This was supposed to be his happy place, the place where he felt safest. This was where he came to calm down, reorganize his thoughts, relax. This, this place here, this was where his dreams had been built.
And now it gave him nightmares.
Every night it would rain. Every night the lightning flashes illuminated the monstrous, deformed body edging its way toward him. Every night he could hear her crying, sobbing, begging him to kill her. Every single night, he killed her again.
There needed to be something to keep him from waking up in the dead of night, shaking, refilled completely with the guilt of what he'd done. The sun rose, finally offering a small chance for any other thoughts to cross his mind.
In prison, it had been the battles that had distracted him. Fighting for his life had driven all else but the brawl from his head. Then he had been released, the promise of vengeance easing the all-consuming, white-hot guilt. Even when that had fallen through, he had had the journey, his companions, everything, to keep himself preoccupied enough to be too tired to dream most nights.
But now he was alone again. Alone in the place he had been dreaming about in the most terrifying ways. The repetition did not suffice to blunt it's steel, instead it gashed him open again and again.
So he worked. He worked from sun up well passed nightfall almost everyday. Day in and day out, he stayed behind his desk, grateful for the immense workload running the company brought him. If the forms and contracts ran low, he filed or plotted out ways to promote products, new mergers he could hopefully make, anything to keep himself busy.
He was vaguely aware of time passing by, but in his current state he couldn't be bothered to dwell on it much. It didn't register how much he had been working, how little he had seen and heard from his friends. He did not hear the murmurs of the employees, all wondering if he looked a little tired, all fretting over their poor, overworked leader. It was just business, as usual.