02-20-2019, 07:07 PM
Your choice, said the person who had, minutes ago, obliterated any impression of this exercise being voluntary by means of shattered glass approaching a too-close acquaintanceship with Near’s jugular. So, while some relief did spring from the backing down, it was only the physical kind, an all-at-once unclenching of capillaries that left his ears ringing from his own heartbeat; his lungs noticing that they had been starving for air. Deeper layers of tension the whole inexplicable series of events had caused remained unaffected and even exacerbated by Jude’s change in attitude, which was too abrupt to feel trustworthy. Why go to the trouble of that degree of violence and then shrug off the audience’s willful rejection of the show? It didn’t make sense.
None of it made any sense, least of all whatever it was he had just declared he wanted nothing to do with. That wasn’t posturing. He had made the decision long before tonight, not long after he had grown into a genuine appreciation of his father’s behavior, that he would make every effort to ensure the lives of Courtland Farr, Jr. and Courtland Farr, III contained as few correlations as possible. Thus perennially broke, itinerant, even-tempered Near, who chose methods like grand theft canine to express discontent, instead of assault. (Noted in passing: the dog was gone.) If the rending of reality that he had just been forced to suffer through was a Courtland interest, he was philosophically conditioned to distance himself -- which did nothing to prevent the less principled parts of him from reeling in mingled shock and incredulity over the display.
He hated the idea of granting Jude, whose status had shifted from ‘curiosity’ to ‘assailant,’ the satisfaction of his interest, but he knew himself well enough to realize that letting it go at that would end in him hating himself more once the dust had settled.
“What the fuck, kid?” To all of it: to the intrusion, to the lack of explanation, to the threat on his life, to that thing.
None of it made any sense, least of all whatever it was he had just declared he wanted nothing to do with. That wasn’t posturing. He had made the decision long before tonight, not long after he had grown into a genuine appreciation of his father’s behavior, that he would make every effort to ensure the lives of Courtland Farr, Jr. and Courtland Farr, III contained as few correlations as possible. Thus perennially broke, itinerant, even-tempered Near, who chose methods like grand theft canine to express discontent, instead of assault. (Noted in passing: the dog was gone.) If the rending of reality that he had just been forced to suffer through was a Courtland interest, he was philosophically conditioned to distance himself -- which did nothing to prevent the less principled parts of him from reeling in mingled shock and incredulity over the display.
He hated the idea of granting Jude, whose status had shifted from ‘curiosity’ to ‘assailant,’ the satisfaction of his interest, but he knew himself well enough to realize that letting it go at that would end in him hating himself more once the dust had settled.
“What the fuck, kid?” To all of it: to the intrusion, to the lack of explanation, to the threat on his life, to that thing.