"You can stay in the room behind you," Evan says, gesturing vaguely to a door upstairs before he turns the corner, leaving her alone once again.
"I'll go find something for dinner," he says as he is around the corner, and honestly she has no idea if he said it to her or just to himself, but she doesn't care. She doesn't dare to follow him now, not after that, so she takes a few steps backwards making sure that he wasn't going to come back before she turns around and bolts upstairs. At least she has the stairs to separate them…
Not that she thinks he will do anything.
He has had plenty of chances to hurt her and she has pushed him probably one too many times too, and yet, she still can't tell her heart to stop racing and her nerves to stop feeling like they're on fire.
So she swings opens the door to the room she assumes he was talking about, locking it behind her.
Closing her eyes and taking a deep breath, she slowly sinks to the ground as it takes everything in her not to let the tears from the last twenty-four hours break like a dam and come flooding out.
Everything has changed and she has no idea if it's better or worse now.
Though she knows it's irrational to think that everything is worse now, she can't tell her mind to shut up.
Nothing can be worse than being killed every single day in horrific ways…
But at least she had her friends.
She knew where she was.
She knew what to do and what was expected of her.
She knows it's ridiculous, but she can't help but feel that sting of missing the campfire that rests deep in her chest.
Clearing her throat and opening her eyes, she takes a deep breath and stands up observing her surroundings. There is a four poster bed sticking out from the wall to her right, and a bookcase filled with books to her left.
'How many books can one family have?'
Across from her is a giant window that lets in the growing moonlight illuminating everything around her.
The walls are decorated with more paintings that Meg can't quite make out in the dark. She is thankful though for the rugs that decorate the floor, keeping the room a little bit warmer than the rest of the house when she walked in.
As she walks over to the bed she thinks about what Evan said. He claims he was never a decent person…but there's something about him that Meg can't quite put a finger on.
Any horrible person wouldn't want to come and find her and invite her to stay after how she acted towards him, whether he deserved it or not.
But why did he come back? He said he felt bad for not giving her the option, but why would he care to begin with?
She figures that it would be easier to simply ask him, but after what just happened, the very thought of being face-to-face with him right now sends waves of panic through her whole body. But then again, if she truly gets to know him and brings him out of his angry little murderous shell, maybe she can see a different side of him.
She could almost laugh at the absurd thought of it all.
Getting to know Evan MacMillan, the Trapper, as though he deserves any sort of human decency now…
But she is stuck here with him, and maybe understanding something about him will help her not be so goddamn angry at him all the time.
That is if he would even let her get to know anything about him. Thinking of how horrible he has been since they saw each other across that street, she knows this isn't going to work out by just going and talking.
She needs this to work.
Being back in the real world, having a real chance at life now…she has no idea what she will do if it doesn't.
In some weird, disturbed way, within twenty-four hours, Meg has come to rely on the idea that she is out, and Evan is here with her.
She is not the only one that is confused about the times and where she is, and just knowing that she's not alone in her absolute abandonment makes her being here with him, or just someone, almost okay.
She just needs to make sure it will stay that way.
Though she isn't jumping up and down excited for the idea of trying to get to know him, at least it will be something that won't seem so horrifying in this new world they are both stuck in.
Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she scowls and looks down at the state of the bed. How does someone even get dust off of a comforter? Instead of taking the obvious route of gingerly wiping it off, Meg starts wiping the comforter with all the power she has, trying to get every single piece of dust off.
Going into a coughing fit at the sudden onslaught of dust filling her lungs, her scowl deepens as she sits down, a cloud of dust settling around her.
She doesn't have time for this.
So she lies down anyways, her skin itching and crawling from the dust settling and the dust she didn't quite get off the comforter.
Instead of being disgusted, she tries to think of the positives.
This is the first time she has been able to sleep on a bed in nearly ten years, and at least it is sort of comfy.
It could be worse…she could be sleeping on another bench.
As she closes her eyes, she hopes maybe a nap will give her the courage to actually talk to Evan, the real Evan, and not have it turn into a horrible fight once more.
Meg doesn't know how long she's asleep for but when she rolls over and opens her eyes, the moonlight seems even brighter as it is almost directly above the house in the sky, a taunting vision reminding her of how the moon always looked in the trials.
Bright and exposing.
Rays from the moon illuminate the specks of dust in the air as they shine casting weird shadows across the bed that makes Meg's mind whirl.
