Frank Wrench - Thoughts in the Dark
The room was dark, and the woman was sleeping. That was just fine for the man who now called himself Frank Wrench, and he lay in the bed just feeling the warm body curled into his and the soft sheets, listening to the night sounds and the hum of the house's heating. He didn't sleep so much anymore, hid that lack of comfort and ease from the woman so as not to worry her. She'd had a world of strife as of late and more to come before it could all just end, and the man who now called himself Frank Wrench would take a good beating rather than give her any more.
He reached out for the glass he knew would be waiting by the bed like a faithful companion and took a long drink. The smoky taste filled his mouth immediately, good whisky like he hadn't allowed himself since the night he closed the gateway Beyond somewhere in Florida. This was a drink for celebrations and rich men, for savoring slowly along with life and the man let himself indulge now in this extravagance. There was always risk, but now the prospects behind them were so much greater.
A dull fire chased down lungs scorched from years of heavy drinking and worse things besides; the man who now called himself Frank Wrench was no stranger to vice. Like he had with so many other things he drank in the pain and learned to make it his own, taking pleasure in what was for him a dull kick and enjoying strange dichotomy of heat. The warmth from the alcohol was short and would slowly spread through him, but the woman's was constant and it was so much better than anything else. No drug, no drink, no excuses; he had tried, but she had gotten her hook into him and now his relationship with any other thing would be at best a pale shadow.
The woman had replaced many of his vices, perhaps not meaning to but driving them out all the same. Changing the man he had worked so hard to become; the obdurate man who just doesn't care was simply not there anymore. Over a decade of pushing away everyone who might have a connection and was not part of the shadow world he had dedicated himself to protecting people from, and still the woman had pushed all that aside. He had tried to cast her off, said truly terrible things that even now in the dark made some part of him ashamed, and when she had thought to leave for even a short while he could barely stand it.
It was intolerable.
It was wonderful. The most wonderful thing there was.
He took another drink, and the artificial warmth tried again to match his woman's heat. It was so strange, he reflected, how the man had begun to change for others. When they looked at him as a student to a mentor, he began to show them more, to take them in, and for that he was called "uncle," and "brother." And when he was loved, on some level he had begun to try to become someone worthy of that. Where had Frank Wrench gone? That man was selfish, he had been designed deliberately so to push people from him. This man now had friends, people who cared for him, and something yet more.
He reached out again to pick up one of the small seasonal candies from a small dish on the sturdy table. The man let the chocolate melt in his mouth, the sweetness overcoming him and mingling in an altogether not unpleasent way with the fading burn. There in the darkness, he was content with one arm around his woman, listening to the soft susurrus of her breathing.
He couldn't do it anymore. But that was alright...this would be better.
He reached out for the glass he knew would be waiting by the bed like a faithful companion and took a long drink. The smoky taste filled his mouth immediately, good whisky like he hadn't allowed himself since the night he closed the gateway Beyond somewhere in Florida. This was a drink for celebrations and rich men, for savoring slowly along with life and the man let himself indulge now in this extravagance. There was always risk, but now the prospects behind them were so much greater.
A dull fire chased down lungs scorched from years of heavy drinking and worse things besides; the man who now called himself Frank Wrench was no stranger to vice. Like he had with so many other things he drank in the pain and learned to make it his own, taking pleasure in what was for him a dull kick and enjoying strange dichotomy of heat. The warmth from the alcohol was short and would slowly spread through him, but the woman's was constant and it was so much better than anything else. No drug, no drink, no excuses; he had tried, but she had gotten her hook into him and now his relationship with any other thing would be at best a pale shadow.
The woman had replaced many of his vices, perhaps not meaning to but driving them out all the same. Changing the man he had worked so hard to become; the obdurate man who just doesn't care was simply not there anymore. Over a decade of pushing away everyone who might have a connection and was not part of the shadow world he had dedicated himself to protecting people from, and still the woman had pushed all that aside. He had tried to cast her off, said truly terrible things that even now in the dark made some part of him ashamed, and when she had thought to leave for even a short while he could barely stand it.
It was intolerable.
It was wonderful. The most wonderful thing there was.
He took another drink, and the artificial warmth tried again to match his woman's heat. It was so strange, he reflected, how the man had begun to change for others. When they looked at him as a student to a mentor, he began to show them more, to take them in, and for that he was called "uncle," and "brother." And when he was loved, on some level he had begun to try to become someone worthy of that. Where had Frank Wrench gone? That man was selfish, he had been designed deliberately so to push people from him. This man now had friends, people who cared for him, and something yet more.
He reached out again to pick up one of the small seasonal candies from a small dish on the sturdy table. The man let the chocolate melt in his mouth, the sweetness overcoming him and mingling in an altogether not unpleasent way with the fading burn. There in the darkness, he was content with one arm around his woman, listening to the soft susurrus of her breathing.
He couldn't do it anymore. But that was alright...this would be better.