Giving Up
I recommend reading this while listening to the song 'Say Something'.
He stands, raging, fuming. So opposite from her, sitting on the couch, eyes straight ahead, spine very straight. The image of indifference, coolness. Of not caring.
"Tell me something, anything."
For he is starting to doubt everything. All their memories of happier times, of the times she grazed his thighs, how she wrapped her delicate hands around his hideous talons and rubbed the slightly chilled skin. These movements always comforted him. How she chuckled whenever he tried to be a smart-ass and made a stupid joke or a too brusque comment.
He drowned himself in sorrow, in misery.
Nothing alcohol couldn't fix.
Such disgusting self pity he exhibited. Such a picture he made. A retired, famous general, having defeated so many Krogan – even made comrades with a select few – reduced to this snotting idiot that was even fooling himself, and wallowing in agony. How low could someone get?
He knew nothing of love.
He fell again, as he would fall face flat on the ground, every time she remained silent. Every time again, as she didn't reciprocate his words favorably.
He didn't know what to make of it. He didn't know how to respond. He didn't know how to make her love him back. He didn't even know what love even was.
"Tell me that you'll be the one, that one. If you tell me 'yes', I will be. Even if you're forced to go to the worst place, I'll still follow you. If it's you against the Asari, every one of them, I will be your wingman. If you'll die, I'll die too."
This is so similar like the times when things got tense with some clients. He always makes sure to intervene, but always in a subtle way. It challenges him, too. He isn't used to subtle intervention. In his early days, it was just blitzkrieg method, completely overwhelming the opponent.
She didn't know how many times he'd practiced. He had even lowered himself so much – going to a brothel. He chose someone that appeared a bit like her, but never perfect. Not even close.
While she danced and made intimate gestures, he would continue rumble at her, talk to her. Though she never responded, at least she showed off her assets.
She didn't know what kind of risk he was taking. For so long now, what he wanted, he would get. Rarely now would he meet something that was dangerous. Or had a big risk that it could go wrong.
"Tell me something, dammit!"
He charges forward. His arm stretches out to touch her, graze her, do everything, anything to make her feel something. He doesn't know what she's thinking.
How different she can be. She sometimes tells him of worries she has with other clients. And he will always listen, give her his honest opinion. He tries not to voice his opinion – just giving up on some clients, for some are close to impossible. After all, before he had met her, he was a hopeless case too.
"There is nothing to say that will help this."
This.
As if it isn't even a matter, not even important. As if he isn't important. As if he's only a client. Not a friend not a confident...not a lover.
The previous two times she had ignored his passionate words, or refocused the topic on him. This time she has this sad excuse. What will the next time be?
"You say that every time. How does that help, huh?"
Every time she remains silent. It chips away the already dimming light of hope. It fuels rage, torrent. And hate towards her. Towards himself. Towards everyone.
He wouldn't go and save her. He had heard rumors. He had prepared himself. It wasn't that difficult too, having so many connections and so much experience from life and military. He had made sure he wouldn't be in the neighborhood of the Citadel. He had many opportunities to tell her about the danger but he couldn't. He wouldn't. So very hurt still his heart remained about her continual refusing his promises to love her eternally and loyally.
He needed to pay her back. An eye for an eye, was it, in human words?
But not like this. This almost resulted in her death. Collaborative damage. And worst of all, it didn't faze him. Hurt him. Almost.
He had been too late. He had only arrived after the giant ship had been destroyed. The status report came to him through others. He had heard from nurses how different she was now. Not only physically – terribly wounded – but mentally too. Much more subdued. Not focused on others. Not even focused on herself.
And at that moment, he felt so much remorse. Felt so stupid about himself. Him and his lasting grudges. And what had he gained? Nothing good.
Who was he fooling? The vow to follow her wherever she was? Where was he when Sovereign attacked? Where was he when she – in true rarity – needed to rely on others? Where was he when she was hurt?
She didn't focus on him much. It may be the medication. It may still be the shock of all the horrors she had witnessed, and inflicted on herself. It may be pure surprise at seeing him here so soon. But he couldn't stop feeling hurt again. No relief from her? Not even a polite 'hello'?
No...only a stare. A long, silent moment.
The greeting that followed from her was far too polite, her expression too distant. She didn't even consider him a friend anymore, an acquaintance, an ex-client.
Not even a stranger.
He came too late. There was no sign of her. Her secretary gave him an awkward, uneasy smile. It seemed she was ordered by her mistress not to tell him anything that concerned her. So rare. She rarely gave any orders. She asked, negotiated, but never ordered – just not her style.
And not like her to not notify him of this drastic change of agenda.
He rose very easily to the very top. He had everything that could make this a success: experience, age, influence. Everything.
But he took more cold showers, even a few cold baths here and there. He would drown himself in alcohol if everything became far too much, and punched the barkeeper in the face when they refused to refill his glass. He took down the local guards with well aimed kicks and told their reinforcement – that came far too late, that should tell him enough of how low he had fallen from grace – his name. Just his full name.
It always worked.
Even with the new responsibility and power, he still had so much difficulty tracking her down. No one knew of it, but one of the reasons he had this change of heart, to submerge himself in Blue Suns' matters was to gain more strength, more influence. He would need plenty of those to find her, to protect her.
But how could he protect her when she wouldn't accept him?
"I'm sorry, but she will not receive any visitors." It didn't take a genius to know that the visitors meant only him. She hadn't answered any of his mails or vids. And if she did, it was a polite answer, a mere shadow of poetic, graceful and kind words.
Never more than that. She had run away so swiftly, to a place he couldn't chase her. He didn't know how to reach her.
He feared he was too late. Far too late.
Nothing mattered anymore. He had made mistakes, and now he must live with them. He refused to forgive himself. Besides, she was now back into business again. The months spend in solitude far away from Citadel helped calm down all the rumors and stories – all wrong, yet with small parts that came close to the truth.
And he was head deep in the Blue Suns again. She wouldn't be safe. No one would be safe that was close to him, the ones he cherished.
No, it was better this way.
"Tell me something, anything..."
My first sonfic, any comments?