“ guess i don’t have a choice. ” @1ostboy
“ no. not really. ”
None of us do – she doesn’t say it, it’s implicit, carved in their chests with the sharpest blade; they all know they don’t ever have a choice. No matter David’s enticing words and promises of freedom and excitement. They will never have the right to choose to leave, where to go. It’ll always be kill, drink, drain humans, thrash beaches and parties in Santa Carla until David decides it’s time to leave. Once in, never out. One of them, to the grave and beyond.
So, he speaks with apathy that makes her skin crawl, makes fingernails of chipped black polish dig deep into her palms – and yet, Star doesn’t say anything further, because they both know. They both suffer in silence, and that’s it.
“ it’ll be quick, promise. he can’t have gone that far down the pier,” Laddie is never a loose cannon, or one that cannot be contained or controlled, but it still falls on Star to keep an eye on him, “please…? ” hand clings to his jacket sleeve, gives a soft tug ( the scents around the carnival are making her nauseous, heightened by newly awakened vampire senses; from rancid cotton candy to sweat and worst of all: blood ), “ i’ll make it up to you. ”
