Ugh.
I've been dying to post this up ... I was going to wait until I finished updating that story about the Tsviets, but this was killing me.
Unfortunately, I'm very proud of this. = = ;; I really shouldn't be, it makes me wibble.
ANYWAY. It's about Tseng. As I'm sure you could assume. But I won't spoil anything ... try to enjoy it. I, in some twisted, sick way, enjoyed writing it. :
So, try to understand. Anything in italics is ... well, not happening in real time. Mostly memory. jflksdjfklsjfk.
I'm sorry it's awful. And I promise to anyone waiting on that "Some Kind of Monster" update, I'm working on it. D: Hopefully it can be up this weekend.
Review if you want, I'm not picky.
NONETHELESS, ON TO THE STORY.
Memories Not Worth Remembering
"Say, chief. Why don't you ever tell us about your past or anythin', yo?"
Why did Reno always ask those questions? The man needed to learn to keep his nose out of other's affairs – past or present.
His eyes were focused on the ceiling above him while he lay in his bed. Tseng wasn't a very reflective man … but nostalgia seemed to have captured him in the moment. As he stared at the little dots on the ceiling, it seemed to bring him back to a time he would have very much like to have forgotten. All the fragments of his memories he had been able to keep locked up behind a barrier, flooding into his mind. Damn Reno, always having the habit of getting Tseng thinking too much. Not even placing the blame on his subordinate to try and divert the memories from returning worked. They all piled in, one by one, as if he were watching some sort of … home-movie in his mind. All the unwanted reminiscing reminded him of why he decided he would never reveal his past to anyone.
- - - - - - -
Her tears seemed to stream down her face like glimmering rivers. There was nothing he could do to stop it. She wouldn't stop crying … no matter what he had said. He tried to get her to stop so many times, tried to comfort her, tried to hug her, he even tried to make her smile. But she wouldn't. The woman wouldn't stop. She wouldn't stop sobbing. And it hurt him to see her like that.
"Mother … please." He rubbed her back, his lips forming a small frown.
"Xian. Your father was a great man. He lived and died for Wutai. Don't ever forget that!"
"I know, mom. I know …" But again, her face was buried in her hands.
The letter had come just two days prior. Tseng's father had been killed by the enemy forces, but he had died an honorable death. Unfortunately, Tseng didn't believe such a thing was possible in war, but he was young. He was but six years old when this letter had come, and had yet to understand true vengeance. He hardly understood the concept of "death." All he knew was that his father wouldn't be coming home any time soon.
"Mommy … please stop crying …"
"I love you, Xian. Don't ever leave me here alone." She sobbed, wrapping her arms around her only son. She sobbed into his shoulder, Tseng rubbing her back in response.
"I'll stay here, don't worry."
A day would pass and her crying would stop. However, her consumption of alcohol would increase. It wasn't common of her to have alcohol in the house – in fact, it was frowned upon by many in Wutai. With her lack of outside contact, though, no one except her son knew there was the poison in the house. And he wouldn't have told anyone about It for he loved his mother too much to risk her getting exiled from the community she loved. She began to act strange, but happy;Tseng wanted her to be happy. And she seemed much happier, even if she had begun having conversations with people who weren't around. At least the drinking had stopped her crying for some time …
The negative side was her aggressiveness. She had a nasty habit of telling Tseng what to do – and should he take too long to do the task, she got violent. Occasionally it was just a hard smack to his face, other times she would twist his arm until his eyes overflowed with tears. When he asked her to stop, she would laugh and smack his rear-end. He could never tell if it was supposed to some twisted sign of affection or if she had made an attempt to hurt him.
And he couldn't figure out what made her drive her anger toward him. The one time he decided to bring it up was a long four years after the abuse had started.
Tseng had been free of the pain for about two weeks, then, and he had felt confident. She had actually gotten him a present for his birthday, and that was a step up from smacking him hard across the face. A delightful little game system had been purchased for him – even if they had been rather short on gil. He had yet to get a game for it … but that didn't seem to matter to him. As much as he appreciated the gift, he preferred to find entertainment in other fashions.
That one gift gave him the small confidence boost he needed to confront his mother.
He happened to catch her before she left the house, as she had begun slipping on her shoes and fiddling with a couple earrings.
"Mom … ?" His voiced lacked the trembling fear is normally held, being proof of his newfound confidence.
"What is it? I'm going out."
"… I was going to ask you …"
"Well? Spit it out."
"Why … what do I do to make you mad?"
"Mm? Nothing. You're a very good son."
"When you drink you get mad with me."
All her movements ceased as she directed a glare toward her son. "Xian. I do not drink."
"You have … and you get violent."
"I have never done so in my life, Xian. Understand that?" She growled, tying her dark hair back with an elastic, keeping her eyes on her son.
"You can't lie about it…"
Her instantaneous answer was to reach forward, grab her son's collar, and pull him upwards to her height. "I'm not lying. For all you know, it was water. I never drank a single alcoholic drink in my life. Remember that."
"Mom." Tseng furrowed his brows, grabbing her wrist and growling quietly. "Don't lie. I saw you do it."
She didn't respond, save for a forceful smack with the back of her hand to the young boy's cheek.
"You saw nothing of the sort." She furrowed her brows, letting go of her son and storming out of the room without hesitation. "I'll be back in a few hours." She called, almost as if nothing had just happened. While Tseng sat silently on the floor, rubbing his cheek and staring at the empty wall, thoughts raced through his mind; and he finally came to a conclusion.
She blamed him for his father's death.
That must have been the reason. It made the most sense. And it took him four years to realize it.
