It was with one single deed that the man who was many things finally figured out what he truly was. So long he had tried to stay away from the title, even daring to call himself God instead of that unholy word that meant inhumanly cruel, violent, or depraved. The darkness had consumed his soul so thoroughly that he hadn't even realised he was doing what he was until the crimson liquid was dripping down his hands and she was suddenly gasping for air, attempting to scream but failing. He'd gotten so angry, so very much out of what he used to be that he had killed one of the only things that ever stayed with him. Oh, he'd blamed her for so much, but then she was there dying in front of him and he had to wonder how he had allowed this to happen. It was never supposed to get this out of control. What did the name Doctor mean anymore? What was his life anymore? Especially if his clarity was gone.
ＣＬＡＲＡ
That was one name he would never allow himself to forget, not as long as he lived on. The blood that he had caused to spill from her veins would always stain his hands. Why had he even killed her?
Well it was hard to remember exactly what triggered him to grow that angered, but he believed it was them fighting for what seemed like the tenth time in a row. At that point in time he had taken everything from her. The Maitlands were dead, her father was dead. He wanted her to want him and him alone, but yet he had ended up throwing all of that away. His obsession with her had gone too far and had caused her to perish in the end. She told him no and then everything went hazy and then there was the blood, all of that blood. What had he even used? Perhaps a blade, he had no idea how he'd even gotten hold of one- No he did, they were in the dining room and he'd used it then. Didn't the TARDIS know better than to let him around sharp objects? Not only had he stabbed her, but there was also the fact of choking her and then dropping her to the floor. She had been crying- he was remembering it very vividly now sitting on a chair in the TARDIS library attempting to think through the situation- and her autumn brown hair was sticking to the saltwater upon her face. He had gone to the floor with her and took hold of her tense hand, saying he was sorry over and over. Even then it wasn't enough, he told her he loved her before she went, and he supposed it was better that way. She didn't need to know the truth; that he had no room in his hearts to ever love, they were too dark and this was the ending result.
Truly, it was a bad idea to think of it again. The chair he sat in suddenly felt as though it were sinking and his breath was becoming short, as if he might cry. The Doctor didn't cry anymore, he'd only cried once since she left and now it had been at least a week since that point. He felt numb and cold and there was nothing that could warm him. In fact, he'd tried many things. Violence towards women that looked nothing like her- whores who begged for sex. Killing, oh he'd done plenty of it and yet there was nothing that could fix him everything he did only made him feel more numb. Part of him enjoyed the numbness while the other part wanted it gone, but for now he could only accept this as his new lifestyle. That title, he had to finally accept it as well. Because what was Doctor anymore whenever he was something very different?
The ᴅᴏᴄᴛᴏʀ had turned into a вєαѕт.
He was only now realising it along with the fact that there were so many promises he had broken. A real holiday for Clara was one of those things. For once he was going to take her on a proper one, without monsters or anything like that, but it never happened. He'd promised to take her to New Earth some time, that didn't happen either- oh maybe even Space Florida if they felt up to it. So many days cut short, so many days yet to live that she never would. It was all his fault and the saddest, most cruel part was that he didn't care. Not one bit. He was upset she was gone, but he didn't regret the broken vows made to her. What he regretted was the fact that he didn't get to keep playing whatever game he had made with her. It sickened him to know this, but no matter how hard he attempted he couldn't force himself to care that he was a monster, because he liked it. He liked feeling power and being this behemoth. If she was here now, maybe things would be different, but slowly his wounds were closing and that meant moving on. He always moved on, the Doctor could move on from Clara Oswald.
That was until he thought he saw here, just over there by that bookshelf that was filled with vials of Gallifreyan words. For a moment he was still and was sure he was playing mind tricks with himself. His palms were suddenly boring into his eyes and he was then standing up from his chair. Clara was gone, he'd seen her die, and there was no use in going back to find an echo, he had to move on. The Doctor began to walk from the room, his foots loud on the carpeted floors of the library as he was not quite balanced and was making sure he didn't fall. He got to the hall, then caught a flash of what he believed to be a red dressed figure and then it was gone. Obviously just a trick of the light-
Or you're going insane.
At that thought he was walking quickly and attempting to leave the hallway, find somewhere quiet to go. He picked the first door on his left, completely forgetting that it was the kitchen that was situated here along with the dining room. Everything was beginning to pulse psychotically and as it did his head began to pound. He'd gotten this before, but never as bad and it was like he was seeing everything again. Her body. Her screams for help. her sobs for not wanting to go. her last words. No, he didn't want to see it again.
His knees hit the floor and he was in a small heap. His head was pressed against the cool flooring and his arms were clutching at his sides, hugging himself. It was scary- to know you were going insane and being consumed by a woman you barely knew but had kept captive for years and tried to force her into what she would never really want.