[flashback] death already came and got me. (cy & clem)

[Cyrah]

“Just shut up,” she snapped at him, as she twisted away. “Just don't talk to me, ever.” And then she hurried into the little room they kept as a wash room, slamming the door shut between them. He'd hear her slide the bolt home, locking herself within, and then nothing. She hadn't even taken a candle with her. Not that it mattered to her; she could see well enough in pitch darkness. Though her vision blurred as she sat down on the floor, everything wavering and wobbling, and that's how she knew she'd begun to cry. Wiping at the tears smattering her cheeks, she bent over with her head in her hands and tried to remember how to breathe, and how to fight, and most of all how to be so angry that the rest of you went numb. How to hate so completely that there wasn't any room for anything else. Cyrah didn't know much about emotions and people, and especially what the two of them had to do with one another, but she knew well enough that you couldn't trust either. People would cut you open and hurt you deep, and your feelings would let them if you weren't careful. That's what her Mama had always said. She'd tried so hard to keep her distance, to hold onto all the hatred she could, and she knew it was her fault, knew she had nobody to blame but herself, as she felt her heart breaking into a thousand pieces. Instead of accepting that blame, though, she shoved it deep down and chose instead to blame Clement because he was convenient. And it was easier to hate him and go on living than it was to hate herself. Thus resigned, she curled up on the floor of the wash room and pressed her cheek to the cool, stone surface, willing herself to sleep.

[Clement Reijnder]

Between the slamming and the guilt he was already starting to feel, he found himself restless. He needed to get out of there. He needed to get away from the girl, her feelings, and her weird Kelvic needs that he felt the want to beat out of her. Feelings and bonding? To him? That the petch was wrong with her? More importantly, what the petch was wrong with him? “Petching Kelvics!” he suddenly yelled in utter frustration. A man should not feel frustration after bedding someone so beautiful. He locked that thought away and tossed to toss the key. That was not a thought he needed to have, and something agitated and cold coiled around his stomach to squeeze it tightly. Restlessness was most likely what kept him alive. He shot out of bed then, feet smacking at the ground with force. “Petchin’ shyke Kelvics! Petch yourself, Cyrah! Petchin’… Petch yourself!” He didn’t bother to put his boots on. Instead he just shambled towards the door, still attempting to tie up his pants. If he had been any stronger, his anger would have caused him to rip the door off its hinges. Instead he jerked it open so quickly that he managed to hit himself in the face with it with such a force that, when he got away and calmed down, would most likely make him realize he’d bloodied his nose. It wasn’t very often that Clement just left. Typically he’d sit around and brood before quietly slinking out when she wasn’t looking. This time, though, he made no attempt at that sort of act. The door slammed behind him. He had no plans to ever come back.

[Cyrah]

The End!