09-16-2011, 12:12 PM
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Mistakes. All he had made since he had gotten it into his head he was an adult were mistakes. What if he had gotten that girl pregnant? What if, what if? His head was full of what-ifs and doubts. Black ears turned down into a mess of equally dark hair, his mother’s son in all ways but his eyes. Even these, though, were not like his father’s. Gotham was darker—perhaps because of the wickedness that lived in his soul. The weakness.
His mother’s reaction and response did not fall lightly on Gotham. He recognized these small things, as he had always looked for such small things in the world. Hesitantly, his large body stiffened. Was she angry at him? The dark wolf looked away, troubled. “I…I think I’m getting better. I haven’t had any urges in a long time. I started collecting bugs,” he admitted, feeling foolish and childish for resuming the hobby. Perhaps that might make her happy, make her shake this shadow that he sensed was wicked and awful and full of a darkness he had no desire to see.