[Forsaken] My rock

[nikoliborsh.livejournal.com]

Something sharp and pointed was pressing into his back. The pain was causing him quite some discomfort, enough to wake him. He slowly opened his eyes, shifting his feet as he did. Had he fallen asleep again?

It was dark which made it more difficult to make out shapes with his damaged eyes. The pain in his back was more pronounced as he started to regain his sense again. The floor felt like it was covered in a fabric of some sort. He flung himself forward when he finally realised where he was. He was in the camper van, he was tired, drained of energy and his head was throbbing. His foot clinked against something that sounded like glass, had he been drinking again?

Shakily he raised himself to his feet banging his head into something wooden above him. As if a floodgate had been opened memories began to flood into his mind and he began to remember. It was two days before that he, Rob and his mate had driven down to London, to Whitechapel. Someone called Pathfinder had asked for help with a wound and as usual Caito had responded, driving down in the Camper Van.

Like always he had stuck his neck out for others of his kind and paid dearly for it. His eyes, his reputation, his blood and his pack. All prices he had paid in the past to help others, to do his duty. He stuck out his hands feeling the wall next to him, he could feel something wooden hanging from it. Best guess was that he was in the kitchen and he was currently touching one of the cupboards. He must of torn it from its hinges, it was hanging out and he had cracked his head right off it.

Slowly he made his way down the Camper Van to the bedroom, feeling with his hands all the way until he reached the familiar soft touch of his matress. He collapsed onto it, dog weary, his leg dissapearing down a hole in the end of the matress. Another casualty from Whitechapel but thats all there was when he travelled. This time however it was someone close to him that had paid the price.

Reaching up, he dried his now wet cheeks as he thought about her. 20 years they had been together, at first it was sweet. He would tell her everything, how he felt, what he had done, the trials he had endured. Something however turned sour, somewhere down the line. Old age began to takes it toll on her and he hardly changed, except for the eyes. They had become distant, no longer speaking, it was like she just accepted her part in his life and begrudgingly got on with it. He had killed the real her a long time ago, he had destroyed a long time ago.

He lay there sobbing until the matress was soaked where he lay his head and his throat hurt from crying. His mate, his Sarah, mother to his children was gone and he had killed her. All for the cause, an eye for an eye, treat each spirit in kind. She was gone.

As he lay there thinking of his betrayal, he could hear the voice. The voice of the spirit he had made a bargain with. "That filthy slut, she deserved what was coming to her. I could taste it in her blood."

That filthy slut.

My mate, my rock, my Sarah.