I didn't sleep. I sat in the corner, on the floor, watched the shadows of the curtains against the wall move when the breeze picked up. The trees were in silhouette, from the moon, swaying, leaning, intertwined. The air was crisp, like it followed me back down here. The dry dead of summer will lose itself to the incoming cold. The leaves will smother the grass, shedding their life. I couldn't let go of the idea that Marie was trapped behind her skin again, underneath layers and gloves, smothering her happiness.
Part of me was disgusted that I didn't take the chance sooner. I could have made her mine, there wasn't any reason, physically I couldn't. The animal wanted her, not lusted, needed to be surround by every inch of her. They way she smelled, the feeling of her hair brushing against my face, the taste of her lips. Feeling all the curves of her body, my skin against her skin, the taste of her sweat. I could have allowed the animal to take control, and claim her like the feral beast I know I truly am.
Except, she was supposed to be happy, living her life like anyone else her age, spending too much money on clothes, going out with her friends, drinking to much. I didn't want her wasting it on someone who didn't even know how old he was, who has the bone structure of a submarine, that made killing an art with built in retractable cutlery. I was built by the hands of monsters to kill, heartless, thoughtless, a means to an end, taking out the opposition in front of my path. Never questioning or second guessing why. I could have called it defending myself. I could have called it following orders. But like a switch, it turns itself on, and I am a machine. I do not think, just act against what's in front of me. Is that the Wolverine or is that a trained response at the hands of those who gave me my metallic skeleton?
The animal hunts its prey, stalks something helpless, watching from the shadows, being the predator, surviving,… existing,… continuing. But the machine, reacts, doesn't plan, just responds, swift, killing with the least resistance. Is it one in the same?, I will never know. So I can deal with being the animal, I can control the beast in its natural environment.
I am protecting her from seeing that. I watched her from the shadows, you could call it stalking her for her own good. That is my own need, watching her like a helpless, defenseless prey I will attack to fill my inner hunger. But she is not defenseless. I know; I have taught her to kick some ass. She is not helpless. She knows how to survive on her own better than anyone else in that house. And she has my thoughts, my nightmares, fear, pain, things no girl at the forefront of her life should have as memories. Have I done wrong by her? She grew into the woman that could take on anything or anyone, so the promise to protect her became shielding her from the worst parts of myself. She's running, away from what I don't know, hurting. I don't know where to start tracking her down. I'm not good at head games. She's always in mine, but I can't think what's going on in hers.
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