jackson harris ( werewolf ) . (likefenris) wrote in light_of_may, @ 2012-02-02 21:27:00 |
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Who: Jackson.
Where: The Budget Lodge; Jackson’s room.
When: Late evening.
As first days went, not to mention first meetings, Jackson knew he could have done better. It had started out well enough, the encounter with the man who smelled like the forest, like the earth itself, like rain-moistened soil and healthy bark and leaves, had made him feel almost good about this place, at least optimistic enough to consider staying in this town called Scarlet Oak for a while. How it had gone so quickly downhill he wasn’t even sure.
No. That wasn’t fair. If anything, that was a flat-out lie. Jackson knew very well how and why things had gone south the way they had, more than circling the drain and actually tumbling down it; he was as much to blame for the unnecessary clash as the other wolf was, and now that he was at a distance and could think objectively without the dominance and aggression of his inner predator playing such a prominent part, he saw he had been at fault. There had been no need to challenge so openly, to prod and taunt and aggravate the way he had. The encounter might not have gone so terribly if he had just kept on walking. Was there any guarantee the other male would have been able to do the same thing? No, there wasn’t, but he could have done the sensible and placating thing and moved away from the other male’s car. He shouldn’t have been so antagonistic and defiant.
It wasn’t that easy though. It never was, as much as that fact made his stomach turn a little. If Lily could see him now she would be disappointed in him. His parents too, he knew, and as he closed the door to his rented room behind him, movements stiff and joints aching, he sighed regretfully to himself, lifting one hand to sweep dishevelled dark hair from his brow. Where had all that come from? The need to challenge and antagonise, to goad another wolf into a fight. That wasn’t like him, and therein lay the real problem.
Jackson sat on the end of the bed, not even going to trouble of shedding his jacket or toeing off his boots. Instead he sat there and stared at a nondescript point on the carpet in front of him, not so much seeing the floor of the room as he was those looks on his late loved ones’ faces. It was enough to fill him with a flood of self-loathing, and closing his eyes didn’t help. If anything, that made it worse. He wasn’t acting like himself, and the longer he went without those he had cared about most, the worse it became. What could he do though? There was nowhere to go but forward, no chance at going back, and there was no one to help him rediscover his true self. Jackson was alone now, and tonight he felt more alone than ever, he realised with a heavy sense of sadness which was quick to join the disgust and regret.
With slumped shoulders and another weary, remorseful sigh, Jackson rocked backward and lay on the bed, leaving himself to stare despondently up at the ceiling instead of down at the carpet. It made no difference. Nothing ever did nowadays.