Her voice, her scent. His eyes drifted open again. Behind her was a halo and wings, like an angel in the books he and his (now disowned) father used to read. And yet behind the angel was the succubus, the sleeping seductress. His eyes rolled back. After a moment, he realized she had spoken to him. He grinned crookedly, though it came out as a grimace, a snarl from a dying ghost. "Don't look so worried, Kiddo," he thought he said. Instead, what came out was a string of disjointed words, which made no sense except to him.
He looked at her rabbits, then back at her. He nodded as though to accept them, then turned his gaze beyond her again. He mumbled something to himself. If she was listening closely, she might have caught the name Gemma, but maybe not. He grinned again, a hand going to brush off his tanktop, only to realize it wasn't there. His fingers traced over a deep gash, then he looked at her and shrugged as if to say 'no worries.' He yawned, his eyes drifting shut again.
Though few would know it, his speaking problems, his disjointed movements, they weren't because of the beating or a head trauma, but because of the mental illness he had. He had severe schizophrenia, which led to 'word salad', the mangled speech he had.
.vcliamhellno b {font-weight:bold; color:#e9f2f9;}
.vcliamhellno p {text-indent:0px; padding:5px 15px; margin:0px;}
.vcliamhellno {margin:0 auto; width:401px; background-color:#000000; background-image:url(http://i40.tinypic.com/20aqqro.jpg); background-position:top center; background-repeat:no-repeat; border:1px solid #c0c0c0; outline:1px solid #000000; padding: 210px 0px 4px 4px; font-family: Georgia, serif; font-size:12px; color:#c0c0c0; text-shadow: 0.1em 0.1em 0.2em #;letter-spacing:.6px; word-spacing:.9x; line-height:13px; text-align:justify;}
</style>