Erik ended the call and closed his eyes, turning his face up to the sky. Part of him wanted to laugh and crow with relief and happiness at the fact that Charles had actually agreed – that Charles was coming with him, that he felt the same as Erik, and that things were actually going to work out.
The other half, however, was filled with bitterness and self-loathing for his selfishness, for lying to Charles, and for dragging him into this whole blood-soaked, sorry business without his even realising it. He couldn’t even deceive himself that he would eventually do the right thing and leave without Charles; he knew that, come this evening, he would be back at Charles’s house, making sure that he was to board that plane right alongside Erik, conscience or no conscience.
Of all the terrible things that Erik had done in his long, terrible life, it was rather strange that this should be the one that his conscience should decide to sit up and take notice of. In the grand scheme of things, lying to Charles wasn’t even a fraction as bad as most of the things he had done.
… But if that was so, then why did he feel so wretched about it?
Erik squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands. He could do this. He was going to do this. All he had to do was clean himself up, calm himself down, and then drive back to Charles. Then they would go and get on a plane together, leave and never come back, free to spend the rest of their lives together.
His heart finally slowing down, his breath no longer coming in rough pants, Erik unclenched his fists and opened his eyes. Letting go of one long sigh, he smoothed down his shirt and turned around.
And froze.
Shaw smiled down at him, leaning casually against Erik’s battered car, alongside that white, mind-reading bitch and the red teleporting demon.
‘Why if it isn’t young Erik,’ Shaw purred, his feverishly-glinting eyes belying his cool manner. He licked his lips and Erik felt a pit of dread well up inside his stomach. ‘Isn’t this the most pleasant surprise?’
Heat - Part 17
Erik ended the call and closed his eyes, turning his face up to the sky. Part of him wanted to laugh and crow with relief and happiness at the fact that Charles had actually agreed – that Charles was coming with him, that he felt the same as Erik, and that things were actually going to work out.
The other half, however, was filled with bitterness and self-loathing for his selfishness, for lying to Charles, and for dragging him into this whole blood-soaked, sorry business without his even realising it. He couldn’t even deceive himself that he would eventually do the right thing and leave without Charles; he knew that, come this evening, he would be back at Charles’s house, making sure that he was to board that plane right alongside Erik, conscience or no conscience.
Of all the terrible things that Erik had done in his long, terrible life, it was rather strange that this should be the one that his conscience should decide to sit up and take notice of. In the grand scheme of things, lying to Charles wasn’t even a fraction as bad as most of the things he had done.
… But if that was so, then why did he feel so wretched about it?
Erik squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his hands. He could do this. He was going to do this. All he had to do was clean himself up, calm himself down, and then drive back to Charles. Then they would go and get on a plane together, leave and never come back, free to spend the rest of their lives together.
His heart finally slowing down, his breath no longer coming in rough pants, Erik unclenched his fists and opened his eyes. Letting go of one long sigh, he smoothed down his shirt and turned around.
And froze.
Shaw smiled down at him, leaning casually against Erik’s battered car, alongside that white, mind-reading bitch and the red teleporting demon.
‘Why if it isn’t young Erik,’ Shaw purred, his feverishly-glinting eyes belying his cool manner. He licked his lips and Erik felt a pit of dread well up inside his stomach. ‘Isn’t this the most pleasant surprise?’
*