I am just as fucked as you
#7
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indent He had considered these things a thousand times before; each time coming to another stupid conclusion that meant as little as the first one. But his head was not his own now; the dragon, the dragon who was not a dragon, it watched and considered and influenced him wholly. Something was taken from his hands and he wondered where he had gotten the cigarette from, listened to the reasoning that made no sense but found some comfort in the idea. If the things one held onto were there, even dead, no one else could touch them. For a brief and whole moment, he thought of Matinee with another man, and he growled deeply in his throat.
indent Unfocused, his eyes had gone to the floor. Now they returned, with the sound in his chest gone. It didn’t matter. She was gone. She wasn’t ever coming back. That fact stabbed him in the heart over and over, and over, and over, and over again. She wasn’t ever coming back. His head pulsed, spun, and the earth grew dimmer. Ahren drew his arm back, needing to touch the ground, and tried to stand—his legs shook and he stumbled, only managed because he found support on the back of a pew. “There’s blankets upstairs,” he heard himself say, though what really came out was ‘die bettdecke nach oben’, though even this was incorrect. Haphazardly, he began to make his way towards the stairwell, towards the room that held all of his terrible dark secrets.




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