Erik Lehnsherr

The marks on his wrists are still proving to be a distraction. Erik pulls the turtleneck’s sleeve lower in order to cover it; sight unseen, he will still feel it, but perhaps it will not remind him of what he awoke to days back. He goes about what business he has on the island now that the club is closed and puts his mind devotedly towards his tasks. It proves to be more difficult than he might have imagined. Everyone is louder than he recalls, the tasks more demeaning than ever, and he finds that the thrum of traffic around him makes him grit his jaw tightly until he is sure that it is going to break. He does not belong here. He should be back where he’s meant to be forging a new world for mutants so they can be proud of their gifts.

This is an insult to him. After everything he’s been through, his presence here is a waste. He finishes his drink and decides to head back home, taking a moment in the darkest corner of the Winchester in order to compose his thoughts. He wants to believe that there can be more for him, but each time he comes perilously close to believing that, he is the undeserving recipient of further reminders that there are reasons why he is the way he is. Erik takes a steady breath and steps to his feet, surveying the area before him as he debates whether he will be able to face The Room tonight to dismantle it further.

He is not sure tonight will be the night.

Erik allows his mind to drift as he walks back to the house, catching sight of the window (broken from the inside) and the way the moon captures the glass in an ethereal way. It is not the only thing that it illuminates. From here, he can only barely make out the figure, but he thinks that there is someone lurking near the house. His pace picks up, now, mind focusing on this and only this.