I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
He should have known better. Should’ve kept his goddamned mouth shut. He’d said too fucking much. The last thing he wanted was pity. Least of all her pity. Every instinct he possesses demands he run. Leave her and the fucking sadness in her eyes she can’t seem to hide. He doesn’t deserve it. Doesn’t want it.
His life is what he had made it. God fucking dammit. He doesn’t want the pretense. He knows exactly what he’s worth. Knows it was never actually him she’d wanted. Just the escape, the forgetfulness he could offer her. He was the fucking idiot that kept going back. Irony at its finest, isn’t it? The only woman he’d ever felt a sort of kinship for beyond the basest kind taking pity on his fucking wretchedness.
“It’s irrelevant,” he growls, barely avoiding interrupting her. “They’re better off without me and you goddamned well know it.” His lip curls, a sneer cutting his words as he presses against cold rock. “I don’t want your fucking pity or platitudes either. I came to terms with this shit a long time ago. Better nothing than second, or third or fucking fourth best. And we already know I would never be yours, or anyone else’s, first choice.”
Pressing farther back, as though he might somehow disappear right through the stone, he glares at her, black eyes glittering and hard. “I don’t have shit to offer anyone, much less a fucking kid. So let’s not pretend I should try when you already know better.”
Hopefully, that would be the end of it.
It might even have been, had the pale little filly not chosen that moment to look up, brown eyes wide and innocent as she mumbled a stumbling, stammered, “Ffuu-uuckkiimm?”
“Shit.”
