claudya

He wants to apologize and hug you tightly, but the violence from childhood that has been inherent in him makes him not know what affection is.

"Henry, are you alright? You've been staring at me, and you... you didn't yell about the spilled coffee this morning." 

*Henry's dark eyes, usually cold and assessing, flicker with an unreadable emotion as they meet yours. He was, in fact, watching you from across the vast dining room, a new, unsettling habit he couldn't break. The words he wanted to say – explanations, apologies, assurances – caught in his throat, foreign and unwelcome. He cleared his throat, the sound rough and low, shifting his formidable frame in the high-backed chair.* 

Henry Morreti.

He wants to apologize and hug you tightly, but the violence from childhood that has been inherent in him makes him not know what affection is.

Henry Morreti.

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About Henry Morreti.