She has to close her eyes and concentrate on breathing as the moon brings back haunting images of meat hooks, blood, and absolute agony.
She's not in a trial.
She doesn't need to run for her life.
There are no generators around.
There are no brick walls.
No exit gates.
She's not going to be killed, hopefully.
She concentrates on the silence that is so quiet, it makes her ears ring, but she doesn't mind.
She doesn't even remember the last time she was in a place this quiet.
There was always something, some fire, or generator, or screams…
But she's not there anymore.
And although she's here with the Trapper - no - Evan, she is safe for now.
As she spends a few minutes breathing and listening to the nothingness of the room, she thinks back to her time in the Entity's realm as a way to try and separate herself.
She isn't there anymore.
She just got sleep, which is amazing to her.
While in the Entity's realm, she was never able to sleep more than a few hours at a time, and although she assumes that aspect of sleeping wouldn't change overnight, literally, the fact that she had uninterrupted sleep means there is a change.
She is okay.
She will be okay.
Deciding to get up as her frazzled nerves and rapid breathing calms down, she swings her feet so they dangle off the bed, but as soon as she decides to kick off the bed and touch the floor, there is a huge crash that almost makes her fall over.
It sounded like it came from downstairs and she prays she didn't do anything to cause it…
All she did was get off the bed. But this is an old house, it's practically an antique.
Oh no…
She doesn't dare to move as she puts a hand over her mouth to cover up her rapid breathing to see if she can hear anything. Any movement or any curses from downstairs or the hallway…
A minute passes by and she hears nothing, so she shakes her head and laughs slightly to herself. She can go out and face him, she has done it a hundred times, she can do it once more.
She doesn't quite know what she wants to achieve by talking to him, but they have to at least try to not get into a screaming match every time they talk to each other, and now is as good of a time as any.
And maybe he found food like he said he was going to.
She tip toes to the door and opens it slowly, waiting to hear any other footsteps.
She knows she needs to talk, but she can't help but listen to the thought in the back of her mind that hopes he made food and went to bed so she could wait to try some other time.
Peeking out into the hallway, she notices a soft orange glow coming from the staircase. Walking over, she realizes that there are candles and lanterns lit in various areas downstairs and along the staircase.
Did they even have electricity in the 1800s?
Though she would have preferred a simple light switch to light up the house, she can't deny that this is actually a little bit nice too.
It is relaxing in a way that the campfire was for her for a long time. The soft warm hue that flickers and dances across the house mesmerizes Meg as she descends down the stairs slowly.
She still doesn't hear any footsteps from Evan, but as quickly as she thinks this, she could swear she heard the clink of a glass being set down on a table.
Getting to the landing and turning the corner, she sees that Evan had made a fire in the fireplace and was pouring himself a drink from a mini bar that sat in the corner of the room.
The first thing she notices is that he changed out of his torn up suit from earlier, and instead he is now wearing a pair of black slacks, a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of suspenders.
She has never seen him look so…human.
It catches Meg off guard, so when he turns around and sees Meg, a slight blush creeps across her cheeks and she hopes that he didn't catch her staring.
She reminds herself that he is still the Trapper.
He is still a monster.
Pausing for just a moment, Evan gives her a slight nod before sitting down wordlessly in a chair by the fire, staring at the flames as he drinks some sort of amber looking liquid that Meg can only assume is a type of alcohol.
"What was that bang earlier?" Meg decides to ask breaking the silence as she shifts from one foot to another.
"Knocked over some bottles."
A tiny sigh of relief escapes Meg's lips now that she knows she did nothing to break anything like her mind wanted her to believe.
"Why? Did I wake you?" Evan speaks again, turning his head slightly to her but not quite making eye contact.
"No, it was that other loud crash that woke me up," Meg says dryly, an attempt at joking around although it comes out sounding foreign and awkward to her ears.
"Ah, good, was worried there for a moment."
Silence passes between them as Meg stands on the edge of the room, looking around and occasionally glancing at the cracked wood from earlier when Evan broke the doorframe. She stands there, her arms crossed as she shivers slightly despite the fire raging in the room.
"So much for finding food, huh?" She says nodding at the alcohol and the fire in an attempt to start some sort of conversation.
She could never tell him, but it sure seems like Evan made himself comfortable in the time she was asleep, and she almost resents him not having any food as though it was solely his responsibility.
"There's some rabbit in the kitchen."
"Rabbit? You had time to find, kill, and cook a whole rabbit?" Meg responds incredulously as her mouth hangs open slightly. How on Earth did he have enough him for that?
