( Continuing This Thread I Found On My Multimuse !!!! I Hope Thats Okay :] ) - Tumblr Posts
HE’S DIZZY AGAIN, BUT THIS TIME FROM RELIEF. Well, Michael thinks it’s relief. It could just be exhaustion, those long angry nights catching up with his emotions, or maybe surprise at having anyone (let alone his father!) on his side. But no matter, because tears nip at his eyes and Michael turns away to the cabinet indicated to hide them, scuffing roughly at his eyes with his bloodied cuffs. Any comfort, no matter how basic, is unfamiliar […] But in a situation like this, he could practically fall at his father’s feet in praise. A man of devout faith to a god.
“No, it was— it was slow,” he says, just as drawn out, like he’s not really there at all, “he— I didn’t even know him much, and I just heard him saying shi— STUFF ABOUT OUR FAMILY. Stuff about you and me. I just wanted to make him stop.”
The cabinet is opened, but his arms are occupied with dirty, bloodied rug. In this state — a little numb, a little dazed, Michael blindly copies his father, rolling up his already sullied sleeves and dropping the rug at the side of the room. Tunes out the repugnant tang of blood and the sight of the body. It’s the little things, the unthinking obedience, that helps him cope with the next words.
“I just… lost it, I guess. And I didn’t even realise ‘til halfway through, didn’t realise how bad I’d hurt him.”
Rug, discarded. Sleeves, pushed back. Michael falters briefly, and keeps his eyes firmly averted from the corpse as he opens the cabinet. He’d punched until the red mist cleared and the throbbing in his hands made him cry out, and then he’d panicked and floundered at the mess he’d made.
All of you Aftons, the boy had spat, you’re all monsters, and everybody knows it.
The queasiness returns at the memory, and Michael lurches over to his father with cleaning products like he’s forgotten how to walk. William is so nonchalant and vaguely pleased about the whole situation that he’s beginning to feel some of that sought-after delight of killing (alongside the disgust and dread).
Well. Of his father’s praise and attention. But he won’t realize the difference between the two for another couple of months.
William’s last words steady him. Breathe. His chest heaves up automatically, and it’s ridiculous how much easier it feels now that he’s been told to do it — breaths jerky, but less panicked, Michael shoots his father a look. It oozes more gratitude and more positive emotion than he’s aimed at the man in several years.
“Thank you. Thank you. I’m okay. I promise I’m okay. I just— didn’t know what to do, and I was so angry. It— It felt good.” A lie, but he’s seeking approval. It feels like the right thing to say. “To just… let it all out.” (Now that’s not a lie.)
CONTINUED. / @behindslaughter