Sure, I might feel a little sad for a day, but she’s going to miss me a lot longer.
And I’m a bastard for thinking it, for knowing it, and still walking away.
But it’s also my only choice.
If I stay, who knows what the hell I’ll do.
There’s too much power.
Centuriesof power.
And it’s got to go somewhere.
I can’t stay.
If I stay, I’ll hurt her. More than her. I might destroy this whole damn city.
That’s how much power there is churning inside my body.
I growl angrily. Angry at the world. Angry at myself. Angry at being born what I am, unable to control this raging energy inside.
I’m a damn monster.
Cursed to live forever alone.
I shove my shirt over my head as sharp blades of air gust around the room, making all the clothes in the closet clack together on their hangers.
I’ve gotta get out of here.
I’ve gotta get out of here before I explode. I’ve got to get somewhere far away. Somewhere wide and open and vast and desolate.
And I’d better get there fast.
“What don’t I get?” she repeats louder, sitting up straighter. Watching me get ready to make my escape.
Not even bothering to adjust her top where I’ve left her exposed there on the bed like the bonafide bastard I am.
It’s all I can do to give her this: An explanation, weak as it is.
“I have to leave,” I say, turning toward the window.
Not even the door.
I don’t have time for doors.
She hauls herself to her feet, and I hate how much she wobbles. I took too much from her again.
Bastard.
There’s a reason I’ve only ever been the villain in my story.
There’s a reason I was locked up.
I’ve never been good at controlling myself. Not my strength, and clearly not this, either.
“Why?” she demands, trying to step between me and the window. “You don’t have to go. Please…” she trails off, and the hurt in her eyes nearly breaks my damn heart.
I may be a bastard, but I still have feelings.
