andros&harper // too soon

It’s been weeks.

I try not to think of it, but my mind is restless. There’s no stopping it now that it has started turning and I’m thrown off balance. My schedule, my plan, is absolute. This was not supposed to happen. It’s picking up every carefully laid stone I’ve handcrafted through the years of shoving everything down and turning them over to reveal what truly lies beneath. I cannot let this happen, but is my mere thinking of it a sign that it was already begun? Every step I take away from it is a step towards it. It is a paradox all in one that I cannot escape, but I cannot do this. The sword feels heavier in my hands until it is dropped altogether, clattering upon the ground. For a moment, my trainer simply stares at it. By the time he looks up, surprise evident in his eyes, I’m turning away and heading for the door.

My emotions are getting the best of me. This carefully pent up pool of emotions is starting to seep through the cracks in my defenses, things I didn’t know existed. I step carefully through the throngs of people welcoming in the weekend, trying to keep my impassive face on despite the roiling rage building in my gut. There’s no focus to my movements, but a careless grace to how I sweep between drunken crowds, eyes only focusing for a moment upon their faces as I turn the corner. Why are they all wearing masks and where has mine suddenly gone? My heart thumps a little faster at the thought and I nearly snarl, lips curling into a menacing scowl as I forgo pleasantries and shove my way through. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I know exactly where I stand. The lights in the window look the same, but the shop is embellished with a different allure tonight: a party. I swallow hard, ignoring the looks I get as I pass in front of the doorway. If I must be anywhere, it is not here. Here is the very last place I can be. He is here and I cannot do this. Not now, not ever.

“Darling!”

And with only that, I’m stopped dead in my tracks and must try not to vomit. The voice is a sickly sweet one, one that I’m all too well acquainted with. If Harper Libertine never spoke again, if would be too soon. I let my face drop into an indifferent façade and turn to face the beast.