The archive of the forgotten

the better one ~ Am I making you feel sick?

I am not quite happy with this chapter so please go easy on me. I think I will change a lot later on, and I might delete is a whole but hey!

My sleep deprived body looks out of the window, whilst my mind walks through memories that are too vague to understand. How will I fix myself, how will I fix this lonely feeling?
I was familiar with a home that didn't feel safe. I was familiar with hopelessness, but I wasn't familiar with hope that isn't certain. I want to feels safe, I did feel safe, but I don't know if I still can.
The revolver she gave to me is lying next to me on the bed and my head is too full with thoughts to be able to cry. I gave myself till daylight to decide, how I want to fix this, and whether I want it to be easy, or if I finally love somebody more than I love my own ideology. If I can finally choose somebody over my anger.....
I don't have much time. The sunrise is already colouring the sky.
But it still proves hard, I am selfish, I have always been. If I think about the times I have had with you I feel like I am already lucky enough, maybe I should let go, before I damage him. I am like a disease, to love me is to suffer me, the illness imbedded into the greenery of my eyes and the coal of my hair. It is within the ghostly layer of my skin, it's within the blood that leaves my mouth in desperation when somebody angers me. I am not the one somebody would wish to have. I am afraid of my own pictures on the wall, but I want them there, as ugly as they are. I want Sostrate to look at me like she can look at him, I want him to look at me like he does, I want to believe I deserve those eyes. I want to hurt, I want to trust like you do. I want to be normal, without an explanation.

"Xad?" His voice trembles with the burgundy undertone of doubt.
I quickly put the revolver in a box before he sees it and turn around slightly, beckoning him towards the bed with a simple smile. Thrjel sits down beside me and I can't help but sigh. He looks at me, empathically, as if he wants to release the same amount of breath but simply cannot. And I don't blame him for that, the air had been trapped in me for a much longer time. He looks at his hands, wondering if he is holding something invisible that might help me, perhaps courage, perhaps hope. But perhaps he lacks that just as much as I do. I put my head on his shoulder, my face slowly releasing the creases of pain that it is accustomed to, his shoulder is as safe as always expelling all thoughts that I don't wish to have from my head.
"Are you okay Xad?" He asks, his voice sounds muffled. As if he has just survived a gruelling winter, or a passing of a loved one.
"Is that really what you want to ask me, my dimwit?" I ask, the low grumbly of a chuckle rolls over my tongue and gets stuck in my mouth, almost tasting like joy. But only almost.
I know him well enough to know that he is biting his lip, wondering what to say, he doesn't lie, but he doesn't enjoy saying anything without sugarcoating it. "What happened yesterday? What is so wrong about her last name."
I stand up, pondering on the truth I shall tell and what it might destroy, in my favour or not I won't be able to hide this for a long time. "Do you know her father?" I ask, my voice too perfect for my own liking, it sounds like the awful diplomats I would spit on if I were ever to meet one in person.
"I have met him, but he is a busy man. We don't see him often...."
"We call him the bearer of bad news, others call him the butcher, or the red death, honestly what we call him isn't important....." He stares at me, the love I have become accustomed to slowly melts on my to reveal the sadness in his eyes. "He is a... psychopath..... He is truly a bad person. He is a bogeyman and a nightmare wrapped into one presented to the very youngest of prisoners so they can dig for his precious Rubies. I....I don't know how to be cordial to a daughter of a man who has the capacity to whip a child to death."
He wipes a tear from his face, his beautiful qualities are all obscured by the uncharacteristic frown that darkens them in the worst way possible. He shakes his head and ponders his response.
I sigh and sit back down next to him. "And I don't mean to make it all about me, but I am afraid that in this situation it is quite impossible not to."
"Do you think she could allow such harm? If she knew?" He asks, his hands trembling as a sign that he hasn't had breakfast yet.
"You know her better than I do. Besides what is she to do? It's her father.... If ones father would be the devil they'd be convinced that God is in the wrong...."
This time he puts his head on my shoulder. "What am I to do?" He asks. "Turning away and ignoring it, like a civilised Awnlund? Or try to influence her father with powers I do not have?"
I sigh, I am no better than any Awnlund who would look the other way. I want him to be happy, I don't want to be the one preventing him from it, not to mention no university would admit such a radical student. It's not our time, we aren't Kuon. Only begin a revolution when you know there is a chance of winning, you don't threaten a killer, nobody sane starts a poker game without money.