Crimson and Silver

Mistakes in Relationships

With weeks passing, I hadn't heard from that man again. He'd gone off with the information I gave him, and didn't say a single word. I wanted them to find her, but I wanted them to let me know. That creature wasn't just their problem, it was my problem too. I wanted to get my revenge. Revenge. It's always revenge with you. Get a grip, Booker, there's no regaining anything.

I sighed, drumming my fingers on the dark wood of the desk. It was another long day. A part of me hoped that man would stop by again. I needed answers. He stayed here for weeks until I talked, and now he wasn't even anywhere near me. It seemed too complicated. "I gotta get a fucking hobby," I grumbled to myself. The quietness of the small office was enough to drive anyone mad.

"What is today anyway?"

I'd lost track of the days. Time seemed ridiculous now. There wasn't a point of keeping track of days when I just sat at a desk for most of it. Maybe you should get a date. That'd relax you. I chuckled, shaking my head. The idea has crossed my mind several times. But that was just a waste of money. Not if you used it on Rayna. Again, I chuckled faintly. Even though the voice in my head was sometimes right, it wasn't about her. I would never risk something like that.

Come on, Booker, you know she likes you.

Rolling my eyes, I leaned back in my chair. I did know that. I could see it in the way she acted. It grew more with each passing day. That's why I tried to keep my distance. You're scared to hurt her? I nodded to myself, sighing deeply. It was stupid. I thought I decided I didn't have a heart. If that were true, then I wouldn't care what happens to her. But I do care. I care more than I wanted to admit. Rayna was a sweet girl. She didn't deserve the things that were given to her.

You do care about her! Well, isn't that sweet.

That damn voice. Everything I said... it had something humorous to say. I didn't know what it meant, but I wanted it to go away. All it did was question whether I was insane or normal. I laughed to myself. "Normal." The one word that I wasn't. Being normal meant that you were exactly like the others. You were a living, breathing, caring person. You're at least the subject of attention, or you're the definition of what other people think is normal.

 All I am is another version of you. I'm just the little voice that knows everything.

 Cursing under my breath, I shoved everything to the side. Resting my head on the desk, I continued to sigh. "I should just retire early," I grumbled. The voice in my head continued to laugh. Retirement is for old people. I am old. At least, I feel like that. You're just depressed. Have some fun, Booker! This was starting to get on my nerves. This voice was just another reason to hate myself. Another reason to not give a shit. More ways for me to cut the act of being normal.

You're not normal. Stop pretending like you're like all those people. You're better, stronger, and ruthless. It's fun to be the bad guy. Don't you remember, Booker? How it feels to be the brute man with no feelings. No empathy. Don't you wish to feel like that again?

 "Shut up. God damnit." I rubbed my throbbing head, trying to ignore the voice. All it was doing was trying to wear me down. Seems pretty easy now a days. When did I become so damn fragile? Standing up from my desk, I decided to go out for a drink. I hadn't been out drinking in almost two years. "So much for being clean," I mumbled to myself as I slammed the door behind me.

The bartender was still working there. It had been almost two decades. When I walked in, I saw the familiar grin, but with an older face behind it. "Well, well.. If it isn't Booker DeWitt. You've gotten old," He teased. I chuckled, sitting down at the bar. "So have you." He nodded, smirking widely. He handed me my usual. I looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "You remember after all these years?" The bartender chuckled again.