Disclaimer: I do not own Final Fantasy VII or any of it's characters.
It was no secret that I hated my father. That man is nothing to me. He refused to acknowledge my existence until I was of use to him. Honestly, I am glad I was rarely with him as a child. It's tough to say I don't have that pleasure now. He thinks he can control me like the rest of his puppets, be at his every beck and call just because he's bribed me from birth, but he doesn't have a chance in hell.
I don't know how many times I've tried to make him disown me. Most of my foolish attempts were from my childhood, but I am far beyond that now.
Being from the wealthiest in Midgar comes with it's perks at times, but it also has more than it's share of drawbacks. My father's Turks are meant to protect me, but lately it seems the only thing they have to protect me from is myself.
I am never to be left alone. My meals are made for me. Any medication I take is monitored.
Sometimes I laugh at my father's stupidity.
It's as if he thinks I'm ready to kill myself to get away from him. Perhaps that may have been how it was once, but now? Honestly, he doesn't know how very backwards he has it.
It takes all I can not to fight back when he pushes me because I know, if I do, I will end up killing him.
That's how I felt today.
My bodyguards left me alone at my apartment upon my request, for which I was grateful. Three hours with my father and his goons was more than enough to make me homicidal. I'd hate to have made a scene at two in the morning. Might wake someone downstairs.
Business had run rather late. My father was trying to convince his band of puppets of his new ways for the company, which I found to be flawed. His colleges reactions were expected and almost amusing. Heidegger and Scarlet seemed to agree with him fully, practically wagging their tails and begging for treats. Not to mention the lunatic scientist that was always lurking somewhere behind the president, the lapdog he is. Only Tuesti disagreed with the plans, saying the project cost far too much for not enough result. He was quickly laughed off until I voiced my opinion to agree with him.
Only where his opinion was a joking matter, mine seemed to enrage the entire table. I bite my lip and the split I'd received prior to my journey home starts to bleed again, dripping on the collar of my white jacket. Sighing, I wipe it off on my sleeve, no longer caring about the stain it will leave. It's not as it I would be denied a new jacket anyways.
I turn the key and open the door and I'm instantly hit with blessed cool air from the air conditioning unit. The summer heat was terrible this year, clothing layers or not.
Just as I enter my living room I hear Dark Nation's distinct growl. Not surprising really, I'm rarely ever home this late. True to her Guardhound nature she hates unexpected company and I must have frightened her.
"It's me, girl," I say calmly, turning on the nearest lamp and moving carefully as to not provoke her, "No need to be so upset."
She visibly relaxes and slowly comes forward, sniffing my hands before her ears perk up and she rubs her face against my leg. I give in to her affections and pet her behind her ears once before I take off my ruined jacket and vest, placing them on the back of my leather recliner. I make my way to the kitchen cupboard, pulling out a glass and my best bourbon before settling down on the sofa, Dark Nation right behind me. She lays next to me, propped up by pillows, and watches as I pour my drink.
I drain the glass in one go, savoring the tingle as the bourbon burns my throat and stomach. The open wound on my lip stings and the taste of alcohol is tainted with blood.
Dark Nation can smell the blood and whines at me, gently pawing my leg.
Sighing, I pour myself another glass.
"I'm fine, girl. It's superficial."
She nudges my arm with her head, nearly knocking the glass out of my hand. I spill the alcohol on my shirt.
"Damn it, Nation..."
Sighing again in annoyance, I set my glass down on the coffee table and attempt to wipe myself off. Dark Nation looks at me with concern—for me or herself I don't really know.
I take a moment to look around the sparsely decorated room, eyeing each and every detail; my television that I've never turned on, my shelves of books I've never read, the kitchen I have never cooked in. A life of luxury wasted indeed.
Maybe father is right. Perhaps I am ungrateful.
But I am so tired of living in his shadow. I could never live up to his legacy like this. Not from here. When the time is right, I would much rather be the one casting a shadow, calling the shots, living in the spotlight...
...preferably with father below my feet.
"One day, Nation," I mumble, stroking her fur as she wraps her tentacle around my arm affectionately, "One day we will get what's coming to us."
I lean forward to pick up my glass, noting now the classified papers left on the coffee table. I pick them up, reading carefully before a smile washes over my face.
Hmm...AVALANCHE? Presidential assassination?
Downing the rest of my glass, I stand to retrieve my PHS from my jacket.
"Hmmm...Perhaps we'll get what we want sooner that we think, girl."