Why, why, why, why, why.

It was a chorus in my head.

Why, why, why, why, why.

It had harmony and everything to it.

My body still shivered, my joints and my shoulder blades aching in a way that screamed tired. The way your body tries to tell you you’ve been staying up too late and the moon’s been watching you fuck up. You should go lay down. You should go lay down. Even the lizard ass in my eye was telling me to go lay my ass down, because inside you were screaming, except you don’t scream in your mind and lizards can’t scream anyway so you weren’t actually making noise.

You were just so confused, though. Seeing Lee was supposed to make me happy, like it did before. That’s what you’d come to associate with Lee; stupid, blinding happiness that I couldn’t control, unraveling inside me in a way that was impossible to ignore—blossoming like the petals of a flower that grows in a place that’s too hot and humid to keep in your house, so you gotta let it bloom freely where you don’t normally water but it’s cool cuz it keeps itself alive anyway. You didn’t understand this all-consuming shatter within me that was happening; you didn’t understand why I was despairing and so was he, so was he, and you didn’t understand why we didn’t run to the meadow to cover ourselves with thistles again. You didn’t understand. I was supposed to be able to sleep later; I wasn’t supposed to be collecting another nightmare to keep myself jostled and walking like a dead man.

I kept myself breathing—in, out, in, out, steady, a rhythm, getting the chilly air into my chest to circulate the bullshit a little bit more. My eyes were vague, off to the side—flooding and swimming and angry with the water that was gushing around, salty, bitter, stinging—

--WHOA SHIT—

--and then my head shot in the air, my everything, from ass to nose to ass, rigid-alert with the most powerful blast of a voice I’d ever heard in my life. It was ice-water on my nerves—a wailing siren on my brain—and it jolted my body awake, or at least as close to awake as it could be, and you scurried into my mane and I didn’t blame you cuz if I had a mane to scurry into I’d do that shit, too.

I’d never thought a mortal voice could make such a sound.

And I was watching Lee—I was watching him back away from me, watching the terror descend on his eyes, watching everything unravel so suddenly, because ice usually melts, doesn’t it—but this was an explosion of crystals and shards, the detonation of a mask that he had kept so pristine, so calm with a composed, controlled sadness that only allowed tears to drip instead of rush out in one giant explosion of panic--

--and I was watching as he collapsed against the marble pillar (shattered crystals at his feet), clawing at himself, like he was ripping himself apart, like he was ripping himself apart--

--and all I could feel for him in that moment, sudden and blinding and pure and oh so hot so hot so hot—

--was hate.

“No you fucking don’t,” I snarled, wild with the thing that was throbbing in me, and you were beside yourself as you emerged from my mane, zpsnck!ing into an owl again, flapping about wildly as I stomped for Lee where he lay broken on the ground, marching with hell’s fury in my eyes—

--because you could feel the compulsion rising in my breast, could feel the need, the uncontrollable urge, the desire to wreck his shit--

--to beat him further into the ground--

--to kill this sorry bastard--

(--You have no reason to fucking cry—)

--and it was the very first time you’ve ever pleaded with me not to fight someone—

--but I was marching and he was sniveling on the ground and my temper was flaring and there was an image, a terrible, fiery image of me—

--stomping down--

--throttling him--

--spitting into his open rib cage--

--and as I bore down on him I reached with my muzzle, my teeth bared—

--(to catch him by his ear)—

--(to rip that shit off)—

--(to catch him by the neck with my fangs and wring him out to dry)—

--and when I clamped down, I had a huge mouthful of his—

--mane.

“Get UP!!” I screamed through the thick, wavy locks in my mouth (well I guess it sounded like “Geh’ UGHG!!” or something), “Get up, get up, you’re not nearly done with this shit and I ain’t gonna let you--”

--what?

Quit?

Is that what he was doing?

I yanked against him, pulling his mane with such a tight grip of my teeth—willing him to rise and face the mess he had allowed to have happen. Because I don’t care what kinds of words Ma Ophelia could have used to turn him into a monster—the fact of the matter is, Leos was a grown-ass man and had the capacity to think about some babies in a grassy waterfall.

He was a grown-ass man who was tall enough to look me in the eye and tell me why.

He was a grown-ass man who could face his actions (his actions) and own them, or fix them. (or try.)

He was a grown-ass man who still had breath enough to fight.

Well, fuck. He had wanted to fight so bad. Here’s the motherfucking battle.

(get up.)




[Here's the Why Song for shit's 'n giggles :D]
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