, Matthew listened to Darcy sleep for a little while. Her heartbeat was slow, he could hear her steady breathing, and only when he was sure that she was in the middle of a deep sleep did he come up to the side of her bed. She was so traumatised by her assault, he wished he could do more to help her. Even now with all his senses back, he felt more helpless than when the world was just blacker than black. I’ve lost my way, Father. When all the other lights went out, I lost my way. Licking his lips, his shoulders slumped as he gripped the edge of her blanket gently, pulling it further up to cover her torso. She seemed so much larger than life when he was blind, when she’d taken it upon herself to take care of him before he took her kindness, snapped it into brittle shards and threw her offering back in her face. Now that he could wrap his senses around her and draw scarlet curves around her lithe body, she seemed to him to be vulnerable and hurt. What should I do? How do I find my way again? Matthew moved to sit down in the corner of the ward, his movements sluggish. At some stage, a conscious decision became an unconscious one became fasting became self-neglect became self-imposed punishment. His slow and gradual withering away was fast becoming an uncontrolled slide into guaranteed unconsciousness. For now he kept vigil nearby, letting the weariness set in for a while and making sure she’d sleep through the night tonight before he struggled to get back to his feet and walked away. I think I died, Father. But all the angels have left town. |