[ ooc reply | ic reply | next | previous | up ]
From: Bryon
”Hi, this is Isobel. You’ve caught me out I’m afraid, but if you leave a message I’d be happy to call you back. BEEEP.” “Click.”
Bryon sat in his dusty, neglected apartment. The furniture was tasteful yet inexpensive, and the walls were filled with posters from different art exhibits, some in frames, some without. The walls were a pale yellow. And Bryon sat back in his couch, sighed, and looked at the white ceiling while hanging up his phone. Outside, the night was alive.
This was the perfect opportunity to finally break it off with Isobel. Aela being out of town, he could handle the pressure of confronting his mortal life now better than he could with her around. Aela was incredible, a dream, but she did bring out the worst in him. That slavering, clawing desire that made him starve himself for fear of losing control. Which made it worse when he finally had to sate the perversity in his soul, which was now a part of him forever. Stop it now. You’re not making sense.
Bryon got up wearily, and lit a cigarette.
After about fifteen minutes, he decided to try again.
”Hi, this is Isobel. You’ve caught….” “Click.”
He went over to the window, opened it, and leaned out over the street. It was only the fourth floor, but it still seemed a long way down. He looked at the corinthian pilasters on the building across the street, as he had so many nights before, admiring the stone in which they were carved. He took out another smoke, and let the yellow-gray mist fill up his lungs as he inhaled, holding his breath before letting it escape through his nostrils. Nope. Nothing. Not even nicotine touched him anymore. He flung the cigarette trough the air, watching the ember trailing sparks through the illuminated darkness.
“<pant> …Isobel Laurence, hello?”
“Oh. Its… Bryon.”
“Bryon? <cough> Where the hell have you been? I’ve been trying to call you for a month. Get a freaking answering machine!”
“Sorry. I’ve been out of town.”
“And you didn’t feel like telling me about it? Dammit Bryon, what’s wrong with you? You know I wanted you to be at this party tonight, and you call me just as I get home! That’s pretty inconsiderate by anyone’s standards. And it’s 2 am, but… where on earth did you go?”
Isobel sounded angry, but relieved. Her concern hurt the worst.
“Listen, I won’t be able to see you again. Some things have happened, please, I’m sorry. But it’s over.”
He sounded sincere, and suitably cold. He could hear her freeze up at the other end of the line. Then she hung up.
Fuck. Why did he have do this? She had done nothing to hurt him, nothing at all. She was like some…
Whatever. What’s done is done. One less problem.
He sank back down in his couch and started staring at the glowing computer screen in the corner of the room. Then he looked to the coffee table, at the invitation to the Grand Ball tomorrow night. He bit his lip. One less problem…