|Conversation: Damien Hall and August Lowell|
Conversation: Damien Hall and August Lowell
Jul. 16th, 2007 @ 04:59 pm
This morning has made me realize how little I actually know of him; just vague tidbits about some professor conquest and vague outbursts towards his father, nuggets filed away in my head to accomodate the rapidly changing stories I've slowly been forming about him.
"Can't say I recall the name, no."
I look in horror as August starts screaming, and I bend down to pick up the letter, crumpled on the floor, reading the neat, slant hand print. Oh, god.
I sit heavily on the bed and drop the letter like poison, my eyes stinging involuntarily with tears.
My eyes well up and I wipe my eyes hard with my arm to stop them from coming, pressing my arm so tightly to them that it almost hurts. I inhale sharply, clenching my teeth and waiting for it all to end.
August is making frantic, tearful apologies, but I can't yet bear to speak or acknowledge that any of this is happening.
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