anonymous asked:

Loneliness for the drabble prompt: Jacob Frye.

{Mere warning of drug use. Keep in mind it was hinted in the game Jacob probably went to an opium den or at least tried the drug as he made a reference to one during a side mission and how the smell was similar to opium.}

It was cold, but the opium had done well to make sure Jacob had forgotten about that bit. Normally, for such a high priced drug, he would smoke in private or in an opium den, but his mind and heart had drifted elsewhere as of late. The toxic mist expelling from his nostrils in a somber sort of sigh upon the cold yet stale London air, Jacob fondled with the pipe between his fingers as he thought about his time from Crawley to London.

He lost his mother from the moment he drew breath, gained the resentment of his father, and in time, his sister, as he rarely took things seriously when it came to the Creed. The only enjoyment he got out of his duties as an Assassin was unleashing his inner resentment upon his targets and getting out the upset he buried under a blanket of anger.

Jacob frowned and his fingers tightened upon the decorative smoking pipe unknowingly while his eyes, glossed over from the warm embrace of the opium, looked about the clouded sky from just under the overhang he found himself sitting beneath. “You left me with little to no love,” he grumped, hoping the ghost of his father was somewhere to hear his displeasure. “You left Evie and I both, only to come back years later to cuddle your daughter but neglect your son…”

At that thought, Jacob took another long and hard inhale of the opium to try and make it snuff out any sense of anger and resentment towards the memory. His body felt relaxed, and his mind drifted once more, but it hardly did what he wished it would do. It made the Assassin forget the chill coursing through his body that late evening but that was all—it forgot to bury the swelling agony of isolation within his memories.

The worse pain…that memory of how nobody truly cared for his presence…burned such a wretched hole in his wounded heart. He had the Rooks, yes, but did any of them truly respect and love him beyond the title he imposed on himself as boss?

The smoke escaped his mouth as Jacob gasped somberly at the excruciating squeeze that loneliness held upon him so. It felt worse than the tales of men and women suffering from a heart attack, and even in worry of such a thing happening to him, Jacob grabbed at his chest where the horrid organ thumped in a muffled scream of pain against his body.

“God gives man a bleeding heart, but whatever for when all it does is pulse such damn emotions through a living being that feels like you are slowly dying?” Jacob scorned, clenching his teeth to combat the tearful ache with anger once more—not wishing to appear weak by falling prey to the idea of sadness.

The opium pipe fell at that moment from Jacob’s hand, the Assassin bowing his head with the hopes the shadows would befriend him and hide the tears cascading down his cheeks and leaving their scars upon his pale skin. Try as he might to keep an angered expression and battle back the loneliness he was welcomed to (possibly from his birth till the day he died), Jacob found himself the failure in yet another aspect of his life and succumbed to the emotion he resented and felt bitter towards.