Leading Me On

Once again he had another sleepless night. He hated not being able to just rest, he wanted just too finally have some peace. He wished so dearly that the memories didn’t haunt him, that they could just leave his mind. Forever.
The entire house was quiet, not a sound was heard. But still he could hear the deep breathing of the painting, reminding him of his past.
If he only could destroy that picture, without destroying himself? If only he could turn back time. What if he had stayed out of London? Or what if he had followed Basil advice, not to trust Henry? What if he had listened? Where would he have been now? He would be quite old, not as handsome and breathtaking like he is now. Maybe he would have married Sybil? And she would have given him a child, a little innocent infant.

Innocence.
Innocence is a term used to indicate a general lack of guilt, with respect to any kind of crime, sin, or wrongdoing. In a legal context, innocence refers to the lack of legal guilt of an individual, with respect to a crime.
He used to be innocent. Kind hearted. He was the talk of the town, when he arrived to London. He was charming, quite shy. Woman would beg on their knees to get his attention and he would have ignored them. But not her.
No, when he first laid eyes on her, it was like seeing an angle. She looked at him with those soft blue eyes. He remembers the feeling he got, but just making eye contact with her. He had loved her so dearly.
But that doesn’t matter know. She’s dead. She drowned herself two days after he told her that they were moving too fast.
Sybil. The woman he loved. She was dead.

Love.
Love is an emotion of strong affection and personal attachment.
‘Love is an illusion.’ Henry once had told him, after the news of Sybil’s death had reached him.
‘It is in the past, time to move on.’ He had said to him as he poured him a glass of gin.
It had only gotten worse after that. After, his life mostly consisted of girls, sex and alcohol. He had taking it to new levels. No matter what he did, he couldn’t get a scar. His body was flawless. But his soul wasn’t.
No his soul was ugly. Horrifying and disgusting. The painting showed it all. All his sins and wrongdoings. They were all there, on Basil's beautiful painting, staying there, to haunt him for the rest of his life.

He sat up in his king size bed, immediately feeling the freezing air from the open window hitting his bare chest. He ran a hand through his brown locks as he sighed. He could still hear the sick breathing from the painting up in the attic. He said in the bed for some time, debating whether or not to go upstairs as he had done many times before. He shook his head, losing the argument to himself. His brown eyes shifted to the mirror at the end of the room. He stood up, his feet hitting the cold floor, and walked over.
For a brief moment he saw it, his terrifying soul. But as soon as it arrived, it disappeared. But there he was. His milky white and flawless skin. He was what most woman and young girls would described as beautiful.
He couldn’t see his own beautiful himself. All he saw was this horrible, heartless, charming young man.

All he saw was Dorian Gray.