Irvine Rambles to the Camera
by Skandranon
Good evening all, the name's Irvine Kinneas. I'm sure you heard about me, one way or the other. Yeah, I know what they say. That I'm the best shot in Garden. That I have a rock steady hand and a cool eye. That I'm as horny as a t-rexaur bitch in heat and as loose as Rinoa after she's had a few drinks.
What can I say, people know me.
But they don't know the whole truth. Sure, I'll go to bed with anyone. I've gotten quite good at bluffing when I can't remember their name in the morning. I'll try anything twice and thrice if I'm drunk. By the way, candle wax hurts like hell and should not be a sex kink. I'm a true hedonist to the core. My coat is lined with this wonderfully soft fake fur that tickles you in all the right spots… no, not that spot, hentai. That's for later. But to this day no one has ever asked me why.
Course, I doubt it would be a common thing to do. "Irvine, I was wondering, why are you a slut?" See? Embarrassing to both parties. The truth is, I'm not a slut.
Well, okay, I am a slut. But not in the complete sense of the term.
It may sound strange, but I'm actually a gentleman. I was raised on a chocobo ranch out in the nowheres of Galbadia, and my adopted father taught me to do right by people. Hold doors open, pull out chairs, carry groceries, all that stuff. And I do. To this day I have never turned Selphie down when she asked me to "go shopping" with her, translation "carry all the bags". But I take to the whole gentleman thing a bit differently than most people. You see, the true definition of the word "gentleman" is "someone who makes sure that those around him are as comfortable as possible". I take it to the next level. Girls like to be flirted with. It builds their self-esteem and makes them feel wanted. So I flirt. And if they should flirt back, all the better. And if it should lead to the bedroom, all the better. People like to feel good. It releases tension, and adjusts their outlook on life. So I make them feel good. And if I move on to another girl the next day, at least they saw it coming, what with my reputation and all.
But see, I don't mean anything by it. To me, it's never been a long series of one-night-stands. It's just play. With sex. I've never had romantic leanings towards anyone I've ever slept with. I'm just expanding my hedonistic horizons. Enjoying life to the nth. And they enjoy it too, don't they? I'm not cheating on them by moving on the next day. I was never with them. Because my heart, my love…. well, that's something different.
I've been in love. I am in love. But I'll never be with them. They wouldn't want me, and frankly I don't blame them. And that doesn't hurt as much as you'd think it would. A mild, dull ache in the back of my heart, easy to chase off or forget about in the heat of passion. I guess I'm resigned to my fate, or something. See, the problem is that when you're in a relationship, the other person expects you to go steady, not to flirt, not to cheat. And I don't really think I'm capable of that. Flirting is such a natural thing to me that I'm not even sure when I'm doing it anymore. I just say what comes to mind, and then the girl I'm talking to starts blushing and giggling, and before I know it we're in a janitor's closet and I'm unbuttoning her blouse. And I don't really think I could get out of that with a shrug and an "Oops".
And this person, this person I'm in love with, they REALLY wouldn't like that. They're the strictly monogamous type, the kind that grabs hold of you and sinks their teeth in and growls at you as you try to shake them off. I usually label people like that "Do Not Flirt With". I try to get with them, and I'm going to have to seriously revamp my entire personality. And I'm not sure I could.
So I wander about, from bed to bed to janitor closet to balcony to bed to hot tub to bed, mingling with a girl or two or threesome at a time, never looking twice at the person I'm in love with. Brushing them off when they try to be friends. Saying I've got plans when they ask to go get lunch together. Then finding some girl and making some impromptu plans so I don't have to think about it.
But I know someday it'll be just too much, that one day I'll snap and tell them and then pray I can run away fast enough before I break their heart.
…You know, there have been a million and one songs about love, a million and one poems, a billion and one people all frantically scribbling and talking and singing trying to figure out what the hell this thing they're so obsessed about is. And you get all sort of conflicting answers. Love is wonderful. Love is pain. Love is selfish. Love is selfless. Love is being out of control, absorbed by your emotions, thinking only about the other person, not caring about yourself and only wanting to live for the other person and yet you'd do anything to get them to love you in return and make you feel good and…
…And I think I've figured out the problem. No no, I'm not arrogant enough to actually claim I've solved everything, I said I think I've figured it out. Just a guess. The problem is, love is not one single thing. It comes in two forms. Being in Love, and Being Loved.
Being Loved is the most wonderful thing in the world. It's knowing that no matter how much you screw up, no matter how horrible or pathetic you become, that person loves you. It's a safety blanket. It's an ego boost. It's the ultimate hedonistic pleasure.
Being IN Love…. well, that's a different thing. Being in Love is pain. It's agony. It a bleeding hole in your heart that will never heal. It's a selfless, selfish drive to make the other happy, to make yourself happy, but you never will be unless you Are Loved.
Or, to think of it in sex terms (and I always do), Being in Love is the build up, the tormenting agony and lust and desire that drives you up and up and up until you just can't take it anymore. And Being Loved is the climax.
So, if you think about my situation that way, I'm in a never-ending upward spiral, building up to a final terrible moment when it's just too much, and I'm not enough to handle it. But I can't get that release. I can't get them to Love Me, cause it would kill them in the end. So I let it fester and build and torment, until someday it will kill me instead.
It'll be an interesting tombstone. Irvine Kinneas, SeeD, Killed by Love.
It's been done.
Enjoy life while you can. Do what you can to be happy. Eat chocolate. Have sex. Get a massage. Pet a puppy. Play in the snow. Be a slut. Because it doesn't mean anything. In the end, you'll be alone, and then the truth will be too terrible to face, and it will rip you apart.
So don't think about it.
The name's Irvine Kinneas. I'm sure you've heard about me.
But you don't know me.