Long, thin fingers trembled as David stared at the note, the paper crinkling in his ever-tightening grasp. A horrible sense of dread immediately washed over him, and his heart dropped into his stomach. Nausea swelled in his gut. He felt like he was going to throw up. His pulse pounded in his ears -- a steady boom, boom, boom -- as the world around him began to spin, distorting solid objects into twisted, amorphous shapes.
Some cynical part of him had fully expected this, but he’d never truly prepared for it. As the months went on, he’d stopped worrying about Lisa growing impatient with him and his flaws, his insecurities, his problems, and began to think that maybe, just maybe, she would be the one to stay. Maybe she’d be the one person that he could rely on. That he could care for. But she was gone. She never loved him. After all, who could ever love a monster? A thief? A man who had indirectly caused the deaths of cops and criminals alike? Even Lisa, the pinnacle of acceptance and patience, had given up on him. This woman, this saint that managed to remain a pillar of kindness and hope, despite all of her hardships -- something he himself had been unable to do, instead twisting into a bitter, hateful husk of a man without anyone to properly care for ( or about ) him -- was gone. The one good thing he’d ever had in his life had abandoned him. Emotions weren’t something that came easily to David, but in that moment, he found himself fighting back a painful lump in his throat and a stinging sensation in his eyes. For the first time in years, he allowed his carefully-constructed walls to crumble. For the first time in fifteen years, he began to cry. Aside from the occasional shaky breath, however, his grief was silent. And after he kicked away his chair, with naught but two ties around his neck to support his weight as his thin frame dangled from the ceiling, eventually, he, too, became silent.
baratheonpilled
kianamaiart
