He'd seen it as well; his Cush with her mouth swelled shut, after having suffered the ruthless extraction of her teeth. Him, forced to do nothing, if that were even imaginable, but watch it happen -- even when Lochlan knew without a doubt that he'd have went turncoat in the proverbial blink of an eye, in the proverbial beat of a heart, if... if that's what it took to keep brutal hands from hurting her. Somewhere in the deepest reaches of his sub-conscious, he saw them replacing Ismaal and his wife in that room. Put the shoe on his foot to walk around in but ya know what? It was that very visual, that possibility, <fear>, which kept him so solidified to carry out the execution and hammer that blade through a husbands hand in to his lovers neck. They had to keep the upper hand. They had to intimidate, they had to do awful things that kept stockpiling their demons, they had to follow through, they had to prove they were no match to go up against and if they told you <<this>> would happen <<IF>>...! Then <<this>> had to happen.
And if it took killing women, who may or may not have had a part to play against them, then... Lochlan would do it. He would kill wives and leave broken husbands behind to run back to their side of the fence and tell the tale of exactly what it was the O'Farell's did for their own counter-act of war. He would cut pretty necks all goddamn day if it meant that in the long run the enemies would never have the advantage of putting his girl, his sons and son to be, in a grimey house, used to be tortured and as a pawn against him.
So when Lochlan had looked at the married two in that room, he didn't have a beckoning to feel merciful, neither did he consider staying in the good graces of karma. This was karma, for the Chechen sweethearts, and their dirty deeds and you bet your fucking sweet ass Ismaal was leading Tommy to the slaughter. What goes around comes around, and Ismaal was being served a harty dose of it for only God and him knew what. He looked at them and knew exactly what the fuck had to be done so that it was never him and his Cush. That's where she got it backwards. And that's why she should have never been brought there.
Bleeding fucking hearts had no place in that house.
He was a fool.
And he was breathing too hard, too shallow.
Something jagged had broken off inside him. Lochlan's chest ached and felt compressed, like something heavy was sat atop of it - constricting his airway. Light, dark, light, dark...light...dark... his vision became obscurred with every hard beat of his heart, like the lights dimmed and then brightened to the rhythmic, erratic thumping as he walked to that bathroom. Where his mind left off, his body had taken over; flip the switch to turn the bulb on, twist the handle to make the water run, cup his palms under the stream to fill them, then rub them together to make a red river that eventually turned pink. Watch it swirl then drain when he washed the proof of his barbarism from his hands that shook so hard he could've been mistaken for an alcaholic who'd been forcibly dry for days.
‘Lochlan?’
He heard her, no matter if he responded or not, and his Cush landed her husband back in to the here and now. Thoughts caught up to his head from where they had stopped back at the bedroom door and suddenly he was back and forth in his twisted up mind. ‘What the fuck are you doin?’ She’d asked.
Defensive first;
"We control the fear." He said so absently, that maybe the words were only mouthed, thoughts going back to a time that had been dead for fucking years. Still wringing his hands together, the cold water making them frigid and his eyes stayed fixed on the task. They didn't veer to his wife and all be goddamn if they looked in the mirror. ‘The hell are you thinkin?’ She wanted to know.
Justification second; "He'd have killed Tommy. That's the fuckin game." Lochlan mumbled, hushed voice, sights still downcast at the water that was now running clear. They weren't answers to her questions, the guy was stuck in his conscience for a moment.
Berating third; "Shouldn'a fuckin brought you here--" he knew better, "Shouldn'a fuckin came here." The tug she gave his arm snapped him out of it and in turn Lochlan snapped <away> from her, jerking not just his limb but his entire body away from her reach so abrupt he had to grab the ledge of the counter to keep from staggering.
Fourth? Blame. "Why are you here?" Lochlan yelled at his Cush, smashing the counter that just kept him from falling like he held a hammer, "What? What, you wanna fuckin bait me? To see that shit?" He was pointing at the door, refering to Ismaal and his wife, "You needed to see the guy that helped beat and burn you you needed to see •Ilya• you called fuckin Dibs on •Ilya• but you...you go in <<there>>—“ Conveniently forgetting the part he helped her in. The way he seethed? Made it sound like ilya was all a ploy, a means to another purpose; to watch her husband do the unthinkable. It was accusing. It was crazy.... Fifth? Fear. "--and for what, Cush? What <now>? You came and you saw (him. She saw her Loch.) So what happens <<now>>?” Lochlan panted, his rant broken words and exhaustive groans between them.
He didn't know how to self sooth - [emotionally. She had always done it for him. So now, her seeing him as the devil many others did? What the fuck did that mean? If she were at home, if this was any normal night, he'd drag the sheet off her body and cover it back with his own. Pull her arms around his neck. Her kisses and soft mewing moans of his name and her love a reminder that he was okay because they were okay.
What happens when he comes home again, becaue he will, and she doesn't wanna touch him and can't find it in her to look at him because she becomes of the mind he just came crawling home to her after stabbing a woman in the neck? That's where the root of his fear was at, and that's why he was acting fucking crazy in the bathroom. And that's why he sat on the ledge of the tub and raked his hands down his face, frustrated that they wouldn't be goddamn still,
"Shouldn't be here."