“ i don’t actually enjoy killing. it’s messy. it's extremely fucked up. but it’s just necessary sometimes. it never gets easier for me, and for every person i kill, i lose more and more of myself. eventually, if i don't quit, i won't be me anymore . ”
INBOX PROMPTS ╱ 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.
Will sits there with the information for a long second. The discomfort is discernible in the fissures of his furrowed eyebrows, tension easing in and devouring away at the passing thoughts encircling his mind. Of course, he understands -- who better than him? Will has made a very long, affluent career in losing himself in the cracks of disturbed minds, violence, and eventually the lives he was put in the position to take. It wasn't something you could ever recuperate from. The latent desires materializing through apertures of dark intuitions with the ferocity of blood pumping through the strongest vessels, loud and clear; interweaving down the intricate pathways of veins and arteries all in their rhythmic, steady pulse.
It had taken him over. So, Will does sympathize with Howard's suffering.
Would the other be horrified to know that it had made him feel powerful? That something had emerged and refused to be stifled away again under a delicate guise of normalcy? That it would always be there-- in him, he concludes. Whether dormant or influencing everything it came in contact with.
"If you got used to it," He pauses, "If you accepted it, I imagine you'd become an entirely different person. There is a thin line between the necessity of it and the enjoyment. I'm glad you're not the type." It would make friendship complicated.
