kindling old [e m b e r s] // Eagle
Jun 6, 2013 11:05:34 GMT -5
Post by semper on Jun 6, 2013 11:05:34 GMT -5
I’d rather live with broken bones
than lay here all on my own
like a lovesick fool
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I’ve only just arrived and already he’s telling me that I should leave, trying to tell me that my siblings miss me. I’m not only taken aback but I’m reluctant as well. I’m pretty sure they don’t miss me; none of us are ever all in that house at once and so we hardly do anything together anymore. He continues, asking that I tell Klaus something but his voice trails off.
I haven’t spoken to Klaus very much since he’s come back. Jamar’s punch to my jaw certainly did much more than just hurt: it silenced me from ever speaking more than just a few words to my only other brother. The hulking idiot’s realistic view on my dark secret put things into perspective for me, showed me how wrong I was and how delusional. Somewhere along the lines of being forced to grow up so early something went awry in my head – some wires didn’t connect or something, making me believe in a feeling that others would grimace at. Frankly I don’t want to tell Klaus anything. I don’t want a reason to face both him and that grotesque feeling harbored inside me.
My brows furrow together as I try to decipher what he’s getting at. ”It’s probably best if you didn’t come around again.” I hesitate to ask if this is because of something I’ve done but I get the sneaking suspicion that that’d be a selfish thing to ask. I have no information that any of my siblings have come to visit him, so why, after just me, is he chasing me off?
I give a short and quiet snort. While I’ve tried to keep the rest of them out of trouble I’ve only managed to dig deeper into my own problems. Part of me wants to dig my heels in, resist his attempts at making me leave, but at the same time the subordinate part of me continues to nag, insisting that I just do what he says and leave.
”Not really.” I mutter under my breath. ”They have Klaus now.” They don’t need me dragging my heels to and from the factory; they don’t need me trying to pull together a minute meal from whatever scraps I can find. I’ve become as useless to them as Dad is.