washingup: (down; these sheets are gross)
ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴍɪᴛᴄʜᴇʟʟ ([personal profile] washingup) wrote in [community profile] bakerstreet 2015-04-28 11:14 am (UTC)

You can't know.

[Only a fool would argue in the face of such conviction, would argue against himself the way Mitchell is doing right now; well then, Mitchell is a fool. That is hardly a surprise to anyone who knows him. He is a fool, and he is too self-sacrificing, that is also hardly a surprise, and selfish, to boot. An odd combination, to be sure, but when he would have been quick to throw himself on the spike of rejection, he cannot seem to drag Annie along with him, for when she pleads with him, he lets her tug him closer, and even, eventually, turns towards her.

His fangs gone, his eyes clear, he presses his head to her chest and weeps wretchedly, his fingers curling in her soft sweaters and clinging desperately.]


I hate it. This, this thing inside me. [He's never spoken this aloud to anyone, hardly even let himself think it. He'd never been able to, really, for the consequences had always been too dire.] It gnaws at me endlessly, and I'm weak, so weak in the face of it.

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