Creative shit:
Rem was broken, it was understandable if you looked back at his life. But still, he was irrevocably broken.
He functioned, but in horribly twisted ways. He enjoyed all of his vices to the fullest.
Sex. Blood. Money.
He had all that he wanted, as often as he wanted.
He was broken and it was so bad that even he knew it. Even he was mildly bothered by it at times.
He would compose his thoughts aloud to whomever had the (dis)please of sharing his bed that night. He would pose questions to them,
“Why would anyone want me? How can anyone stand to be around me?”
And when he stared into his (temporary) lover’s glassy, unfocused, eyes for a few moments waiting for a response to come from their once rosy sweet lips which were now so cold and so very dead only to receive nothing, he would draw his own conclusions for them.
“Because I am handsome. My conversations are always so scintillating. I have desirable qualities, money, good looks.”
When he was with Beck, his only confidant, his only true friend, he could see his brokenness echoed back in the other man’s clear clear blue eyes, which had once been so kind and filled with joy but where now as cold and heartless as Rem’s. It filled Rem with distaste sometimes, to be in the company of something so similar to him, and other times he couldn’t stand to leave Beck, because he wanted that acceptance that he saw in the other man’s eyes.
And when he was with Tom, sweet Tommy, (He actually found it in his cold little heart to feel sorry for the poor boy, he had to deal with Rem every day! Horrid!!) He felt what it was to be truly seen. He knew what it was to be justly condemned, because Tom had really seen him and hated Rem justly.
Rem was broken, and he didn’t know if he could(/wanted to) be fixed.
He functioned, but in horribly twisted ways. He enjoyed all of his vices to the fullest.
Sex. Blood. Money.
He had all that he wanted, as often as he wanted.
He was broken and it was so bad that even he knew it. Even he was mildly bothered by it at times.
He would compose his thoughts aloud to whomever had the (dis)please of sharing his bed that night. He would pose questions to them,
“Why would anyone want me? How can anyone stand to be around me?”
And when he stared into his (temporary) lover’s glassy, unfocused, eyes for a few moments waiting for a response to come from their once rosy sweet lips which were now so cold and so very dead only to receive nothing, he would draw his own conclusions for them.
“Because I am handsome. My conversations are always so scintillating. I have desirable qualities, money, good looks.”
When he was with Beck, his only confidant, his only true friend, he could see his brokenness echoed back in the other man’s clear clear blue eyes, which had once been so kind and filled with joy but where now as cold and heartless as Rem’s. It filled Rem with distaste sometimes, to be in the company of something so similar to him, and other times he couldn’t stand to leave Beck, because he wanted that acceptance that he saw in the other man’s eyes.
And when he was with Tom, sweet Tommy, (He actually found it in his cold little heart to feel sorry for the poor boy, he had to deal with Rem every day! Horrid!!) He felt what it was to be truly seen. He knew what it was to be justly condemned, because Tom had really seen him and hated Rem justly.
Rem was broken, and he didn’t know if he could(/wanted to) be fixed.