Who

Sa'mael

What

Burying the past, Sa'mael embraces a new beginning.

alcoholism, sex, language

When

It is evening of the twenty-fifth day of the eleventh month of the eleventh turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Somewhere Across Pern

OOC Date 08 Sep 2017 07:00

 

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“You’re leaving?”





He knew it was a bad idea, but it was like the drink. A seductive voice to see just how much more he could fuck up his life. It hadn’t been that long when —

“You’re leaving?” A female voice whined. A slight cant of his head revealed the attempted seductive pose, the grasping fingers that tried to tug the covers back invitingly. Her voice irritated him, but she was his boy’s girl. It had become a conquest to see what he could take. How much he could get away with. It wasn’t love. Hell, it wasn’t even good sex. It was riding the dark train through the terrible night without knowing where it ended.

“Yep.” Sa’mael turned away from her to face the mirror. The eyes that stared back at him were bleak. He knew the risks he was taking. He knew the outcome, but none of it mattered. He still did it. The thrill of doing Roman’s girl was enough to keep him coming back. One day, he’d get caught. That wasn’t today, though. Instead, he was left with the girl getting clingy on him. Talking shit about feelings. It was about time to break away, to change.

Pushing away from her small sink area, Sa’mael grabbed his shirt and threw it over his head. The girl spoke, but he didn’t hear. His thoughts were wound around the way his life had gone since the last time he gave a shit about anything. R’ik, off Faranth knew where doing Faranth knew what helping out convict boys on the hopes they’d get redeemed. Their paths diverged a long time ago, but he still suffered a pang at the loss.

R’ik and he’d shared so much shit together in that damn Hold. Sa’mael half-ass wished there was another killer to stalk, but that wouldn’t bring back what was. Just like wishing some assholes hadn’t murdered his wife wouldn’t bring her back.

He didn’t bother to sneak out the back of his boy’s shack, not caring who saw. It would be the last time he’d tap that. Once again, the winds of life were changing. Sending him into a new direction. He didn’t know when the last time he felt the murderous rage over the memory of his wife, but it must have cooled after he’d caught up with the men who’d done it. Though, he heard later that maybe they hadn’t. They deserved what they got. The remembered pain of breaking bones and spilling blood satisfied the thirst for vengeance, though it’s a well that will never quite be filled.

In the waning light, he paused and watched the moons overhead. Somewhere, somehow, Cailet stopped hurting him. The memories were that: memories. Fuck, he loved his wife. And if his damned dragon would skip time, he’d get her back in a heartbeat, but Czhaevth was an asshole who wouldn’t unwind himself to make his lifemate happy.

“Damn.” Somewhere along the way, Sa’mael had become attached to his asshole dragon. And somewhere along the way, he’d lost that hope of changing things. Cailet was gone. It hurt, dammit. It hurt so damn much to remember the shitty times they had. His memories are full of regrets. How he wished he’d treated her better rather than fighting with her and cheating on her. The regret of that final day was a salt to the wound of his soul, because of what he was doing.

Fucking around with his buddies and getting into trouble.

Like always. Internally, the taste of exhaust and road grit filled his mouth but he pushed Czhaevth away. Finally, Sa’mael was learning control. By the time he’d made it back to the weyr, Czhaevth was nothing more than a vehicle. A powerful vehicle that gave Sa’mael a thrill every time he rode him. It wouldn’t last, because Czhvaeth was as much a part of him as his own arm, and his influence reached deep, but for now, he was kept at bay.

Once again, Sa’mael found himself staring into a mirror. Cracked and broken, salvaged from the shit pile in the store rooms, this one was his. Slipping the golden chain over his head, it winked in the spare light, before he poured it and the rings that were on it, into a small, wooden box. A box would find a home in the chest Clementine gave him. Clementine, who he hoped had found a better life elsewhere.

His eyes were hollow, filled with shadows of burning too much at both ends.

It’s a new life.

The past is gone, dried into the brambles that caged his soul.

With a steady hand, he yanked the belt knife free of its sheath and started cutting. Chunks of blond hair fell at his feet with each swipe of that knife.

The girl flashed in his mind’s eye, but it wasn’t her he remembered so much as the flask she carried. It dried out his mouth with the desire to drink. To feel the alcohol sing in his blood. Ione’s words of happiness wound through the moment, transmuting to his memories of Cailet. Each motion of his knife skewered the memories, and tore them free. He loved Cailet. With everything.

She was gone.

Sa’mael was ready to accept that.

Alone, he travelled the winding road of life. Alone with Czhaevth. And nothing but the memory of what it was like to love so deeply that it left a man broken and scarred.

That was the old life, he thought to himself when he ran his hands over the shorn scalp. Only a few millimeters of stubble were left, downy blond and soft.

This is the new life, filled with darkness. He grinned, showing his teeth. The manic light in coldfire blue eyes stared back at him. A reckless dervish of terrible intent.

And with that, Sa’mael turned away and spent the night sitting across from a bottle of booze, testing his willpower. Same shit, different day. It was the only way he kept the thirst in check. By forcing himself to face it every day. He wanted it so bad, but he chained his hands to keep himself from taking it. He battled the desire every night.

Battled and won. His willpower was strong enough to hold against the desire. The thirst. For now.

For now, it held.

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