#.vampireplus

But at what cost? The image painted for him of where he would ultimately spend eternity sending another sharp pain through him that has him stopping in his tracks, shaking his head and looking around at the street he has come down. Rubbing his shoulder absently he sways slightly, considering, before his feet take him down a side-street and he settles into old childhood habits. He sits down behind a shop, where no one will see or hear him, with his back to the wall and lets a pained breath out, forehead on his knees.

It's like being stuck in a room with an infinite amount of radios, all turned on at various volumes, and no matter how many you turn off there's always more noise. The thoughts in his head, the images, of what could have been, of being human, of becoming a demon, of what he would be forced to do and all the things he would never have a chance at. In that moment feeling it is certain, now. The crumbling, temporary probably, of that tiny, absurd and childish hope. He will never be human, there's never going to be any kind of remedy for this, he's going to live to be hundreds, maybe thousands of years old and have to just keeping getting by or get used it. But he doesn't want to get used to it. He doesn't want to outlive Jerry. He doesn't want to be head of the coven.

But he can't, he could never give up his soul, he could never make that deal, get wrapped up with that side. At least right now he has a chance of this ending someday, some release. That he could still get to heaven despite what he is. And the demon had wanted him to lose that? To spend eternity condemning other people to hell? What kind of option was that? To buy humanity in exchange for becoming an even worse monster than he is now . . .

He lifts his head, hands going to cup over his mouth as he stares blankly forward. He's shaking now but he doesn't notice it, a soft, strangled moan in the back of his throat coming out before he takes a ragged breath and starts trying to calm himself down. Nothing has changed from earlier. He's right where he's always been. Nothing got worse. He's OK. He needs to let this go.

He can't tell Jerry about this. The thought comes to mind and he tips his head back, hands falling from his mouth and one returns to massaging his shoulder, and he sighs. Yeah, right. Jerry will know something's wrong the second he sees him. There's no trying to hide anything from him, they know each other too well. He just needs to . . . to calm down, bury some of this. The more upset he seems about it the more upset Jerry will be. He doesn't want to make this night about another one of his breakdowns. Better to make it happy, cook something, get the fireplace going and sit down and watch a movie.

"Stop," Lucas tells himself softly, pressing his hands over his face and dropping them again, starting to take deep, steadying breaths.  Mentally repeats the mantra that he's fine, that nothing bad actually happened, that all this is old pain and made up pain and he'll get past it. He just wants to be with Jerry. He feels alright there. 

Lucas pulls his sleeves up over his hand and stands up, takes another deep breath. You're fine, you're fine. Stop shaking. Nods to himself. In his head is still the soft, persistent droning of the radios in the background, there's still the knot in his chest, but he's thinking more clearly. He looks up at the sky but he's too far into the city to see the stars.