He knew what he was saying was prattle but it stopped immediately when she regarded his thanks. That part wasn't for say, wasn't for the sake of or enjoyment of speaking. She had spoke of him as if she had known him his entire life, known every moment he had doubted and paraded himself and echoed back each of his beliefs, confirmed what he knew. "I'm not thanking you for telling the truth, I'm thanking you for seeing it and telling me. You understand. Thank you for understanding." It was a privilege to have someone see you as you were and understand to a finite detail. It made his blood boil hotter to think a simpleton had affected and hurt someone so valuable. Someone so intelligent and equally unaware of her knowledge, that she wore it like an heiress in fine silks. "You'd look lovely in silk." As for his tests, they would have to be tempted at another point in time as now became urgent to leave the room and carry out the concocted plan.
Never mind his hat, and a cat would respectively stay with either of them. He was all ready to go on his way until she repeated words, intentional or not from another time of her injury. "No," he quickly said, and shook his head. "We've discussed this one too." When she was rotting, it was from another matter she thought lowly of herself and for it to be repeated now would make matters worse. "You're not rotting, you're not decaying and I won't allow it. Not one cell of it." He leaned in close to meet her eye and emphasize his point. "Three cats are giving attention by claiming it. They want you."
"I'll take some with me at some point. All the same." He couldn't worry about his clothing now, he had things to do, a person to see and a talking to have. A sweet kiss pressed to her temple with all the force of take care, don't worry, be safe, don't be upset on the tip of his lips to transfer into her thoughts. He wasn't going to be long, he didn't intend to be long to save for time that would bring her thoughts welling back to her. He knew what that was like, told her before of the ditch he knew well and didn't want to chance her falling into the same welled steps. So he released his hold with a reassuring rub on her arm and moved to stand, taking one last glance on the board and tilting his head in a falsado as he lied, "Check mate," giving her something to think on in his absence.
No need for coat or jacket, his adrenaline and anger held enough fire to drive him to his destination bringing Chester immediately to the door before he turned to her. "I'll be back, yeah?" The door opened with graceful ease, all pretense of not so well hidden temper that changed to a quick slam as he left. What was that damned being thinking when he spoke those cruel words? The assistant nurse was known for his rudeness but for the fondness he had for Vera, even Ches found it astounding he had done it-- astounding, but not surprising. His footfalls against the pavement became the loud drumming to an oncoming battle as the philosopher, the man who wanted to protect his friend from the same fate he endured, marched his way to teach the buffoon the consequences of his mistakes.
The return to the apartment above the quaint charity shop was forgotten in it stride. Strange that he pushed to get lost and instead of an unknown destination, it was the path to it that was unfamiliar. It was something he'd have to later appreciate, write down for its importance but for now his mind was swirling with scenarios of how Vera would react to his state, to his actions that took all of his attention. The clapping of his shoes against the false stone lost its mirth, a quiet cat moving about the streets even his own mind could barely hold awareness to his presence. In the hour or so it took to carry out his actions, Chester Gates exerted all his physical value and became lost to the tangible world. No wonder why he couldn't remember the journey.
In the thirty some years of his physical presence, the teacher took pride that he rarely resorted to anger, was never angry. Violence was for game and jest but never for the intention to harm out of the hatred, never to purposely show another pain as he had just shown. His knuckles were bruised and scraped to the point of bleeding, the joints in his hands swollen as a reminder of his rage as he repeatedly met them to the man's head. The memory of that moment, he understood now the meaning of it being blind as it too was a blur clouded by thoughts and, most likely, injury from the other getting in his own blows. No doubt he looked a sight with small cuts to his forehead and lip and additional bruising to his cheek.
He could hear the tone now, the scolding from a mother to her son for rough-housing but what did mother's know of boyish delights? It wasn't his mother's chiding word he'd meet behind the door. Instead it was the judgement of another directly involved and whose opinion laid so heavy on his conscience that he felt the weight reduce him to a boy, already hurt by the imagined conversation as he knocked on the door for re-entry.
germansingergirl
jbbartram-illu
prguitarman
baratheonpilled
janainaart
jacobvanloon
tangentwithtanner
pixelskylines
