The red mist descended upon me today. I feel foolish. The temper bequeathed me by my father I have mostly always managed to keep in check was of no service rendering my strikes clumsy and impetuous. Wild even. But perhaps that is a good thing. If you had seen the crowd today that wouldn't have been a good moment to strike with precision.
Executing a man within the walls of the Pony is never a good move.
But you cannot afford to be this way. Making a scene of yourself. Why is this happening. As my senses returned to me I glanced among the crowd and watched with a sense of shame. There was no shame in forfeiting. Too much pride is a weakness. Merely in the idea that I of all people had joined the ranks of those incessant brawlers I so despise. What is going on? I don't brawl. I kill. I cut throats swiftly and efficiently. I use my guile. What guile was there in throwing yourself at a much larger man who saw you coming. Clear-headed. Flailing around without a plan.
All it took was the mere thought of him hitting my love. My blood grew hot when I saw him slap another. But that did it. I have not been myself of late. I cannot seem to quieten my thoughts. The mundane and petty day to day reality of social convention and pleasantries grows harder and harder to maintain. And even I don't know which me will overlap with the other. Perhaps it served its purpose. Defending a woman's honour after all can have no long lasting ill effects. But still.
You must return to the crowd. Disappear a while. Slip beneath notice. You have done it before. Armed with a plethora of excuses. I could not suffer standing there watching the knife thrower with that hired blade who no matter how hard I try will never meet me halfway. I shall call him Hopeless for that's what it is. Trying to convince him that I love my flower. That, is proving to be an impossible task. I can throw knives. I have killed so many people with them. I never miss. Perhaps I could learn to do those tricks too?
My love brings out the best and worst of my passions. I cannot shake the notion. What if her caretaker is right? What if I am toxic. I do think the view he has of me is unfair. I have never masqueraded as anyone's one true love. Never bedded any woman on the basis of a lie. The mess I have created for myself with my relations is growing tiresome.
I have been forced to face one or two uncomfortable truths about myself. I do love her. But the voices keep screaming. Telling me to run. Telling me to break free. Will this ever stop? I do not think I like myself very much in truth. But I cannot steer my thoughts away from that fact. The walls have been broken down. I recall the conversation I had by a fireplace one spring evening about feeling the desire for something real. But is real what I truly want? There is such comfort in lies. Yet not so long ago you were saying that it made you feel hollow. How can a man live with these contradictions. My logic follows a circular pattern.
The relationships across town I have kept up across town to alleviate suspicions of me are no longer so easy to maintain. The 'real' part of me couldn't care less. I struggle to even look vaguely interested in most people though I manage. Managing isn't merely enough. You should feel comfortable. In control. Yet ever since you met that woman the voices tell you that perhaps they can read your thoughts too.
You certainly shouldn't be losing control. I have a business I'm now still operating. I sent a wagon out laden with cargo yesterday. I am playing at being a mercenary. I do not know what it is I'm doing anymore.
What does the 'real' me want? I'm not winning this battle of mine. This crisis... All I am achieving is a perpetually never ending headache.
I feel... Dangerous. I feel caged. And this may not end pretty. This is driving me mad. I need calm. I need rationality. To be calculating again. I would do anything for that calmness as opposed to the cloud presently over my judgement.
