Listening to him talk, all I can think about is how much this man must have been hurt, to think the fellow who took Wanda away from him is the devil himself. I want to shut him up with a kiss, and show him that even if I can’t mend his heart or bring her back, I can make the rest of him feel so good that he forgets all about her. But I want to hear him out, since it seems so important to him to tell me all this.
But then he’s looking up and telling me to come talk to him again. So are we done talking now, then, I want to ask, but he’s winking at me and walking away. Have to force myself not to follow him, or call after him, because it doesn’t seem like he’d want me to make a scene. He does want to see me again, I tell myself, feeling cold and tired and hurt all of a sudden.
No gods or devils stirring things up, but something is very, very wrong with me. I don’t chase after men, don’t cherish thoughts of seeing any again just so I can look at them and make them happy. No point in things like that. So why the hell am I pining after this jilted, doomsaying doctor with Gabriel’s hair? I want to put it down to him being the first man in a year who’s hit me the way I wanted him to, but he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to do that if I hadn’t been following him in the first place. I was desperate, but not that much. I hope not that much.
I’m getting stiff leaning here, so I push off the wall and start making my way back to the inn, skirting the market and staying away from people. There’s a sour taste in my mouth now, from more than the cigarette, and too many goddamned questions in my head. Lucien did ease my mind in a whole lot of ways, but he’s messed it up just as much in others. Think he meant to give me something to think about, with all his talk of the oddness of this town, but he got me thinking more about the oddness of my own head.
Wish I had another cigarette. Wish he were back here with the pack so we could share them, maybe talk about something comforting. Or do something comforting. That’s it, I tell myself. I’m stopping thinking about this man right now. Not going to go see him, either, unless I cut my arm off or catch the plague. It’s too much, wanting him like this. Need some sleep, and then some more coffee, and then work to do so I don’t have to think about any of this.
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Date: 2010-10-01 07:24 am (UTC)But then he’s looking up and telling me to come talk to him again. So are we done talking now, then, I want to ask, but he’s winking at me and walking away. Have to force myself not to follow him, or call after him, because it doesn’t seem like he’d want me to make a scene. He does want to see me again, I tell myself, feeling cold and tired and hurt all of a sudden.
No gods or devils stirring things up, but something is very, very wrong with me. I don’t chase after men, don’t cherish thoughts of seeing any again just so I can look at them and make them happy. No point in things like that. So why the hell am I pining after this jilted, doomsaying doctor with Gabriel’s hair? I want to put it down to him being the first man in a year who’s hit me the way I wanted him to, but he wouldn’t have gotten the chance to do that if I hadn’t been following him in the first place. I was desperate, but not that much. I hope not that much.
I’m getting stiff leaning here, so I push off the wall and start making my way back to the inn, skirting the market and staying away from people. There’s a sour taste in my mouth now, from more than the cigarette, and too many goddamned questions in my head. Lucien did ease my mind in a whole lot of ways, but he’s messed it up just as much in others. Think he meant to give me something to think about, with all his talk of the oddness of this town, but he got me thinking more about the oddness of my own head.
Wish I had another cigarette. Wish he were back here with the pack so we could share them, maybe talk about something comforting. Or do something comforting. That’s it, I tell myself. I’m stopping thinking about this man right now. Not going to go see him, either, unless I cut my arm off or catch the plague. It’s too much, wanting him like this. Need some sleep, and then some more coffee, and then work to do so I don’t have to think about any of this.