[i]-tink, tink tink, tink-[/i]

The crutch clacks against the marble floor. Steady as clockwork. Unhurried, because he cannot hurry any faster than this. To lose the rhythm would be to lose his footing. To lose his footing would mean to stop. He must not stop. He gets closer. With every clack, clack, clack, his breath hitches. Instinctive shame lashes his back with every sound.

[i]-tink, tink, tink, tink-[/i]

“But you hate yourself.”

Push, little voice. Push. Make it to the stage. Don’t fall beneath the clack, clack, clack, and be lost.

“You, you have rejected everyone you have ever been. You have rejected everything that made you who you are. You speak, and…The Master of the Assassins, she was just on the screen. The Royal Architect, I told you about that one. The Crystal Knight. You killed her. You sound just like her. You sound like all of them, and you do not remember them.”

[i]-tink, tink, tink, tink-[/i]

“All this? None of it is new. We have heard it all before.”

[i]-tink, tink, tink-[/i]

“And you say you are the most real thing here?”

[i]-tink-[/i]

He kneels. And offers Bella a can.

It’s a small thing. Curiously designed. Hand-painted, you can tell if you get close and squint. Icy cold. Nice and cold. He tucked it in the fridge while they were cooking. He’s kept it safe, all this time. All to give it back to its rightful owner. 

“Here: Try it with a bite of croissant.” His smile is warm enough to wrinkle his nose. “Coffee and pastries are a classic for a reason.”

It takes both hands to pull himself back upright, where he can hobble between a teenager and a tyrant.

[i]-tink, tink, tink-[/i]

“Bella has love. Bella is rich with it. Bella would never throw such a fit over being stood up to. You? You are not my friend.”

[i]-tink-[/i]

“And you are not that special.”