[private] i'll waste a lifetime's worth, just to cling to one more day || reagan

[Offspring]

You're looking at an absolute zero;
I'm not the devil but I won't be your hero.

 
   “How can you miss what you do not know?”

  The words, laden with bitterness and uncertainty, have left his mouth before he is able to stop them – and for a moment, there is a fleeting pang of regret (he should have reined them in; kept it to himself) – alas, what is done is done. There is a smoldering ember flickering and burning hotly in the hearth of his chest, which has tightened upon the soft confession breathed across the simmering surface of his skin, where thick and coiled muscle lay under a thick and marred canvas of blackened coal.

  He is not purposeful in the way he pushes her away.

  He is still angry, still heartbroken, with the tender, frayed pieces of his ashen heart hanging by a thread. He had been unfaithful, untrue – but the trust had been broken long, long before that, and in the end, it is not a love lost that he is grieving most, but the loss of the illusion he had tethered himself to. He could not be loved, he is certain. He is too callous, too cautious, and the hefty burden of his own desolate self-loathing and isolation is often more than he, himself, can bear – and thus, he has only ever given a part of himself, keeping the deepest and darkest of his secrets concealed and deeply buried.

  No one had ever loved all of him.
  No one ever would.

  Though his words are heavy and laced with arsenic, his mouth is telling a different story, as his teeth press into the soft gray of her skin, supple and pliable beneath his lips. She is seeking out his dark, crimson gaze, but he has averted his own, concentrating instead on tasting her under his tongue and tugging the entanglement of brush and brittle bark from her tresses, haphazardly lain across her neck.

  He does not see how tired, how weary she is –

  She is as powerful and as formidable as she had always been, at least to him. She is no less a force to be reckoned with – the electricity surging within her veins can be felt, even through the density of his own sinew and bone. She is beautiful, commanding in her presence, and fiercer than many he had known in his lifetime – but naturally, she could not see what he could.

  Quietly, softly then,

  ”She and I are no more. I am not certain that we ever were –“ his own admission is heavy, laden with lead and an edge of truth. ”I had nothing to give to her, and I have nothing to give to you. Nothing of substance,” he murmurs, his voice a rumbling baritone. ”nothing worthwhile.”

OFFSPRING

another zealot with the weight of the fucking world.