Speculation on a soul.
So many things. Thieving. Killing. A sea of faces, life draining from them.
And her. The one he cherished most. He had wronged her.
Trying to kill her. Getting the bot. Screwing the bot.
Screwing her. She wasn’t ready. She was a mess, and he knew it.
He told himself at the time that he was good for her. That he was keeping her alive. She needed him. When all along he knew it was because he needed her. Wanted her.
He was wrong to pull her away from her friends. Wrong to hit her. Wrong to hurt her.
Wrong to hide the eggs.
Wrong to gloat to Finn.
Straddling her in the bathroom, being kicked against the wall. Crossing a line he should never have crossed. The wrongest he’d ever felt.
He didn’t want to be wrong anymore. For her. He was bad for her, and he wanted to be good.
Was he good now? He didn’t know. But other images haunted him.
Her fist connecting with his nose, popping him on a whim.
Her fists coming towards his face. Pounding ‘til the world was a sea of pain.
Her hand reaching for his zipper. Her mouth reaching for his. Her teeth against his neck. Her nails scratching down his back.
Her words. “Tell me you love me.” He told her. Words unreciprocated.
Hiding him from her friends. Hiding with him from her friends.
Yeah, he knew he’d been wrong. Knew he’d been bad for her. He’d changed.
Would she? For the first time, he wondered. Was she bad for him?