08-23-2018, 03:08 PM
Ilma, how do you make it sound so easy? Forgive yourself, she says into the air between them. Castile regards her then with a tilt of his head, weighing her words. How can he forgive himself for so many things? He has hurt them – physically and emotionally – and he has been absent and unreliable. They deserve something so much greater, but instead, they find him each and every time he returns. They are moths to a flame – a destructive and dangerous flame.
At the idea of forgiving and accepting himself, Castile flinches. Muscles in his neck and shoulders quiver. What happens next is likely unexpected. Amid the remorse and self-hate, Castile laughs. A gravelly chuckle tumbles from his lips, his head slowly shaking from left to right twice before he is still again, a statue. ”Can anyone forgive a monster?” That’s what he was – is – but seemingly few know that. But somehow, Ilma is sinking her claws into Castile and he is entranced by her, considering what she says with far more depth than he originally intended. Both Solace and Sabra accept him for what he is, and yet he struggles to accept it himself. This is what he is, what he will always be. Why be ashamed of it? Why hate himself for the strength and power he was borne into?
His shoulders roll thoughtfully and his eyes sweep across her face.
The scent of Hyaline – of Solace – cling desperately to her skin, still fresh and vibrant. It draws him closer, the grass sighing underneath his weight. ”Did you see her scars?” He assumes she will know, that she will connect the dots – Ilma is smart. ”I did that to her,” an eerie stoicism coats his voice as though suddenly distant while the memory consumes him. ”That was only the beginning.” The iron tang of her blood is on his tongue again, reminding him of the day he fled from her. Solace saw what he was in that moment and understood why he constantly reiterated the precariousness of their relationship. How could he protect her when he couldn’t protect himself? ”How can I forgive myself for hurting them and leaving?” I wouldn’t even know where to begin, he doesn’t add. In front of her eyes, Castile is breaking. The stony exterior is crumbling as the shadows of his past crawl across him and rip him open.
But he focuses on her then and he listens to her tragic tale of lust and heartache and abandonment. It, admittedly, wrenches his heart. Ilma was a victim. He was the predator. Is how she felt also how Sabra and Solace felt? Castile shared passionate evenings with them, reveled in each other’s company, spoke of what could be, but then he left. Did they think he only wanted that? Were they as broken as Ilma once was? Questions batter against the walls of his mind, breaking him down and leaving him wondering. The muscles of his jaw tighten. ”You learned,” he whispered, repeating after her with an odd sense of concern and apology, like he was the one to have hurt her as well.
Their eyes meet and their gazes hold.
”The victim grows stronger in the story, but what happens to the monster?”
At the idea of forgiving and accepting himself, Castile flinches. Muscles in his neck and shoulders quiver. What happens next is likely unexpected. Amid the remorse and self-hate, Castile laughs. A gravelly chuckle tumbles from his lips, his head slowly shaking from left to right twice before he is still again, a statue. ”Can anyone forgive a monster?” That’s what he was – is – but seemingly few know that. But somehow, Ilma is sinking her claws into Castile and he is entranced by her, considering what she says with far more depth than he originally intended. Both Solace and Sabra accept him for what he is, and yet he struggles to accept it himself. This is what he is, what he will always be. Why be ashamed of it? Why hate himself for the strength and power he was borne into?
His shoulders roll thoughtfully and his eyes sweep across her face.
The scent of Hyaline – of Solace – cling desperately to her skin, still fresh and vibrant. It draws him closer, the grass sighing underneath his weight. ”Did you see her scars?” He assumes she will know, that she will connect the dots – Ilma is smart. ”I did that to her,” an eerie stoicism coats his voice as though suddenly distant while the memory consumes him. ”That was only the beginning.” The iron tang of her blood is on his tongue again, reminding him of the day he fled from her. Solace saw what he was in that moment and understood why he constantly reiterated the precariousness of their relationship. How could he protect her when he couldn’t protect himself? ”How can I forgive myself for hurting them and leaving?” I wouldn’t even know where to begin, he doesn’t add. In front of her eyes, Castile is breaking. The stony exterior is crumbling as the shadows of his past crawl across him and rip him open.
But he focuses on her then and he listens to her tragic tale of lust and heartache and abandonment. It, admittedly, wrenches his heart. Ilma was a victim. He was the predator. Is how she felt also how Sabra and Solace felt? Castile shared passionate evenings with them, reveled in each other’s company, spoke of what could be, but then he left. Did they think he only wanted that? Were they as broken as Ilma once was? Questions batter against the walls of his mind, breaking him down and leaving him wondering. The muscles of his jaw tighten. ”You learned,” he whispered, repeating after her with an odd sense of concern and apology, like he was the one to have hurt her as well.
Their eyes meet and their gazes hold.
”The victim grows stronger in the story, but what happens to the monster?”
@[Ilma]