A Life, Unforgotten

An Anger Too Powerful To Name

A soft glare at the walls was all he could manage today. There was no energy in him, but emotion? Emotion was another thing. And it simmered. Sizzled. Crackled and popped until it became unbearable, like the weight of an elephant on his chest he couldn't stand it anymore. And he growled at it, a hand flashing to his chest where his heart never beat. When met with only his binder and skin, nails bit in as harsh as he could. He wanted to feel something other than this pain. This anger. This hatred.

And it burned in him so intensely that he could barely feel the blood beneath his nails well, cold and in moments feeling like static. It didn't register much longer than a moment before it fell to the prickling of the rapid healing, only for him to repeat the wound. It felt like something, at least.

He could only go over it again and again in his head, every moment, every laugh and day in the shop. What did I do wrong? It was five words that he repeated, whirled as memories danced in his irises. Everything seemed fine. Maybe he asked too much, or, maybe he expected too much.

Regardless, when his eyes closed and he shoved the memories away, he sat up and took a deep breath, wings rustling softly with the movement, something he's been contemplating binding to his back for sake of letting them rest.

He just pulled his feet up to rest on the bed frame just beneath the mattress beside the box spring, burying his hands in his face while fingers played along the line of his hair cautiously, think think think but nothing connects. Nothing is logical here, there was no push factor, was there a pull factor?

He didn't know and it had him more fidgety, more antsy, more angry. He didn't like feeling angry. It wasn't him.

But he continued that hard glare, leg bouncing beneath his elbow until he couldn't take sitting still, leaping up to pace around the room, fingers drumming erratically against his thigh now, until he just left the room, weight thumping on each step so he bounced as he went downstairs, to his study. There wasn't anything valuable there but even so he felt the anger continue to boil until it burned in his throat.

A slam of the door shut and a flip of the lock, before he moved over to sit behind the desk and try to write out something, anything. But his hands shook just before he could commit pen to paper. It was a split second of his eyes losing focus and, that was it, that was where he snapped. A sharp inhale and a sweep of his arm, the noise was satisfying but not enough. Not enough. Never enough.

He didn't doubt were anyone home now they would be concerned for the banging and shattering emanating from the locked study but he knew he was alone. He knew none could hear him and yet he didn't scream. Not until he picked up the picture frame, the only intact thing left it seemed. And he froze for a moment. Dead heart feeling like ice had swallowed it, until those eyes fell on the face beside his own.

And he shrieked, lifting the frame and smashing it down as hard as he could, the glass that decorated his legs nowhere near fazing him. A wail and he unfurled his wings, turning on heel to give one overwhelming wingbeat that only worsened the chaos, phasing himself through the wall only to dive to the ground and run. Run as fast as he could, until he had to breathe, until he had to stop, until he was as far into the trees as he felt he could go before he tripped and slid along on his side. Deep gasping breaths rattled in his chest, burning in a plea, only for fingers to thread tightly between arctic locks, curling into a ball. Shivering. Shaking. Eyes closing as his face appeared again, whispering at himself to forget over and over and over in desperation.

Forgetforgetforgetforgetforgetforgetforget

A sobbing inhale was the only way he realised he was even crying, but words shivered past his lips just as cobalt eyes opened once again.

"What did I do?"

What did he do to lose his only friend that was consistently around? What could he have done to do it? How is it his fault? He can't stand unanswered questions and when he has them he would rather forget.

It hurt, by all Nyx it fucking hurt and he could only hate himself more. There's no logical answer, not one he can find and it hurt.

This is what he gets for being alone.

This is what he gets for choosing to be alone.

His only talent is losing those he loves.