InsaneJournal

Current mood:

shamed

I touched Ben's face this morning, the place where my fingertips had left a bruise. It's already healed, but it's still vivid in my memory. I asked him if it was true, that werewolves heal slower from the damage left by other werewolves.
He gave me The Look again, the one which lets me know I asked a stupid question. He never actually says I've been stupid. He doesn't have to; The Look says it all.
Then he told me that, no, damage is damage, or my shoulder would not have healed as quickly as it had. I reminded him of the bruise on his face, the bite on his shoulder, neither of which were as serious as my own wounds but which still seemed to take so long to heal. He said that, in both cases, it wasn't that the damage had healed slower, but only that I had caused more damage than I'd realized.
He didn't say it in so many words, because he doesn't do that: accusations are never voiced aloud. Only hinted at. But I could hear the truth in what he didn't say. I really had nearly broken his jaw that morning, just as I'd threatened to do, I just hadn't realized it at the time. I've left real damage on his body, and I've done it more than once.

The idea of it makes me sick.

It's not the idea that I can be violent that sickens me. I grew up ghetto, I've been in my share of fights. But being in a fight, and raising a hand to someone whose body I've taken? There's a universe of difference. Yes, he attacked and betrayed me. I suppose it could be argued that, in doing so, he waived the right to expect me to keep myself from raising a hand against him. To keep him safe, not only from harm, but also from fear. It could be argued, but that doesn't mean it feels right.

It feels an awful lot like what Caleb would have done.