Armand's chest squeezed and his heart beat like a sledgehammer on the inside of his chest as he walked away from Wren's family's tent and back into the marketplace. It felt like every single eye in the crowd was looking at him. He could feel their gaze burrow into the back of his head and hear their whispers as they talked about him. About what he did. How he violated something precious and left it in tatters, like a shattered piece of pottery. How much of an idiot he was for even trying.

He couldn't stop thinking about the look on her face. The surprise and then the guilt in her eyes. His chest felt too heavy to breathe. The pain was so strong it hurt physically, like someone had punched him square in the chest instead of just made him feel like shit. He wanted to sit down, to digest it and maybe sleep until it hurt less, but there was nowhere for him to go. No place he could call home anymore, and nobody to save him.

He wandered into the marketplace and almost without thinking about it, he wound up at a general supply stall that also sold flasks full of the clear-colored, burning liquid that Griffon often drowned himself in. The little old man behind the counter looked up at Armand with his tufted gray eyes.

"Brother run out again?" he asked. "Third time this week. Should tell him to slow down."

"No," Armand said, trying hard to think straight with all the buzzing going on inside his ears. He fished four ingots out of his pocket--the last four he had--and shoved them into the man's hand. The man counted them and reached behind the counter and handed Armand a metal flask that swished when he shook it.

"You're a little young to be getting into this stuff, don't you think?" The man asked.

Armand just shrugged and took it from him, then started walking without any clear sense of direction or purpose. He wondered if he'd ever see her again. They certainly couldn't go back to the way things were, not now. Not after what had happened. He wasn't sure he even wanted to. He'd spent months, maybe even years trying to find a way to make her understand. Make her want him too. But he knew now that she didn't and that she probably never would. In hindsight, he didn't know why he thought even for a second that he might be special.

He remembered those long, drawn-out conversations on the edge of the caravan where they thought nobody could hear them. She'd gone from complaining constantly about how annoying each suitor was, how his hair was the wrong color or his voice was too loud or he was too fat. And every time she exhausted an option she had a spring in her step for a little while, like she'd conquered a monster.

And then the day she'd come despondent and crying when Elyn had offered his proposal. He'd wanted to track him down and beat him senseless until all the feeling left his body and he'd never touch her again. But he didn't, because he knew it wouldn't do any good. It had taken everything in him not to gather her up in his arms and beg her to stop crying. He'd wanted to save her so badly when really, he couldn't even help himself.

His eyes burned a bit as he uncapped the flask and took a sip. Armand sputtered a bit as the burn creeped down his throat and flared into his sinuses. He capped it again and wiped at his watering eyes. He wanted to pack a bag with bits of bread and dates and take her hand and travel far to the edge of the caravan, where they'd sit for hours in silence and still be content. He wanted to hold her hand and sit with her inside and not speak and then maybe kiss her again except this time it wouldn't go so badly.

But he couldn't. He was damn near positive he couldn't face her again even if he tried to. He could imagine how awkward it would be, how tense the air was and how hard it would be to find anything worthwhile to say. How they'd avoid each other's eyes and dance around the issue like it wasn't there. As if it were a giant, ugly camel no one wanted to acknowledge as out of place, or a person screaming in your ears while you pretended they weren't there.

But that's what his life was. Not wanted by the guard, not wanted by Wren, not wanted by anyone. How could he even go back to the sellswords if all he was going to do was drag them down? Eventually he'd take a swing at the wrong guy or waste a little too much money or eat a little too much food, or heaven forbid get injured and he'd be stuck right back in the same spot.

Armand took another swig out of the flask, a long one that he had to swallow multiple times to get down. The burn barely even bothered him anymore. It almost felt refreshing on the back of his throat as it washed everything away, including the ache emanating from his chest. His vision blurred a bit as he walked in the direction of the guard tents.

Winged men sat under the shade of their canvasses, hiding from the sun. Armand pulled his hood up to obscure his face. Nobody looked at him. Nobody seemed to notice or care that he'd come crawling back after leaving them, and he was glad for it. He didn't need anyone telling him that he shouldn't be here. That he was unwanted. He drank down the rest of the flask, tossed it on the ground, and wandered in the direction of the food tent.

Armand's steps started to get awkward, and his feet just wouldn't go where he planted them. He kept his eyes in front of him and tried to walk in as straight a line as possible so as not to draw attention. His vision doubled for a moment. He caught himself on the edge of a crate placed out in front of one of the tents, steadied his body, and carried on.

He was surprised, really, that nobody stopped him. Then again, who cared about a random drunk passerby wandering through the guard area? Such a thing happened all the time and very rarely were they hassled. It was freeing, actually, to walk without being seen or being told what to do. A smile crept across Armand's lips as he walked.

And then he saw them. Griffon's wings stuck out like electric blue beacons on his back as he tossed some items into a pack and set it down outside the food tent. Armand pulled his cloak up tighter over his head and ducked behind one of the tents so his brother wouldn't see. His head began to feel light and airy, like he could do anything if he wanted to. Like he was powerful.

Griffon looked up and glanced in Armand's direction. Armand swore under his breath and crouched down lower behind the tent. He sighed in relief when Griffon turned back to his duties as Gabriel's voice floated over the tents in his direction.

Armand watched for a bit longer as they talked over the details of their mission. They weren't close enough for Armand to hear anything other than 'trading post' and 'shouldn't be more than a day'. The gears in his head turned rapidly, lubricated by alcohol and a day's worth of pain and rejection.

If he couldn't talk them into believing he was capable, that he deserved a place among them, he would show them instead. His heart swelled as his face split into a grin and all of his problems resolved themselves at once in his head. They just needed to not see him until they were too far out to send him home.

Then he'd prove himself. He'd pop out of nowhere, like a ghost, and help them to fend off diggers and carry their gear. He'd prove that he was capable of handling himself in the vast expanse of nothing that was Terres--and he'd be damn good at it, too. No one would question him again regarding his abilities. Aegan would shut his stupid fucking face and let him stay, and he wouldn't have to worry about sleep or where to get food or how to make a living.

It was brilliant. Just brilliant. Now he just needed to wait for them to leave. He stared them down, waiting for the moment they'd give the signal to depart, sun beating down hard on the oiled leather. Sweat gathered around his neck, and Armand pulled at the leather covering it so he'd be more comfortable.

His heart gave a steady ache even through all the alcohol. Wren. He smiled to himself. He'd forget all about her, find someone better who didn't see him like something to be used, then discarded when no longer convenient, rather than a person with feelings. 

Nothing was going to stop him. Not Griffon, not the guard, and certainly not her. This was his last chance. His very last chance to show them all how much he was worth. How stupid they'd been for treating him like anything less than he deserved. 

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Armand has some unhealthy coping mechanisms. Do you think he's following in his brother's footsteps? Share your thoughts in the comments!