i divvied up my anger into thirty separate parts || open
Exhausted. That was how James felt after everything that had happened with Helena. Exhausted for nothing and everything; the work theyâd put in to stopping the wench had been for nothing and everything. There had been no real closure, and no real loss. He wanted to rip her neck open with his hook for everything sheâd taken, and everything sheâd threatened. He looked at his hands now, still so foreign to him to have both again. Sheâd taken his hook from him and replaced it with his long lost, long devoured hand, and yet he wasnât grateful for that. It had been nice to be able to hold Queenie, but it was a constant reminder of what heâd done, of what heâd given up to stop the chaos Helena had been forcing into his mind. He was a monster, and there was no denying it. No matter what anyone told him, no matter the excuses he made for himself, he had done some terrible things to find peace. An innocent child, now missing. He made a mental note; two children lost to the island now. What would Mary say?Â
James sat at his desk in his cabin, eyes pointed to the horizon outside his window, gaze blurring as his mind wandered. His rage was always just at the surface these days; the island had chosen to save the witch that had taken so much from him, and had almost taken the whole island down with her delusions of heroism. He wished he had strangled her before the tree had closed around her, but heâd lost his chance. There was a stab of pain in his right palm as he thought of the witch, and he looked down. He hadnât been sure right away when the witch had been tucked away, but his hand definitely was losing some color, and a very faded scar around his wrist was growing ever more visible. He pulled his sleeve down and leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. Would there ever be peace in his life?