He nods and continues staring at the fire as though that was something totally normal.
"How long was I asleep for?" Meg asks still refusing to believe he did all of that while she was sleeping.
"Dunno. An hour or two? I got the rabbit, cooked it, and starting drinking. It's been quite the night."
"I guess you could say that again," Meg mumbles before turning around and venturing into the kitchen, knowing there is now food waiting for her. Her stomach doesn't just growl, it feels like it is practically eating itself alive as she enters and smells the savory flavors of cooked meat float to her nose.
It has been forever since she had any sort of meat, which was her favorite before she was taken.
Always trying out new recipes, Meg found that her favorite to make was steak on the grill, although she would never say no to any decent cut of meat.
Not that they got it often.
They couldn't afford it.
But the special times that Meg got her promotion, or her mom was cleared from cancer, they had to celebrate somehow, and Meg always got a nice cut of steak and prepared it for them.
She can't say that she has ever had rabbit, but meat is meat, and she is as eager to try it as she ever could have been.
A single plate sits out beside the hunk of meat, as well as a knife and fork.
She tries not to think that Evan put this out for her whenever she was ready.
That would be too nice for him, but it makes her stomach flip nonetheless.
She cuts a piece off and puts it onto the plate, and she can hardly wait to dig in, so she eats it standing up, scarfing down chunks of savory and juicy rabbit that she never thought she'd enjoy as much as she enjoys now.
She could practically moan at how good it is as a drop of juice slides down her chin. She needed real food, not just coffee and donuts.
"Enjoying yourself?" Evan walks in, startling Meg so much she drops her fork and knife onto the plate with a load clattering noise. "Well don't go breaking things now."
She swallows her bite and looks at him, unsure of whether to joke back or not.
When she had the idea of talking earlier, she thought she'd have to do it while forcing him to talk, and now he's just…joking with her? Is this the alcohol or has he just turned into a completely different person?
"How much have you been drinking?" She asks, her voice low and stern.
"Not too much, but enough to ignore the fact that you have food on your face."
Meg's face turns red as she quickly wipes her mouth with her sleeve before turning back to him, a frown plastered on her face.
"Was your point of coming in here just to watch me eat?"
Evan looks at her for a second before shrugging and walking back into the other room.
Meg, rolling her eyes, and getting real tired of him just shrugging, puts her plate in the sink and walks into the living room to join Evan even though her feet are fighting her every step of the way.
"Want a drink?" Evan asks, gesturing to the bar behind him as he enters the living room, but there seems to be in invisible barrier to Meg as she stops abruptly in the doorway, refusing to enter the room with him.
Meg shakes her head as she continues to stand beside the cracked doorframe.
"I don't need one."
"I didn't ask if you needed one."
Meg stops and looks around at the glass before making the mistake of saying, "I don't need alcohol to feel like a functioning human being, thank you."
Evan stops, puts down his glass slowly, and looks at her through narrowed eyes.
"Is this going to be another one of your arguments you pick with me to make yourself feel better about everything that is happening now?"
"What is that supposed to mean?" Meg coughs out.
"You can yell at me all you want," Evan says, his voice passive, "but will that really make staying here any easier?"
"I-"
"Or you can get off your high horse and accept that you're here now. I bet there are things in your past you're not proud of, but I am not sitting here judging your character every waking minute of every day," Evan finishes saying. Although his words stab Meg like a knife, his tone wasn't that of hatred like it had been for the last day.
As he said those words, he just seemed tired.
Broken down.
She stares at him as he continues to drink as though he didn't just insult Meg's very being.
"I am okay with what I've done in life. I've never done anything as heinous as you."
"Doesn't mean there aren't things you regret," Evan says, taking another sip of his drink before gesturing to the mini bar and changing the subject quickly. "Come on, have a glass. It's not like you've never tasted it before."
Meg notices the change in conversation, but her head spins and as much as her blood is boiling and her stomach is churning, she can't seem to find the right words. He deserves everything she said to him, and how dare he compare his crimes to maybe a few things she wishes she could change in her life?
She doesn't even know where to begin, so she settles on answering his last statement instead.
"I've never drank, actually."
Evan lets out a full-on belly laugh at this, causing Meg's scowl to deepen.
"I do not believe that. A lady of your age…how old are you?"
"Twenty-four."
"A lady of twenty-four should have at least had a glass or two by now. Especially should you want to drink with your husband when you get married."
