There is no escape because there is no where to go, it is all the same place.
The first touch moved Clay, but it didn't change him. There was no order to it; he had pretended that he was just another student who had bumped into her like the rest. A just student who had locked onto her eyes as if he had never been fed on anything else. "I'm sorry." He couldn't help that he hated Sabrina, despite all that had happened.
This girl had faced the impact of car the day before. Clay knew because he had called the ambulance, riden with her, gave his blood. She did not remember because Clay did not allow her to; she was a witch, but she didn't know it, so he had power over her now. Not knowing had no effect on the bad luck surrounding her life, however, knowing would surely bring fierce antagonists into her life. This would pass in much the same quality of the poltergeist stage, Clay would be relieved of his duty-- he might remember who he really was. In the end, it might be only he who he would remember who he was but that was enough because hypothetically it was an identity that he will have earned on his own merit.
The situation didn't make it easy, though: he was surprised when he heard other students talk about her that he understood the unique brand of attractiveness that she could wield. She seemed to peer through her scarring in the same manner that a wizened animal does through a cowl that isn't particularly unique physically, absolutely different in moments of a decisive move. In short, he did want to touch her. It wasn't pity. No, he wouldn't have any of that. It was respect for someone who was still more than she should be at her age because the pain hadn't caught up yet-- when it did he would be free. Maybe, the fact that she wasn't totally confused. "That's okay. I can see your eyes, you know. People may lie; I don't lie to myself."
Clay returned to his seat, certain that his hands were always real.
The first touch moved Clay, but it didn't change him. There was no order to it; he had pretended that he was just another student who had bumped into her like the rest. A just student who had locked onto her eyes as if he had never been fed on anything else. "I'm sorry." He couldn't help that he hated Sabrina, despite all that had happened.
This girl had faced the impact of car the day before. Clay knew because he had called the ambulance, riden with her, gave his blood. She did not remember because Clay did not allow her to; she was a witch, but she didn't know it, so he had power over her now. Not knowing had no effect on the bad luck surrounding her life, however, knowing would surely bring fierce antagonists into her life. This would pass in much the same quality of the poltergeist stage, Clay would be relieved of his duty-- he might remember who he really was. In the end, it might be only he who he would remember who he was but that was enough because hypothetically it was an identity that he will have earned on his own merit.
The situation didn't make it easy, though: he was surprised when he heard other students talk about her that he understood the unique brand of attractiveness that she could wield. She seemed to peer through her scarring in the same manner that a wizened animal does through a cowl that isn't particularly unique physically, absolutely different in moments of a decisive move. In short, he did want to touch her. It wasn't pity. No, he wouldn't have any of that. It was respect for someone who was still more than she should be at her age because the pain hadn't caught up yet-- when it did he would be free. Maybe, the fact that she wasn't totally confused. "That's okay. I can see your eyes, you know. People may lie; I don't lie to myself."
Clay returned to his seat, certain that his hands were always real.