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knifesharpgraphicssharper · 6 days ago

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As of late, Reid's found that he doesn't enjoy small rooms. Months spent contained in a dingy hole, to the months after that were spent avoiding closed spaces, have him realising that he's developed an uneasiness about anywhere with too many walls. Graver's Isle is an old memory. He's not welcome there, really. And it's a freedom he doesn't deserve. But the island is quiet when no teenagers are lighting up bonfires and burying their bottles of bud in the sand. It's a Monday night, and it's still. Reid's fighting that never-ending war within himself; tormented still, by terrible memories. Yet the idea of being indoors anywhere, in the limited time he's able to be outside, means he doesn't waste it.

He's neared the top of the cliffs because he remembers the first few months after he'd woken up as a monster years ago, standing at the tip of the descent as the sun rose. Burning a line in the rock, a slow-moving beam that tried to catch him. He used to take tentative steps back, one, two, three, until the gutlessness told him that it could be strength if he found a way to be a man, instead of what he'd turned into.

He'd do that for days, weeks — playing games with the morning light. And he's back there now, but it's not the sun he's there for.

Reid's gotten used to knowing when he feels himself slipping into the lockbox of his turmoil. Sometimes it's easier to pry it open, and sometimes it closes without a hitch. He knows that he cannot allow it all back out; the remorse, the guilt and the grief; a broken man is no use to anyone. A helpless, grieving thing that needs to be put down. It feels like he's learning control all over again, not with the hunger but with regulating himself to understand consequences and morality.

At the edge of the cliff, nobody else gets hurt. Even if he recalls enjoying parts of that, in his mania.

He doesn't even hear Cam approach from behind him. There's no excuse; he's distracted and concentrating on his hunger is an excuse to not address the dimmer switch that's turning up and down uncontrollably. If he doesn't focus on that, then he'll lose inhibitions entirely; he knows it.

"McCormick," He half turns to see Cam standing across from him, like a blockade that might stop him from walking away from the cliff edge. For a moment, he wonders if he's followed him up there, because it's hunter territory. He'd known Cam before. There's more than a hunt on his mind on his best days, and less than on his worst. It'd been Reid who'd stumbled upon him, months ago. Heard his name in others' mouths right after — Oh. Birdie's roommate. Masquerade chick. Likes getting bit woman.

He figures that McCormick's talking about his girl; that's the busy part. Reid wonders if there's any use justifying anything to the hunter. He doesn't know how to explain it, and maybe he doesn't want to.

Reid's jaw twitches, and he offers Cam a side profile, because he's not entirely sure what this is yet. "Depends on what you've heard." It's unlikely that he'll be able to set the record straight. Cam has spared him once. He's not sure he's known the man, or a hunter to do it twice.