texts from last night

Staring at the work before him, he was just at odds with himself. There was little left to think about or care for anymore. Morbius could understand Michael's issues better than anyone. No matter how he tried to make things better, it only made them worse. An understanding along with a mixed fear in the wait for his own bloodlust to return. This world wasn't meant for him, for them. There was no hope and someone was probably going to die in that. Theories after theories that he had written down in various compilations screamed it. Even where one may have been wrong, likelihood lower than the others, nothing good came of this. He wasn't a hero and yet still, he didn't want to make this place worse. It wasn't his life to hold. Morbius felt like the failure that Michael had found himself to be. That person that couldn't right any of this. It wasn't all on his shoulders, but his own mistakes had only proved to serve harm to even more people. A self that wasn't actually him.

Phone vibrating, he eyed it cautiously. The conversations that were had today and tonight, they only brought back old feelings. The sort he held no real time for. There was more than enough guilt, blood on his hands. The distant reminders of what sort of life he was forced to live, no matter how many times he tried to believe it wouldn't be like this. It was selfish and pointless.

Fingers sliding across the screen, his face skewed. He didn't feel up to actually talking to anyone, and yet, here he was responding. That feeling that there might actually be a reason why someone wanted to talk to him. Not a hope, but an expectation for being needed. He was useful and that was about as far as anything went. The words written across the screen proved what he believed. A problem. Great. But then, this had to be a joke? A man? Who had been playing Dr. Frankenstein that wasn't him? It was past April Fool's day. Why is he stuck dealing with someone else's penis problems?

At the same time, he knew better. Her sense of humor lacked in these places. This was more likely the sort of conversation he would have had with someone else. A person he wasn't looking to speak to soon. It was a place of dread knowing what happened to her too. Everything was too distorted. He attempted to be as medical about this as he could. But these questions? For all of the arguments of her not being a twelve year old girl who wasn't some virgin, this wasn't right. How does one go through life at the age she claims and not know? Never handled a child? Turn the lights off and mistaken what went where? A cringe at that thought, he didn't want to think so deeply on this. But these questions. She was forever twelve, and it wasn't just in appearances. It wasn't even a fun twleve. He was back to having to play the part of someone's help.

Annoyance budding through him, he took the phone with him, and headed to dig through some drawers. Maybe there was some that he didn't care about never getting back. Here was to hoping she didn't turn into that girl that kept them and sniffed them. Tossing them in a dumpster later would probably suffice.