It shouldn't have been so difficult right? Hellos were the same as goodbyes, and good morning and goodnight all meant the same to me. Nothing but empty pleasantries. However, lately these words scratch at me, knawing at my subconscious and threatening to swallow me whole.
Its all that rotten Sparrow's fault. Ever since he showed up I can't help but feel different, and it is certainly not a good different.
I have never, in all my years, met a man so intent on getting under my skin; a presence so insistent it demands my attention and my answers. He's so... Infuriating seems too meager a word to describe this, unfortunately.
Bit by bit he's chipped at my edges, my walls. Bit by bit he's begun to crack my very foundations, and I fear he will cause me to collapse. I cannot allow that.
A part of me wants him to.
Part of me craves this collapse; utter destruction and the elevation of pressure to maintain this... This. There's no proper description of what I have become, there's only... This.
It has been a very, very long time since I've felt a desire outside of wealth or my bedroom, and it is quite disconcerting. I cannot wrap my head around it, either.
Every simple touch he gives drives me closer to madness. A pat on the back that's a bit too hard because of his strength. A little squish of my face as he excitedly taps his feet like a child over a puppy. A soothing hand on my shoulder... Its only grown more frequent since he purchased my old house, the bastard.
He must have found my old journal...
I knew I should have burned that thing when I had a chance... But...
A partial record of my ancient sins and long forgotten history...
I still wonder how the Hero known as Druid would have reacted to everything... Druid had seen Oakvale burn in his youth, lost everything in a night... I bet I would be dead if he had been around that night.
But that damnable journal must be why Sparrow has been so touchy feely towards me. That doesn't, however, explain why the other two are so different to me now.
Those two are far more likely to mock me or ignore me because of that thing.
However, Hammer has given me meals lately, albeit grumpily. Garth has healed me, unprompted, after particularly nasty fights. They seem... Kinder towards me, I suppose? I'm unsure if I should be happy or what.
Sparrow irreversibly cracked my foundations, shook my core, and destroyed every barrier I had put up, knowingly or not.
And I'm not proud to admit this...
I cried like a damned baby and I am ashamed that Garth and Hammer saw it.
And all it took was a fucking hug.
I cannot meet any of their eyes, but they don't exactly expect me to I guess. However, Hammer is quieter with me, Garth is more touchy (I presume he has no idea what to say to me), and Sparrow will not leave my side.
And despite my shame and frustration... I feel safe. I feel almost better in a way. Strange...
I never truly knew I was feeling so badly. I suppose I hid it from myself as well as I hid it from others? Who knew grief could hit you so hard?
Honestly, it felt like a troll had hit me square in the chest. An unyielding, sharp and blunt pain that only fades after hours.
Or was it even grief? Perhaps it was guilt, though that is unlik-.
Its not unlikely, its most likely... Guilt for that night so very long ago. /Her/ voice still rings out loudest amongst all of them. Its Her voice I hear in my dreams.
These three... This band of mismatched idiots are of far more comfort than any lover, drink, or guilty pleasure. I honestly appreciate it....
But they don't have to know that.
