I tried to sell my soul last night
Funny, he wouldn't even take a bite
Rage he understands. He’d been fucking raging at the universe since around the third or fourth time he’d died, after he’d finally realized he would never stay dead. He’d tried, of course. Had tried so goddamn hard. But he’d been an idiot to believe after the ninth time it might work. And what was it they said about insanity? Doing the same fucking thing and expecting different results?
After that, he’d given up. There’s a reason he’s such a pessimistic asshole after all.
The sadness though, that is shit he wants no part of. The anger kept him going. It fueled him in his endlessly doomed existence. He couldn’t let it go. Because if he didn’t have that, what the fuck else did he have? The bitter understanding of an eternity of misery? Years and fucking years dying and living and dying all over again? When one stripped everything he’d barricaded himself with away, all he’s left with is that goddamned knowledge. The inevitable march towards death, knowing he would only get to taste if for a moment, over and over again. Knowing he would never have the peace of a true death. Only the pain and agony of it.
So, where the anger had drawn him in, the sadness makes him retreat. The amusement slips from his pale features, leaving only the harsh, unforgiving lines. There’s no pleasure in her admission. Not for her, and sure as hell not for him. But when she asks about his sins, he can’t help the derisive snort that escapes.
“How much time ya got?” he returns a bit caustically, dark eyes glittering. “It’s a whole fucking list of shit that’ll no doubt make your ears bleed.” His lips quirk up faintly as he adds after a moment, with vague suggestiveness, “Unless you wanna expand your horizons. Add to your own list of sins maybe?”
