I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
TEXHe had learned a really long time ago that whatever fate had in store for him, it was never meant to be nice. And boy had it really fucking lived up to those expectations. So why she still bothers to take pity on him, he’s not sure. But if there’s anything Ashhal had learned by now, it sure as hell wouldn’t end well.
Not that he expected her to understand of course. In the end, she’d get to walk away. Or die. Who the fuck knows. And in the end, he’d be left here, an eternity of knowing for sure he was never actually good enough. Because there’s a whole hell of a lot of difference between knowing and suspecting.
Gods, he’s so fucking pathetic.
It’d always been easier to fall back on the anger. The one goddamned thing he could trust. Except today apparently. When she gingerly touches his filth-ridden skin, he can feel the sickness drain from him. And he should be pissed. Should get up and fly the hell out of here.
But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even try to (even though he’s at least 95% sure he could now). Instead he closes his eyes. Closes them because without the anger, who the fuck is he really? Someone had once told him he couldn’t build an identity out of it, but hell if he hadn’t proved them wrong.
“You should’ve fucking left me to die,” he finally grumbles without opening his eyes. Honestly, he’s not even positive that she’s still there. Hell, maybe he’s talking to nothing but the wind and his own farce of an existence.
