06-13-2014, 09:17 AM
Connor started laughing when Hood addressed the handsome woman behind him. He was still laughing when he caught sight of Jensen and saw how embarrassed he was, all looking down and then meeting that woman's gaze. He felt bad. Poor guy. He decided to lay off and be quiet. None of his business. Well, if Jensen was in good humor, maybe he'd tease as well. It's what you did to your friends. But the night's activities were still with him, the guilt.
The man- once again, no name- was a hard one though. For him, killing those men was no different than killing a fly. Which Connor could understand. As the night wore on, any twinge he felt over that man got weaker and weaker. If he did think about it, it was always in the context of that little girl with the red hair. He couldn't think about the one without the other. Truth is, it felt right. He had no sympathy or wish to rehabilitate or understand the man. His being alive was itself an affront, an injustice.
Connor took a long sip of his rum, the smokey sweet flavor cut through with ice cold water. He breathed deeply, very content. He was starting to come down, feeling tired. He'd probably only stay to finish his drink. Suddenly, he was feeling like getting home. Home to Ayden.
The man asked, "Now what the fuck's gone wrong in your lives that you're roaming Zamoskvorechye district and picking fights with the mafia? You want to rack up a whole lot of ass-hurt, I hear Charlene there's a far softer hand outside the boxing ring."
It was a good question, something Connor had been wondering about for the last few months.
He'd never been one to shy away from a fight or to help someone out. But it seemed like as of late, he found himself jumping into situation after situation. Whenever he looked back on it, it always seemed crazy to him. But when it was happening it felt like there was no other option. Tonight was a perfect example.
He didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know this had to do with Hayden's death. If he had to guess, he was trying to save as many people as possible because he'd failed to save his own son. Not that he wasn't interested in helping people before. But it was like something had broken and now he acted without thinking.
Jensen and the man were talking while Connor just sat there, in his thoughts. Funny thing about alcohol. It accentuated your mood. But it also allowed for a lot of emotional "over-correction." A brief turn into a more melancholy thought often became a full blown detour. Connor found himself thinking about his life and where it was going. Ayden kept coming to mind. He could have lost her tonight. Or rather, he could have died. Yes, they were kids. And even now, he'd be hard pressed to say the decision to try to help had been wrong. Why they hadn't just called the police, he didn't know. At the time, there seemed to be a reason. Yeah, they would've gotten deported. But that was far better than sex-slavery and probably death at the hands of some sicko.
He was torn. For the first time in months, he felt like he had a future. He didn't know where things would go with Ayden. But he wanted to find out. He was willing to find out. He had someone to live for. And though it felt like a betrayal in a way, he knew that he had to exercise more caution, more common sense. He couldn't save everyone. Then why did he feel so damned ashamed for thinking that? Why did he feel that by just saying that, he was giving up, or letting the evil in the world win? But he couldn't do both.
Connor had no answers. He just sat there, any of the conversation that went on between the two other men completely lost to him. The euphoria was wearing off. He wanted to be home. He wanted Ayden. He looked down at himself. There was blood on his hands, in his fingernails. And of course a blood soaked shirt and jacket with a hole in it. He should have been dead. He wasn't. He was alive. And now he just wanted to go home to her, find her still sleeping on the couch, to kiss her gently on the cheek, watch her stir and sleepily smile up at him with the look in her eyes that said that she was happy to see him back. He wanted to pick her up and take her into his room and then just sleep and to feel her beside him, the smell of her hair in his face, her skin against his, just drifting off with his arms around her.
He sighed, took another sip of his rum. It wasn't as sweet. The water had diluted it too much, he thought. "I think I'm gonna jet after this one."
Edited by Connor Kent, Jun 13 2014, 04:59 PM.
The man- once again, no name- was a hard one though. For him, killing those men was no different than killing a fly. Which Connor could understand. As the night wore on, any twinge he felt over that man got weaker and weaker. If he did think about it, it was always in the context of that little girl with the red hair. He couldn't think about the one without the other. Truth is, it felt right. He had no sympathy or wish to rehabilitate or understand the man. His being alive was itself an affront, an injustice.
Connor took a long sip of his rum, the smokey sweet flavor cut through with ice cold water. He breathed deeply, very content. He was starting to come down, feeling tired. He'd probably only stay to finish his drink. Suddenly, he was feeling like getting home. Home to Ayden.
The man asked, "Now what the fuck's gone wrong in your lives that you're roaming Zamoskvorechye district and picking fights with the mafia? You want to rack up a whole lot of ass-hurt, I hear Charlene there's a far softer hand outside the boxing ring."
It was a good question, something Connor had been wondering about for the last few months.
He'd never been one to shy away from a fight or to help someone out. But it seemed like as of late, he found himself jumping into situation after situation. Whenever he looked back on it, it always seemed crazy to him. But when it was happening it felt like there was no other option. Tonight was a perfect example.
He didn't have to be a rocket scientist to know this had to do with Hayden's death. If he had to guess, he was trying to save as many people as possible because he'd failed to save his own son. Not that he wasn't interested in helping people before. But it was like something had broken and now he acted without thinking.
Jensen and the man were talking while Connor just sat there, in his thoughts. Funny thing about alcohol. It accentuated your mood. But it also allowed for a lot of emotional "over-correction." A brief turn into a more melancholy thought often became a full blown detour. Connor found himself thinking about his life and where it was going. Ayden kept coming to mind. He could have lost her tonight. Or rather, he could have died. Yes, they were kids. And even now, he'd be hard pressed to say the decision to try to help had been wrong. Why they hadn't just called the police, he didn't know. At the time, there seemed to be a reason. Yeah, they would've gotten deported. But that was far better than sex-slavery and probably death at the hands of some sicko.
He was torn. For the first time in months, he felt like he had a future. He didn't know where things would go with Ayden. But he wanted to find out. He was willing to find out. He had someone to live for. And though it felt like a betrayal in a way, he knew that he had to exercise more caution, more common sense. He couldn't save everyone. Then why did he feel so damned ashamed for thinking that? Why did he feel that by just saying that, he was giving up, or letting the evil in the world win? But he couldn't do both.
Connor had no answers. He just sat there, any of the conversation that went on between the two other men completely lost to him. The euphoria was wearing off. He wanted to be home. He wanted Ayden. He looked down at himself. There was blood on his hands, in his fingernails. And of course a blood soaked shirt and jacket with a hole in it. He should have been dead. He wasn't. He was alive. And now he just wanted to go home to her, find her still sleeping on the couch, to kiss her gently on the cheek, watch her stir and sleepily smile up at him with the look in her eyes that said that she was happy to see him back. He wanted to pick her up and take her into his room and then just sleep and to feel her beside him, the smell of her hair in his face, her skin against his, just drifting off with his arms around her.
He sighed, took another sip of his rum. It wasn't as sweet. The water had diluted it too much, he thought. "I think I'm gonna jet after this one."
Edited by Connor Kent, Jun 13 2014, 04:59 PM.