|poeticmisery (poeticmisery) wrote in manchester_rpg,|
@ 2010-08-18 22:54:00
|Entry tags:||desmond, raina|
Who: Desmond and Raina
What: Picking up the pieces
When: August 18th, Around noonish
Where: Desmond's dorm room
His head buzzed lightly like a bee's nest, filled with thoughts that spiraled about but could not be caught in his mind's eye long enough to really examine, to figure out what it was that they meant. Yet even through the buzzing haze of a thousand other thoughts, he could be at least comforted in the idea that Beth was alive. It seemed a shallow, almost empty thought to really think about, but it was something that he held tight to himself, the only real light he seemed to have at the moment in his spiraling endless night of despair that lingered inside of his mind. The thing he had done he could not put out of his mind, he could not erase it no matter how hard he tried and yet...
Yet he knew he would do it again. He would betray those oaths he had sworn to himself so long ago for her. He would abuse his power in order to make certain that her heart still beat the way that it should. He would even take the brunt of whatever look she gave him when she discovered that she would likely far outlive her boyfriend, the man that she planned to marry. He would age normally, but she herself would not. Desmond wondered idly if that meant she would hate him, when she looked at him, still as young as he was, and she herself had hardly aged. If he did not say anything would she connect it to him, or wonder if in fact it was not just some sort of fluke of nature...
He wondered too if Raina had been worried about him. He had not spoken to her yesterday, planning on surprising her with roses, the same bouquet that he still carried in his hands now as he walked slowly out in the sunlight. It felt oppressively hot against his coat, and yet at the same time, even though it overheated him, it was pleasant. It meant that he could walk now without the hunger. He could stumble onward, exhausted and dehydrated and wanting very much to drink some blood, but still in control of his senses, in control of his mind without the terrible shaking, shivering that would come with the hunger the craving inside of him that was so potent it nearly made him a different person altogether.
It had nearly driven him mad in the darkness with Beth. It had clawed at his senses, fraying them like a tapestry until he had no longer been certain that he was sinking his fangs into himself any longer or if they were sinking into the wood, or if somehow he had crossed the room and started to sink them into Beth. But then the taste of his own blood would fill his mouth and he would realize that he had not moved, that it was something inside of his head, a dark terrible fantasy inspired by the sweet intoxicating aroma of her innocent nature.
The hours had blended seemingly into months, years, decades that he had spent holding himself off until finally he'd been free of the hunger completely. It didn't matter now that he was hot, or even that he felt somewhat sweaty for being in the heat... anything to avoid that hunger ever again...
As he moved along, some people stared at him on campus. He was certain that he looked a mess. After all, he was covered in blood, both his and hers, and he longed for the ability to take a shower to wash all of it off of him. That, his ripped jeans. The fact that he was pretty sure there were little cubes of glass still in his hair from where the windows had shattered. And of course that having lost his blood he was pale, like death looking almost like a walking corpse the way that he slowly shambled his way back to his dorm room. It was a slow affair, just putting one foot in front of the other, knowing that once he made it back there he could finally just... rest in peace.
He was so tired that his eyes felt swollen even though they were probably the one place on his body that he had not sunken his teeth into last night in the desperation to avoid his own hunger. He wondered for a moment if he could just close them, and collapse upon a bench, if just a moment or two of sleep might help him not feel so damned weak, so very close to just collapsing. And yet there in the distance he could see the dorm room that was his, and he forced himself to pick up the pace a little until he got to the door and got inside.
Once he got to his room he thumped his head against the door lightly as he sagged against it, reaching for the key and fumbling a little in his pocket before he unlocked the door, stumbling inside. Clothes torn and mangled, covered in blood, he wanted nothing more than to just go into his room and collapse, and yet for some reason he found himself pausing a little and tilting the bouquet in his hands upright again. It had been mangled from the last night's afairs, petals having come off and roses having wilted in places, but the most striking thing about it was the fact that the whites had been in many places stained by her blood. Looking at it he blinked, wondering why he'd not thrown it away...
Now.. it felt like a bad omen...