[He doesn't have a car persay. He slept in a motel 6 for the first two nights before calling Anne and perfunctorily asking when it would be a good time to pick up his things. The town house was hers. The bed they'd shared, large chunks of the "Adult" trappings of his life were hers. He promised to be quick, to pack and turn over his key as quickly as he could simply out of respect.
He was nothing if not respectful. And Drake...damn it Drake. The network had dumped all of the - few possessions he had in the office he'd barely used. He'd found a cheap SRO in the middle of the city and while it felt more like he belonged there...he belonged here too.
Time to grab the last few boxes.
Time to end this. Game system. Last of his journalism text books. Whatever else he'd tossed into the boxes. He really hadn't been able to focus.
Turn over the key.
Don't argue. Don't argue What good would it do? What good honestly would it do if he confessed he had dreams of their wedding and turning into some kind of monster before he said "I do"? What kind of a man...
You? Carl Brock's voice was full of scorn, You? You're no man. Whatever made you think you were good enough for her? You're the kind of man who'll pick up a woman at a bar Eddie. Or a... the sneer of disgust, Man. You don't care. You're a rutting dog.
"...Okay brain. He said a lot of shit, but he never said anything like that."
Yes but how do you know?
He bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood and parked the bike in front of their townhouse before exhaling and moving to knock on the door. Be polite. Be polite. Don't make waves. Be polite. His hands shake slightly as he reaches for the key, off the ring.]
...Here for the last of it.
He was nothing if not respectful. And Drake...damn it Drake. The network had dumped all of the - few possessions he had in the office he'd barely used. He'd found a cheap SRO in the middle of the city and while it felt more like he belonged there...he belonged here too.
Time to grab the last few boxes.
Time to end this. Game system. Last of his journalism text books. Whatever else he'd tossed into the boxes. He really hadn't been able to focus.
Turn over the key.
Don't argue. Don't argue What good would it do? What good honestly would it do if he confessed he had dreams of their wedding and turning into some kind of monster before he said "I do"? What kind of a man...
You? Carl Brock's voice was full of scorn, You? You're no man. Whatever made you think you were good enough for her? You're the kind of man who'll pick up a woman at a bar Eddie. Or a... the sneer of disgust, Man. You don't care. You're a rutting dog.
"...Okay brain. He said a lot of shit, but he never said anything like that."
Yes but how do you know?
He bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood and parked the bike in front of their townhouse before exhaling and moving to knock on the door. Be polite. Be polite. Don't make waves. Be polite. His hands shake slightly as he reaches for the key, off the ring.]
...Here for the last of it.