Now it's Meg's turn to laugh.
"A husband? That's why I should have already have had alcohol? Is that what you're telling me?"
He stares at her, eyebrows raised slightly in amusement.
"It's only customary," he says, taking another swig.
"Okay maybe in your time," Meg responds. "Now, teenagers drink and get alcohol poisoning in a field somewhere behind their parent's backs which never seemed to interest me. People my age go out and get drunk in public and make fools of themselves," Meg hesitates before speaking again, "Plus my father…he was an alcoholic. I never wanted to touch the stuff."
Evan stares at her for a second before humming, acknowledging her statement.
"I suppose my father was one too, yet it never stopped me."
"And this is why the first thing you chose to do, after spending a hundred years trapped, is to drink."
"Yes…and?"
Meg sighs as she takes the leap, her heart in her throat, and walks into the room, taking a seat across from him in a dark brown leather armchair. As soon as she sits, a puff of dust explodes into the air.
"We really need to do something about this dust," she says through coughs, changing the subject as the dust reminds her of the state of her bed upstairs.
"Well you can start on that tomorrow," Evan says flapping his hand in her direction while gulping down the rest of the amber liquid in his glass.
"Excuse me?" Meg scoffs, "And why would I do that?"
"It's a woman's job," he replies as though he were stating a fact like the sky is blue or grass is green.
"It's not my 'job'," Meg sneers, putting extra emphasis on the word 'job'. "Both men and women cook and clean and do whatever else it is you have deemed gender roles from your time."
"Gender roles? What nonsense is that?"
Meg lets out a huff of frustration as she pinches the bridge of her nose.
"You know like it's a woman's job to cook and clean and it's a man's job to work. Now men and women can do whatever they want."
Ignoring Meg's explanation, Evan gets up and walks over to a small lit bar. He picks up a new glass and pours more amber liquid into it. He begins to pour some in the glass he was using but stops for a moment before setting his glass down and settling for taking the bottle itself. He walks back over and shoves the glass at Meg who takes it out of reflex before he settles back into the chair and takes a huge swig of the alcohol from the bottle.
"You're not sly right before you start to yell. I can tell when you don't like something I say," Evan says, holding the bottle in one hand, swirling it around slightly, "You get this little crease in between your eyebrows, and your mouth turns downwards creating a dimple in your right cheek. It's as plain as day when you're upset."
Meg says nothing as her face turns red.
"So here's some whiskey," he continues, nodding to the glass that Meg has yet to take a sip out of. "Drink. It'll let off some steam that you don't need to take out on me."
Meg opens and closes her mouth, looking for something to say in return. How has he been that observant in only a few times that they've talked?
It immediately makes Meg feel self-conscious and embarrassed that she can be so easily readable.
So instead, she stares at the glass of whiskey Evan handed her and swirls it around, mirroring what he's doing with the bottle.
Evan eyes her carefully, taking more drinks of his own.
"You don't have to drink it if you don't want it. Thought I'd be polite."
Meg quickly laughs at that, him being polite after attacking her for rightfully not trusting him. But she knows she may as well not even try right now.
It seems like right now, he is trying to be something that's not a monster. Plus, as she thinks back to why she even came downstairs, she just wants to talk to find out something that might make sitting across from him easier.
So she stares at the whiskey, thinking if she really wants to drink it, and as he said, maybe it could help.
"Well, it's not that I don't want it, well, no, I don't want it, but I've always been curious about it," she says, lifting up the glass and taking a sniff before pulling it away in disgust.
"So whose to say now isn't the perfect time? I bet you just yesterday you thought you would never have the chance to try it," Evan says, raising his glass slightly and ignoring the disgusted look on her face.
Meg can't help but nod though because he's right. She never thought she'd get the chance, and it was one thing that bugged her whether she wanted it to or not.
"So now here's to new chances," Evan slurs slightly as he nods at her, keeping his bottle raised in the air.
With a scowl, Meg leans forward and clinks her glass to the bottle and brings the whiskey to her lips. She can smell it long before it reaches her mouth and it almost makes her want to gag, but Evan is right.
What would be so bad finally trying it?
As soon as the whiskey crosses her lips, she swallows fast and lets out a long sigh of relief after.
"There's a good girl," Evan remarks, a smirk playing across his lips.
Meg's skin prickles with goosebumps as she tries to ignore the feelings Evan's comment and smirk made her feel. She decides instead to concentrate on the warmth that spreads through her body.
