When Bakura put it like that, it made Solomon feel like the worst cad in the world. Then he had to wonder why; wasn't it a feature of a proper relationship to be equal? It was true Solomon had done things--but it was also true that he didn't want to become some fool like Skulduggery, crippled by guilt and self-doubt. Skulduggery had made terrible mistakes precisely because he didn't believe he was capable of being better than he had been, and accepted whatever dregs he allowed himself.
If Solomon did the same thing, how was he any better than someone who'd lash out with violence at the drop of a hat? How could he divorce his life from the Temple and all its teaching unless he did consider his worth more than that?
Which, come to think of it, was precisely Bakura's problem. He didn't expect or even want anything more than agony, as long as his goals were achieved. Where was the self-worth in a man who didn't think his own being was good enough to save on its own merit, if only for the sake of others? What kind of life was that?
You murdered her, you fool. At this point her accepting you in her life is more than you have the right to expect. Why else would you tell her to let you go?
... Which was also true, and entirely unhelpful, and left Solomon at no better understanding than he had been before. For a very long moment Solomon stared at Bakura, and his expression was an odd mix of contemplation and regard, as if he was seeing things for the first time.
"You may be right," he said finally, because he wasn't sure how to articulate the rest of his thoughts without stepping into territory they weren't ready to rehash. He'd done a terrible job of it last time. Solomon turned to walk back to his spot. If Bakura was right, then all Solomon had left to do was exorcise the emotions currently making him unfair, and for that he needed to not think about them for a while. This time, his round was intent and vigorous, rusty but closer to the mark than before.
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If Solomon did the same thing, how was he any better than someone who'd lash out with violence at the drop of a hat? How could he divorce his life from the Temple and all its teaching unless he did consider his worth more than that?
Which, come to think of it, was precisely Bakura's problem. He didn't expect or even want anything more than agony, as long as his goals were achieved. Where was the self-worth in a man who didn't think his own being was good enough to save on its own merit, if only for the sake of others? What kind of life was that?
You murdered her, you fool. At this point her accepting you in her life is more than you have the right to expect. Why else would you tell her to let you go?
... Which was also true, and entirely unhelpful, and left Solomon at no better understanding than he had been before. For a very long moment Solomon stared at Bakura, and his expression was an odd mix of contemplation and regard, as if he was seeing things for the first time.
"You may be right," he said finally, because he wasn't sure how to articulate the rest of his thoughts without stepping into territory they weren't ready to rehash. He'd done a terrible job of it last time. Solomon turned to walk back to his spot. If Bakura was right, then all Solomon had left to do was exorcise the emotions currently making him unfair, and for that he needed to not think about them for a while. This time, his round was intent and vigorous, rusty but closer to the mark than before.