Makings of a Monster

Winski was drained and feeling hopeless again. Sarevok had mentioned the darkness which never went away for long. It seemed that the boy could control it at least somewhat, which probably had saved his life in a battle a time or two. Winski would dearly have loved to see it unleashed on Reiltar when he was abusing either his son or his wife, but was all the same glad that the boy had minded him and took the abuse rather than fled into a murderous rage.

He could just visualize those disgusting moralists, their voices quivering with righteous indignation, in the "trial" that would ensue. How they would sing Reiltar's praises, all that crap about a prominent citizen, who, out of the goodness of his heart and his willingness to contribute to the betterment of the society, had adopted a... street child, an animal from the gutter. This, of course, told how good and trusting a heart the man had, but you just had to face it. The class distinctions were there for a reason. Some of us just were born bad, and that was the reason for their misery. This little animal had, mind you, savagely, murdered his stepfather, without whom Ordulin just would have now to do. While it was no doubt a heavy duty, there was no doubt that in this case the most severe punishment, death by hanging, was the only option, even given the young age of the offender.

And if he tried to testify that this particular prominent citizen was in the habit of kicking, punching and raping his wife, and also liked to thrash his adopted son with a heavy leather belt just for kicks, well... what was he but a greedy, devious underling? An bitter alcoholic who eyed the wife and position of beloved Reiltar Anchev, and had only to gain by his death. And wasn't it every household head's duty to maintain some discipline, especially in a case when a child came from such a background. Then even some strictness was sometimes only required.

Say, Winski, when did you become such a cynic? I guess it was about the time when the so-called "reality" was first time inflicted upon me, he silently answered himself and eyed the familiar brandy bottle, so alluring. He had promised Sarevok to drink less, and he certainly didn't want to get that ill again. It was just agony, and he had scared the boy and Jelena pretty bad. But it was quite late already, and he had eaten some breakfast. Being sober felt like a strangling pain around his neck. It was as if his soul was full of metal shapes with very sharp edges, cubes, pyramids, triangles. Those edges jarred, ripped, seared wounds he just couldn't ignore. Being all too aware of how preciously little there was anything worthwhile, anything worth caring about, or even hope for the one he loved. Or two, if there was merit to Allonia's assessment. He blushed and willed the thought away.

From experience he knew what brandy did. It smoothened the edges of all those metal shapes, and after a while he was in a stupor, where the edges didn't rip and sear any more. He just kind of watched all the hopelessness with a dullness, empty soul, empty eyes. He was just a shell anymore, and could as well think about anything that didn't involve emotions, or him personally. Such a relief, just at the reach of his hand...

What the hell! He wasn't any way addicted to the alcohol, he just drank it to achieve the effect! Surely he could stop it later on and keep his promise to Sarevok! He started to pour, when he heard a voice behind him.
- "Oh no." It was Jelena. Winski eyed her and blushed, for more than one reason.
- "You will not drown yourself into that stuff again. As much as I disapprove of Reiltar's child-raising methods, you get a very sound whipping if you even try to go down that spiral again." There was a certain playful gentleness in her eyes, but about the drinking she seemed to be very serious.
- "But... I thought I only take one or maybe two. No more. Just to... relax a little, I feel a bit bad about the events," tried Winski.
- "Who doesn't. But that will not help one bit. And how many times have you actually taken only one or two? How many? What I see mostly is that you have passed out sleeping on your desk, and at sometime in the middle of night you creep into your room holding your head. It's not healthy, Winski. It is what made you ill in the first place."
- "Gods. I'm so worthless." He felt that he really needed the brandy, still saw that Jelena was right. As was Sarevok. As was Allonia. He wanted to be dead, not to know, not to feel. But they wanted him alive. What a mess.
- "You are not worthless at all. A certain lot more worthless person comes to mind rather easily," said Jelena, standing much too close for comfort. She pressed her round breasts on Winski back, embracing his shoulders. She murmured into his ear.
- "That woman Allonia said something as if it was a fact. I.... was wondering."
- "What did she say?" asked Winski, dreading the answer.
- "She said... that you would care about what I say because you... love me."
So there it was then. Laid in the open. No way to dodge it, no way to will the idea away. Winski turned to face the lovely Jelena, the gentle mother who made him always believe a notch more in the general worthiness of the world.
- "I think she is... absolutely right."
And then there was the kiss. It was long, and gentle, and exploring. Jelena had never been kissed by anybody. Apparently Reiltar considered that a waste of time, or completely unappealing. It felt so wonderful, to be explored and pleased and cherished like that, and it made her feel all tingly inside. While they finally stopped, they just looked each other with a mix of passion, dread and embarrassment.
- "What do we do now?" asked Jelena.