I suppose you’re right. I do know that, and I get the feeling it’s something many people will learn at some points in their lives, seeming as both distance and change are inevitable eventually
They are, yet at different intervals. Distance is inevitable, yet only caused when some sort of...trauma has occurred. Change, however, is a never-ending cycle, a constant wave of not being good enough, of not impressing the right people, pleasing the right crowds.
You, my friend, seem to have a lot to learn about how this world works.
Well, it can cause monumental change. Intentions are worthless when it comes to these kinds of things. Distance...distance changes people, did you know that?
The decision was abrupt. He wasn't pleased with his current situation, wasn't happy with the direction things were going. Friends were falling for friends, relationships were springing up left and right, and where was he? In the middle of it all, left only to squander for whatever attention and care he could find. He was getting the leftovers, the bits and scraps of affection that his friends didn't need to give anyone else.
He was beginning to be forgotten.
And how dare they forget him, how dare they shun his existence and pretend like he didn't matter. He was more important than any of them; he was the closest thing to God that these fools would ever encounter, and what were they doing? They were just simply ignoring him! They were treating him like the scum of the earth, and he was going to be having none of that.
And so, he left. Abruptly, in the night, leaving all friends and foes behind. Jason, Lilith, Daffney, Summer, they wouldn't even notice his absence. They were too busy with their own meaningless lives, too busy receiving the affection and attention that he deserved, that he was entitled to. Ricky and Chimaera, however, they would notice his disappearance. Chimaera would notice probably instantaneously, and Bray knew this; the man was the closest thing to salvation that he would ever witness, that he would ever have the privilege to touch. Surely the man would notice his absence.
And that was all the more reason to leave.
It was a pleasurable thought, that of the only one being aware of his absence being his mortal (or not so mortal) enemy. Chimaera was a good man, he deserved whatever honor and recognition he ever received, and being the only person aware of his disappearance was a damn good honor. If he was to be forgotten by all other humans on this earth, Bray was certain that Chimaera would remember him. And that was all that truly mattered, was it not? His legacy would live on through his enemy, through the man he once killed. Ironic enough, he supposed.
He did not want to return to the Windy City. He did not want to see his Savior, did not want to return to the grounds where they once battled.
He did not want to remember.
He wanted to forget, he wanted to remove all of the sights and sounds and memories of all those nights, of all those pointed arguments and poisoned words.
He wanted to move on.
But he couldn't. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how many times he visited that aged little tombstone down in Louisiana, the one that marked the resting place of the only human being who ever truly loved him and accepted him, he still could not forget the ones he left behind. Their voices echoed in the back of his mind when it was silent, their faces haunted his thoughts whenever he tried to get some rest. He could not escape the reminders, could not run away from his own memories and god damn it, he hated it. He knew that he had to get back, had to return to the city he once called his home.
He needed to go back.
It was not a matter of want, was not a spur of the moment decision of going back to the one place he never wanted to return. No, because he honestly, truly, did not want to return. He did not want to see Summer, or Lilith, or Ricardo, or Daffney. He did not want to hear their voices again, did not want for the world to prove his worst fear true; he did not need all of those people. His state of being was not dependent on others, his existence did not require their company.
He did not need them.
He did, however, miss the atmosphere of it all. He missed those he did not call his friends. He missed the team of Retribution, missed the dysfunctional companionship that came with the crew of villains. Their occasional conversation was nice, and although he would not openly admit to it, he did miss the slight friendship that came about with membership on that team. Not to mention, of course, his desire to get back to doing what he was meant to do.
So no, he did not miss Chicago. He did not miss those who claimed to be his friends, did not miss watching their relationships and friendships bloom and blossom right before his very eyes. He did not miss Summer, or Daffney, or Ricardo. He did not miss Chimaera.
