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i'm not half the man i used to be [open]
Jul. 18th, 2014 07:46 pmIt's taken a few days for Isaiah to summon the courage to sit down and do what he knows needs to be done. Days have turned the envelope in his pocket into a crumpled mess, a kind of mirror image of what he feels right now. It's been folded and unfolded and folded again, fingered and considered and left alone until he could bear the thought of opening it.
He still doesn't know that he can bear it, but it's time. He's decided.
Years ago, as a child, he had been prescribed reading glasses, but he hated them so much he had refused to wear them, much to his mother's annoyance. He's spent years avoiding them, but he opens the case and slides them on now, more just to delay the opening of the envelope than anything.
He's sitting alone in a corner table of Apples & Eve. He remembers the lovely atmosphere from last time, when he had been led here by his favourite mystery woman; it had seemed the kind of place he could go for some peace and quiet. He could have done this from home, but the public space had been appealing, if for nothing else than it will prevent him from having a fucking breakdown (hopefully).
The letter inside the envelope is handwritten, he can see as he opens it. He recognises his father's writing immediately and bites his lip. Stop being such a fucking pussy. His eyes scan the page briefly, not taking in any of the words, before he forces himself to actually read.
What he finds is almost exactly what he expected to find, in a way. And at the same time it rocks him. There had always been a tiny darkness inside him that had whispered he was never going to find Hamish Ward. It was always going to end this way, some part of him had known that. He had known that since he came to Siren Cove and felt the darkness lingering.
Still, there had always been childish hope, and he had consumed himself with it in order to fight the rest. There's no running from it now, though. The answer is right in front of him. The letter, in his father's script, details everything Isaiah had ever wanted to know: his entire life, decked out in cursive. This woman, Violet Coombs, whom he had loved before he had known Isaiah's mother, the darkness he had found in Siren Cove, and the way he had fled from what he was. There's a gap, years that Isaiah already knows the story of, and then back to Siren Cove and so many secrets Isaiah can barely wrap his head around it. Murders and cover ups... Dark magic used for awful things.
He knows how it ends before he turns the page, and finds the handwriting different. He can feel his skin drain of colour, and he crumples the paper in a fist without even thinking about it. He's so angry he thinks he might explode, and he can feel grief tearing him apart from the inside. It's so much worse than anything he's ever felt from himself, from anyone, and he knows he's projecting but he can't stop. It's overwhelming, this knowledge that his father is dead and the woman who killed him has been so near him this whole time.
Roughly, he runs a hand through his hair and finds that his hands are shaking. Enough is enough, he decides. He can see people turning to look at him. So, he hunkers down, shuts his eyes and does his best to calm down, to stop hurtling his emotions all over the fucking cafe like a novice.
He still doesn't know that he can bear it, but it's time. He's decided.
Years ago, as a child, he had been prescribed reading glasses, but he hated them so much he had refused to wear them, much to his mother's annoyance. He's spent years avoiding them, but he opens the case and slides them on now, more just to delay the opening of the envelope than anything.
He's sitting alone in a corner table of Apples & Eve. He remembers the lovely atmosphere from last time, when he had been led here by his favourite mystery woman; it had seemed the kind of place he could go for some peace and quiet. He could have done this from home, but the public space had been appealing, if for nothing else than it will prevent him from having a fucking breakdown (hopefully).
The letter inside the envelope is handwritten, he can see as he opens it. He recognises his father's writing immediately and bites his lip. Stop being such a fucking pussy. His eyes scan the page briefly, not taking in any of the words, before he forces himself to actually read.
What he finds is almost exactly what he expected to find, in a way. And at the same time it rocks him. There had always been a tiny darkness inside him that had whispered he was never going to find Hamish Ward. It was always going to end this way, some part of him had known that. He had known that since he came to Siren Cove and felt the darkness lingering.
Still, there had always been childish hope, and he had consumed himself with it in order to fight the rest. There's no running from it now, though. The answer is right in front of him. The letter, in his father's script, details everything Isaiah had ever wanted to know: his entire life, decked out in cursive. This woman, Violet Coombs, whom he had loved before he had known Isaiah's mother, the darkness he had found in Siren Cove, and the way he had fled from what he was. There's a gap, years that Isaiah already knows the story of, and then back to Siren Cove and so many secrets Isaiah can barely wrap his head around it. Murders and cover ups... Dark magic used for awful things.
He knows how it ends before he turns the page, and finds the handwriting different. He can feel his skin drain of colour, and he crumples the paper in a fist without even thinking about it. He's so angry he thinks he might explode, and he can feel grief tearing him apart from the inside. It's so much worse than anything he's ever felt from himself, from anyone, and he knows he's projecting but he can't stop. It's overwhelming, this knowledge that his father is dead and the woman who killed him has been so near him this whole time.
Roughly, he runs a hand through his hair and finds that his hands are shaking. Enough is enough, he decides. He can see people turning to look at him. So, he hunkers down, shuts his eyes and does his best to calm down, to stop hurtling his emotions all over the fucking cafe like a novice.
