Disclaimer: Unfortunately, TM does not belong to me.
Warning: The story is rather dark! Also, my English is not perfect as it is not my 1st language.
Leaving the States was a good decision, he tells himself sometimes at night, healthy even.
He really likes the air here,
plus now his past is oficially dead
he can put it behind,
forget it completely and finally find himself some sort of solace.
If only the demons didn't come alive every night to haunt him again.
.
He sits on the beach
watching the ocean shimmer,
listening to the sounds it makes.
Rythmical sh-sh-shh sooths him like a lullaby,
the rythm so strong and prominent
it almost makes him forget..
(Red rooms and bloody smiles and his precious Charlotte being cut open while his darling wife lies on the ground dead already.)
.
He kind of hoped the guilt would leave once he'd killed the beast, but ironically, it has only gotten stronger.
(There is nothing to distract him now.)
He had tried to find himself a distraction - he had tried indeed.
Many bottles of scotch were emptied and smashed in the process,
plenty of Spanish girls got fucked (but never kissed)
hard
against the wall,
none of them uttering a single complaint.
.
(He is devastatingly handsome after all, and a distinct broken quality all about him makes him even more irresistible.)
.
He once fucked an American too,
yet it's the ocean that helps him again.
He delves into it and lets the sensations overwhelm him.
In a way, it purifies him,
making him clean and whole again..
the saltwater desinfecting his wounds.
Bringing some sort of peace into his life.
.
One night the stars shine unusually bright and the water that envelopes him is gentle and welcoming like arms of a woman he once loved
and he never wants to leave it again.
So he swims further and further away from the shore, his tempo steady and his mind crystal clear, the lights flashing behind him
dazzling,
empty,
and vain
just like the circus lights.
Waves reach the coast.