Pretty young things
A Jaded man sits alone in an empty room; his dark hair is hanging in his face, hiding the despair etched within his eyes. But what he cannot hide, to his dismay, is his lurid complexion. Every ounce of sadness and heartache that had come across his path within the last fourteen years could clearly be seen. His history is filled with death, betrayal, and punishment; punishment that was decadence full of pain and torture. Redemption was his sanction now, after fleeing the harsh confines of prison. And while he was happy that he was living in a house full of friends and his godson, his heart was petulant as one would expect from a man who spent the best years of his life within a four walled cell.
Prison left hurts that ran far too deep to be mended. He would never speak of the trails he had endured while living in that virtual hell, because reliving it would be far too painful. And while he tried to forget, how do you go back to your old life, when you saw way too much? Some pains just go too deep, and take hold.
His weary bones ached, though he was not that old. His skin crawled and he tried to soothe it. He would never speak of this.
He wasn't sick.
His mind screamed at him, howling and echoing within the crevices of his mind. He wanted to forget.
He hated himself.
And then, there was this girl. This brown headed beauty that entered his life not 3 years ago. She was young then, and still is, but nonetheless caught his attention. And when he caught himself admiring her, for her body and eyes, he reprimanded himself.
She was too young.
But as a man, he reasoned, it was only natural to admire a young lady when around. But she was merely 16, nothing more than a child.
But she wasn't a child, in the eyes of the law, he reasoned often. She was of age. But that didn't make it right. She was his godson's best friend; and she had captured him so.
He didn't love her.
But he wanted her.
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