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If he stopped moving, the pressure in his chest seemed to suffocate him. It had been that way for almost three weeks now, and Silas had done the best he could to distract himself from spiraling into a deep depression that seemed on the brink of shadowing over him. He had shut himself away in his room, letting the anger and frustration and the incredible hurt bubble over his frame and saturate his mind. After awhile, it had become too much for him to bear, and so he had to get up and move and try to dispel thoughts of his father having abandoned him. He paced the hallways, and then paced the perimeter, but nothing seemed to help much. After awhile, Silas even got sick of looking at the mansion, and he wandered away deeper into Inferni’s territory so that pale eyes might be able to focus on something else entirely.
It shouldn’t have hurt this much, but Rurik’s abandonment was like repeatedly pouring salt into freshly cut wounds. How could he have done this to his sons? The worst part was that he had not told him in person, and Silas had been left with a note to explain things. Worse yet, was Liliya’s departure too. Silas knew she had always been the least excited about their trek to Nova Scotia, but it hurt to know that she was so unhappy that she had had to leave. Perhaps he didn’t understand everything as to how it truly was, but Silas felt hurt regardless. So much hurt.
Before reaching the caves, the boy sprawled onto the earth with arms and legs extended away from his body. Pale eyes, framed in thick locks of onyx and the familiar blue bandana, stared up into the overcast autumn sky and found no solace there. Now that he had stopped, the weight was pressing down on his chest again. Perhaps he’d just lay here forever until the weight finally stole his air and crushed the life out of him. Good riddance, cruel world.
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