Fool's Rook [Closed]

[saronym]

let me find her. As if you can stop me?” This sophomoric comeback was an unfortunate product of the blonde’s weakening fortitude in the face of repeated moral disparagement. Sairus had silently taken up position in front of the door, as if to be the one to stop him for Kama. “I have an idea how that will turn out.” He added smugly, although his confidence was undermined by taking a step backward so as to not have to be loomed over so.

Gold eyes met with grey ice that were momentarily mystified as Owen comprehended Sairus’ revelation of Kama’s secret. From the start he had avoided asking the hard questions because truthfully, he still had not prepared himself to hear the truth. He had figured Julianna married to another man as the safest possibility to fear, even perhaps more than her having died. Owen always did have confused priorities. He was thrown by thus finding himself contemplating the strange magical proceedings Sairus indicated.

Julianna doesn’t know me? Does she know Cain? Anita? How much of her memory did they take? Did she want this? Was she passive, complacent with Kama’s decisions for her? Did she resist? Is she better off? This dizzying rush of questions was shortly overthrown by a flux of outrage, horror, indignation. He was spared for the moment of any pain he experienced. He could hurt more later.

Reeling away from Sairus, Owen turned quickly around on Kama. He crossed the room in a few aggressive strides, throwing one of the chairs that sat before Kama’s desk out of his path. All motivations had become secondary to a dark, primal desire to harm the man who had just hurt him.

He grabbed a handful of the doctor’s neatly pressed shirt. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to find her and you're going to fix her. I had...I have way too much of my life invested in her. We had children. We were married for--half my life. If you expect me to just wipe the slate clean because I died?…because you want to take me away from her? You’re fucking kidding yourself. You have no right to--. I don’t give a fuck if she’s your sister. She’s my wife!” This lecture was said with increasing vocal intensity, and intermittent faltering as Owen’s brain failed to produce words he was looking for. It crescendoed into shouting at ‘my wife.’ His face was flushed and blue veins bulged from his neck and forehead. The engorged blood vessels were the tell-tale sign that Owen had lost it. He punctuated his final point by striking Kama across the jaw with a white-knuckled tight fist. The weight of his body was leveraged behind the blow, teeth gritting in a vicious scowl as the arm made the arch where knuckles met bone.

He released Kama’s shirt and staggered back a step more so out of his own pain and surprise that he had hit his brother-in-law. Owen had not struck someone in that way since before his death. That is to say, he hadn’t been compelled into a, perhaps involuntary, act of violence out of passionate outrage in sometime. He shook his hand as his knuckles were stinging painfully, and cradled the insulted digits to his chest, a cringe distorted his features. Despite nursing his physical pain in such a way, Owen rode the high of his anger. It crushed all self-doubt and spared him from the type of hurt he couldn’t cope with.