book 5: wounds

Her words, pleading, hushed, they reach him and he is broken once more. Suddenly pulling away, pushing Jael from him, practically scrambling across the room. He stands up onto his paws with his muzzle grazing the floor, nearly breathless. His eyes are wild, undone at the seams. This wasn't Gilgamesh. He couldn't possibly be doing this... But everything in him screamed that he did want it. That it would be different, would be... no, not better, just different. Jael was the missing piece. Where Modesty was powerful and independent, Jael was feeble and dependent. She needed him. Needed him in a way that his wife or children could not provide.

A seething exhale exits his lips as he rips his gaze away from her and stares at the crackling fire. It's beginning to die. The room is growing cold. His wound is becoming more painful as the adrenaline disappears. He can't seem to catch his breath. Was this a panic attack? Backing up until his rear hit the wall, he crumples. Body slumping until his chin hits the slate tile and he forces his paws over his eyes.

"What have I done?" He can barely choke out the words between heaving sobs. "We can't be doing this," he can't even bring himself to say her name. "She is my everything. I've never wanted anyone else but her. Why do you make me feel like this? As if..." his head shakes, chin rapping against the tile as he fights back the tears. Unable to finish his sentence, Gil closes his eyes as tightly as he can manage, hoping the day would just go back to the beginning so he could try all over again.