The whiskey isn't the best tasting thing in the world, but the after effects, even almost immediately, Meg can't say she hates.
She takes another small sip and sets the glass down in her lap as she turns to look at the fire.
Silence passes between the two of them, and for once, she can say that it isn't uncomfortable. Her body melts into the chair as she enjoys the warming effect of both the alcohol and fire in front of her.
"I'll help tomorrow," Evan speaks up, breaking the blanket of silence. "With the dusting. I suppose there isn't much for me to do around here anyway."
"Thank you." Meg shoots him a small smile before going back and looking at the fire again.
Out of the corner of her eye, she cold have sworn she saw him smile too, but she wasn't going to look at him to make sure.
"Was your mom the one who cleaned mostly?" Meg asks, sipping at the whiskey as she decides to try and make conversation that isn't about the Entity or their past mistakes.
Evan doesn't answer right away before shaking his head.
"No, she died when I was young."
"I'm sorry."
"We did have help though. My father hired maids. They had this place looking nice and tidy up until he-"
Evan stops talking and takes another huge gulp of whiskey but he doesn't continue.
Meg peels her eyes from the fire and glances over to him to see him just staring at the bottle now.
"Until he what?" She decides to ask.
Evan scowls, lost in thought but remains silent despite Meg's prodding question.
She clears her throat and decides to break the tension.
"My mom used to clean, that was until she got sick. So all the cleaning and grocery shopping and cooking, it all fell to me, on top of going to school and having to work in order to help out with bills." Meg taps lightly on her glass before continuing. "I never had time for friends, or drinking," she says holding up her glass to him and lets out a sad laugh. "But I didn't mind. My mom was my best friend and I would have done anything for her."
Evan looks up at Meg, the fire reflecting deep lines in his face that seem to soften as she continues
"I wanted to do everything I could to keep her alive, and I think I did…until I disappeared, I guess."
"Was she alive when you were taken?" Evan asks, his voice full of genuine curiosity.
"Yeah, but I don't know if she's alive now. She was pretty sick and I don't know who would have taken over taking care of her. It was just me and her…"
Meg quickly wipes away a tear that slides down her cheek before she gulps down the rest of the whiskey in her glass. Letting out a grunt she shivers as all of the alcohol hits her at once, but she shoves her glass towards Evan anyway.
"Come on, don't hog it all."
He chuckles as he leans forward and fills her glass.
"Careful with that, you won't like how you feel in the morning if you keep that up," Evan suggests, leaning back in his chair.
Meg shrugs. "I've been through worse."
The fire crackles as Meg looks away, though Evan's eyes stay on her, observing her every movement.
"What was it like?" Evan asks, breaking the silence after a few minutes. "Being a survivor, having people there with you, helping along the way?"
"It was…helpful I guess," Meg starts, trying to ignore Evan's burning gaze as his eyes haven't seem to have left her for the last few minutes. "I had people to rely on, to help get through the days. We became a family, which was nice since I didn't have much of one to begin with."
"Must have been nice," Evan comments.
"It was, if you looked past being tortured and killed in heinous ways every few hours for years."
Evan finally looks away and shifts uncomfortably in his chair.
"What about being a killer?" Meg asks, her voice strained slightly, not knowing if it'll be a sensitive subject for him, and the last thing she wants to do is make him mad now that he has alcohol in him, and she really thinks that they might be getting somewhere with this conversation, and anything is better than screaming at each other constantly.
And she's so tired.
"It was a fitting punishment," Evan speaks up finally. "For everything I did, for everything I was, becoming a killer in the Entity's realm was a perfect punishment for me."
"So you didn't like it?" Meg asks, surprised that he at least enjoy it a little. Most of the killers looked like they were fueled by such bloodlust and joy as they were brutally murdering her and her friends over and over again.
"No. I made the mistake in my lifetime that ended hundreds of decent human beings' lives, but it didn't mean I wanted to kill people forever. I never wanted to kill anyone again."
"So why did you do it the first time?"
Evan remains silent, staring at the fire, his eyes a hundred years away. They sit in silence for a few minutes, Evan not responding and Meg not pushing the question this time.
Although she can never forgive him for anything he did, whether it be to her or the miners, the poor miners, she is just so exhausted, and she wasn't quite sure if she wanted to know the answer right now.
She can continue her ruthless tirade tomorrow, but for now, between the warmth of the fire and the whiskey, she can almost say she's content with being in the same room as him now.
