What Makes a Monster

♱Forty-Three♱

"Soran!"

The door shuts behind my rushed steps that I don't even realize I'm making until I'm ascending the stairs. The lantern screeches in my grasp. The light cuts harsh shapes in the darkness. My feet stumble up the steps; his grow further and further away. A door opens then slams shut.

I'm right behind him, setting the lantern aside to knock on his bedroom door as if I expect him to open it "Soran, wait, it's...it's not--" I press my head to the door, uncertain what I'm saying or why I'm here.

A few silent, tormenting moments pass until Soran asks as if he could read my mind, "Why are you still here, Wallie?"

"It's not what you think."

"Not what I think?" He hums. "Whatever do you mean?"

I don't know what to say. Does it matter at this point? Haven't I already made up my mind to go? Isn't this for the best? This is an end that will help us both. Soran will think little of me and if there are any feelings they'll diminish as quick as they appeared. I should walk away.

But I don't.

I don't want to. As foolish as it is, I want to stay.

"It's all right, you may leave," says Soran, voice nothing more than a soft hum. "Everyone eventually does."

The fact that he even says that, and accepts it, infuriates me. It infuriates and hurts at the same time. Thinking that I was about to add to his pain makes my entire body shake with disgust.

"It's not like that," I argue. My chest weighs me down with crushing guilt.

"Not like what?"

He needs to understand.

I bite my lip and try to explain, "What happened earlier today...I'm not leaving because of that."

"Is that so? What is the reason then? Perhaps you're merely tired of working here?"

I shake my head even if he can't see me.

"Or have you finally grown tired of the threats?"

I want to argue that's not it either.

"Or, more realistically," Soran's voice shakes. "Disgust."

I need him to understand.

"I'm leaving because I like you, damn it!" I finally shout, eyes widening in shock afterwards; did I really just say that?

But before I can panic, before I can berate myself for the lack of coordination between my mind and my mouth, the door opens.

I stumble away, peering into the darkness of Soran's room only to find deep red eyes staring back at me. He takes a step into the hall, the moonlight cutting across his solemn expression when he asks, "Do you know me well enough to say that, Wallace?"

He steps closer. I think he expects me to take one back, but I don't. I remain in place, watching Soran lean towards me with a cold stare.

"After what you've seen, after what you've heard, when you know that I carry more secrets that could be far worse than the last, are you sure you can like someone like that?"

How unfortunate for him that I've already thought about that and so have no issue answering immediately, "Yes, I like you, Soran."

It's almost comical how Soran's facade breaks to show one of bewilderment. I think I've become an expert at surprising him. If the situation was different, I'd be proud.

"Do you want me to leave?" I ask the question that's been truly bothering me, that's making my hands tremble.

Soran gives no response other than that slight wrinkle in his nose; the one he does when feigning annoyance. Feigning being the key word.