That night, she would return with a man on her arm. Tseng would be looking out the closest window to catch his mother giving the strange man a quick peck on the lip before smiling and entering back into the house. Once she waved "good-bye" to the man, she began humming as she shut the door and started taking off her accessories. Unable to hold back the rage inside him, Tseng came out from "hiding," staring the woman down with fire in his dark eyes.
"My father lived and died for Wutai. You disrespect his good name." He yelled at her, pointing an accusing finger. He didn't understand what his mother thought she was doing – didn't Wutai-ethics state one was not allowed to re-marry after being widowed, nor split up a marriage? Wasn't she breaking everything she had ever taught him? She was a hypocrite; an abusive hypocrite.
She grabbed Tseng's arm instantly. Bending back the finger he had pointed at her. "Say that again."
"Mother …" he winced, his voice full of the crippling fear once more.
"Repeat yourself!"
"Y-you're a liar! Father would hate you for that!" He stuttered, shaking his head and trying not to let his tears slide out of his eyes. The woman, full of renewed rage grabbed the boy's throat, driving him backwards into the closest wall.
"Your father was a warrior. He would want me to move on!" She growled, pinning Tseng's wrists above his head. "You are the reason he went to fight. It's your fault he's not here anymore!"
"Mother … get off."
"If you … you weren't so weak …" Her eyes brimmed with tears, glowering maliciously at her son. "He would still be here!"
"Get off me …" He squirmed slightly, trying to get himself free of the larger woman's body.
"Don't you understand?! If you weren't here, he wouldn't have gone to fight!"
"Mother!" Tseng shouted back at her, his voice cracking as those tears he tried to desperately keep locked away came down his cheeks.
She didn't react with words. She let him go entirely. The woman threw one more smack the boy's cheek, turning on her heel and furiously slamming the door to her bedroom. The house was small, as it were; Tseng could hear her angry sobs and murmurs from his position near the front-door.
This time, he wasn't sitting around. He opened the door, ran out into the darkening night and looked around. All the houses had their lights on. But the people inside them … he didn't know anyone. He didn't have any friends. He hadn't ever talked to a child for more than a sentence before he became awkward and shy … and it was that precise moment he regretted every moment of it. There was one particular, small house across the small path that had quite a bit of shrubbery growing outside it. He took it upon himself to take up shelter underneath it, finding it very easy to crawl under the bush and come up on the other side, under a bright window, supported by the rest of the wall of the house.
He sat with his head in his knees, his arms wrapped tightly around his legs.
Tseng could hear the family on the inside. He knew the boy and his parents … not well, but he knew them. His father was a nice man, an ex-warrior while his mother was a fantastic cook. The boy … well, he never got the chance to really get to know him. But he could hear their conversation through the relatively thin walls. They all laughed together, they all seemed to be having such interesting, friendly conversations. And not once did he hear anything that sounded like a complaint. He brushed a bit of his black hair out of his eyes to look up towards the window, but simply buried his head in his knees again. That was a happy family. That was how his life should have been. That was how his mother should have sounded when he tried to tell a joke. His father should have been there. And whose fault was it that the entire Tseng family was falling to pieces?
His. Not his mother's, not his late-father's; his.
Wutai wasn't the place for him. He needed to go somewhere he could just get away. Somewhere he could … escape from the madness. But he was only ten. What could he possibly do? No ten year-old could find their way out of Wutai and live. There was nothing else around.
He tried to think of something while he sat in the dirt, barefoot with his head in his lap and tears streaming out of his eyes. His thoughts were only interrupted once. And that was by a shrill, though concerned, voice crying out "Xian!"
At first, he was tempted to sit and ignore the voice of his mother.
But a shiver ran up his spine as his mother called out again for him, adding "Where are you?" Reluctantly, he crawled out from his little hiding spot, frowning as he approached his mother. Though her eyes seemed full of worry, through the tears, he saw beyond her little act.
"My baby! Are you alright?" She cried aloud, flinging her arms around him in a tight hug. He didn't respond, but instead pat her back gently. She began sobbing into his shoulder again, seeming almost upset that she had temporarily lost her son.
And that wouldn't be the last time he tried to run away.
Over the next six years to come, he disappeared for days at a time, until his compassionate side would kick in again. He would return to her, hugging her, and then suffer a short amount of abuse. She would get unofficially married to that man (whose name had slipped Tseng's mind), who would do nothing to prevent the violent attacks on the boy.
However, when he finally reached the age of sixteen, Tseng rebelled entirely against his mother. His "anger fuse" had finally been burnt out and he did the one thing to make his mother feel all the pain he had felt over the eight years of suffering through her ill-treatment of her "baby boy."
SHINRA SOLDIERs had invaded Wutai. They were recruiting those they could find and take as prisoners of war. Without warning, Tseng told his mother, "I wonder if you will understand how it feels, mommy."
He would then willingly follow along the SHINRA troops, making up any excuse he could to go with them. However, he would never reveal any secrets of Wutai – not even if they had tried to torture him into speaking.
Being the last words he ever spoke to her, he betrayed the trust of, not only his mother, but his entire home. He left to join SHINRA, the one company his father had died trying to protect Wutai from. The SOLDIERs his father spoke so ill of would become his co-workers. The company his mother despised would be his new home. And the wretched title of "Traitor" would belong to him.
He broke his promise to his mother. He left her there; the ten year-old promise of commitment, demolished by the woman's actions.
Although he had left, he kept the bindi upon his forehead to remind him of his past, to never let him forget what he had left behind, sinned against, and betrayed; a symbol of his failure as a son.
- - - - - - -
Tseng rolled over onto his side, closing his eyes, sliding a hand underneath his pillow. "That is why I will never tell anyone about my past, Reno." He mumbled to himself, getting comfortable in his bed. "Because I don't know what happened to her."