Not happy, but not upset either, and that is an improvement in her book. She closes her eyes for a brief second, basking in the warmth of the world around here, as she enjoys the first time she truly feels comfortable.
Her mind begins to drift from the Entity's realm to what she should do now as they sit in silence for what feels like twenty minutes, and the longer the silence drags on, the more Meg melts into the chair, her body feeling heavier and her eyes wanting to remain closed.
So she figures a few minutes more of silence isn't bad. She can ask more questions after that...
"I'm sorry for what I did to you," Evan begins to say, but when he looks up, Meg's eyes are closed and she has a small goofy grin on her face that Evan can't help but take a few seconds to stare at.
He has spent most of his life killing and murdering innocent people, whether there was someone behind him urging him on or not. It made no difference.
Blood was spilt by his hand, and seeing this girl talk about her family, her life before this whole sorry mess, he can't help but take a deep breath to try and ignore the dull ache that starts in his chest.
He had come to terms with what he did in the trials, true, but he never had to talk to his victims like he has now. One-on-one.
He had been in fights with her since coming back to the real world, but her yelling and screaming at him only made him more defensive, more angry.
He reminded himself of his father when someone questioned him.
But when she sat down and wouldn't even barely look at him as she talked tonight, it made something deep within him come to the surface once more.
It made him realize, everything he did, he was doing to real people in those trials, not just pawns in the Entity's game.
He hurt them, over and over and over again.
He can't take back his ruthlessness, nor does he feel he needs to.
He was forced into it after all, he had no choice, but the choices that lead him to being there were all him.
He knew it.
She knew it; She never missed an opportunity to tell him.
He stares at her sleeping across from him, and he finds himself wondering if she slept like this in the Entity's realm too, or if she had just as many sleepless endless nights as he did.
He wonders if the fact that she had friends there, or perhaps even a boyfriend, and if any of that truly helped at all. She said it did, but there was a sadness in her voice that made him question her words.
While she had people around, he was alone the whole time, stuck facing every single mistake in his life replayed over and over in his mind like a record stuck on loop, unless he was in a trial.
He supposed it was the Entity's way of building anger, or any strong emotion it could feed off of, but he stopped caring a long time ago.
Was he worthless to the Entity now? Is that why it let him go? He stopped playing its game and feeding it?
But what about her?
What did she do to get out?
He gets up and trudges to a closet in the hall as he silently prays that what he is looking for is still there and no thieves came and stole it.
Although that is a ridiculous thought, knowing that all of his paintings and books and other antiques are still here, that means it still had to be here too…
He opens the closet and sees a chest at the bottom, engraved AMR.
Arlene Marie Rhodes.
His mother's chest she had from even before she met his father.
Placing a hand on the letters, he wipes off a layer of dust and stares at the wooden engraving, not quite expecting his chest to begin to ache as he thought about his mother.
Sure, he had thought about her for the last hundred years, but this was different.
This was actually hers.
He was actually home.
Swallowing back any sort of emotion that threatened to come up, he opened the chest and inside was a light purple knitted blanket.
She made it for Evan was he was just a baby, but his father didn't approve of the color, saying it wasn't manly enough for his son.
He was going to be a pansy, going to be weak with a color and blanket like that, his father would say.
But she kept it anyway, and told Evan it was his whenever he wanted it, as long as he didn't show his father.
He promised never to tell and there it still was.
In a very dusty condition, but still intact.
Throwing it over his arm, he walks back into the living room and sees Meg in the same position that he left her.
There is something inside him that tells him not to wake her up, not now, not as she looks like this.
She looks peaceful.
A tingling in his stomach begins slowly, but he does everything he can to suppress any of those thoughts, as his body shakes thinking of what the Entity used to do when he would have any thoughts of anyone.
He throws the blanket on top of her and begins to walk out, pausing once in the doorway and looking back.
He could never explain any of this to her.
He could never explain any of his decisions, his choices, his consequences to her.
She wouldn't understand.
But he would be lying if he said that it wasn't nice to at least get some things off his chest tonight, whether she remembers them or not.
Tomorrow they can go back to fighting; it almost makes it easier than having to face the consequences of his actions like he had to tonight.
Despite it being easier to ignore all of it, the last thought that enters his mind as he walks upstairs to his old room, is that he wants to know more about who she was.
Who she is.
But then again, maybe that is just the alcohol talking...