R (vagueambition) wrote in wariscoming, @ 2014-06-29 19:30:00 |
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Entry tags: | grantaire |
Who: Grantaire, narrative
Where: The inn, or lost in a bottle of booze
What: I dunno it's just feels and self indulgent angst cause he won't shut up, nothing to see here
It was always the smallest things that hurt the most to remember. The smell and colour of her hair. The taste of her skin. The way she had pulled her lower lip between her teeth when she was nervous. That little gap between her front teeth that no one could see, but that he could feel against his tongue when he kissed her. One of an endless list of secrets they had shared. When they were together the world had been theirs and theirs alone. No one and nothing could touch them, and they had been happy there. He had been happy. Impossible to see it now. The more time passed, the harder he found it to recall ever having been.
Because she had left him. Who then could he share his secrets with? Who could share in his jokes and laugh and make him feel giddy with childish delight? No one. No one could. And it did not take long before he felt it keenly. Didn't she realise she had left him to the bitter cold of this world alone? It was an endless winter that chilled his bones and stole at his hope until an empty shell was all that remained.
And he had been young, then. In truth he was still young now, though he no longer thought of himself that way. All he had wanted was to stop the constant bite of the pain. To ease the hold it had on him, some. It was all he ever wanted any more. And it was the drinking that helped do that. It dulled things until everything melted in to a pleasant haze, a warm glow. Drinking had lured him deeper and deeper with the promise of forgetting all the pain that haunted him. And on and on until he cared little any more. Grantaire was a man who cared little for anything, and believed in less. Sometimes, though. Oh God, sometimes he ached to love, and be loved, again. To believe and laugh and live. But the fear of the pain stopped him. He was a coward, and so he drank. He drank and banished it, until the heartache was nothing but a distant memory.