09-07-2018, 08:48 PM
In reality, he should have expected this and should have anticipated her straying from his side, and yet it still hurts when she peels from his skin. It’s cold where she left it. Even as she stands just a short reach away, a sense of loneliness burrows into him. Although masking his hurt with a stoic expression of resignation, deep within his heart is crumbling beneath the weight of his failures. He noticed how Sabra’s look of adoration faltered when he questioned their children.
Yes, he should know their personalities. He should know that Raul is a near-clone of his mother.
There is so much that he should know, but he simply doesn’t.
The burden of failure churns with Sabra’s admonishment is a knife in his gut. Unable to look her in the eye, Castile diverts and stares back at the gurgling river. Everything she says is true, but it doesn’t lessen the brunt of it. It reopens the wound that he thought was closing when she pressed herself against him. But salt is being added now, burning him.
I’ve gotten quite good at being on my own.
The words hover between them, frigid in their tone. Castile maintains a steady rhythm when he breathes. Plumes of hot air coil in front of his nostrils as he continues to stare at the water until he has composed himself enough to look at her. His unruly forelock reaches like fingers toward the edge of his nose, nearly masking his eyes as they search her own. ”I would expect nothing less,” he admits although deep down he wanted her, and Solace, to squirm underneath his absence and struggle to survive without his company. But that was a selfish wish. How can he be so greedy? Licking his lips, he adds, ”You’ve always been strong.” They met as soldiers, and so it didn’t surprise him that she fended for herself. It wouldn’t be Sabra if she rolled onto her back in submission.
Straightening himself with an eerie stoicism to accompany her distance, he murmurs, ”Let’s find the boys.”
Yes, he should know their personalities. He should know that Raul is a near-clone of his mother.
There is so much that he should know, but he simply doesn’t.
The burden of failure churns with Sabra’s admonishment is a knife in his gut. Unable to look her in the eye, Castile diverts and stares back at the gurgling river. Everything she says is true, but it doesn’t lessen the brunt of it. It reopens the wound that he thought was closing when she pressed herself against him. But salt is being added now, burning him.
I’ve gotten quite good at being on my own.
The words hover between them, frigid in their tone. Castile maintains a steady rhythm when he breathes. Plumes of hot air coil in front of his nostrils as he continues to stare at the water until he has composed himself enough to look at her. His unruly forelock reaches like fingers toward the edge of his nose, nearly masking his eyes as they search her own. ”I would expect nothing less,” he admits although deep down he wanted her, and Solace, to squirm underneath his absence and struggle to survive without his company. But that was a selfish wish. How can he be so greedy? Licking his lips, he adds, ”You’ve always been strong.” They met as soldiers, and so it didn’t surprise him that she fended for herself. It wouldn’t be Sabra if she rolled onto her back in submission.
Straightening himself with an eerie stoicism to accompany her distance, he murmurs, ”Let’s find the boys.”
@[Sabra]