Rikku said it first. "Who woke you up on the wrong side of the bed?" before stammering with a shy smile and cute embarrassed pout like she always does. It'd be a while before she realized with a stupid grin, "Opps. Well, I guess you wake yourself up... on whatever side you… well, that you decide…" I didn't say anything to her then. I never said anything to anyone who happened to string certain reminiscent words together and lay them out in front of my face in innocent mockery. They called me strange because I was so quiet. Unwilling to talk or jump around like they would all day and night like they were on the world's longest high. I knew their stories well enough though. The pilgrimage and the loss of two of her guardians – an old friend and a lover, they say. The other, an optimistic Al Bhed for someone who saw the home she lived and grew up in blow up into smithereens by her father's own doing. Her building, her streets, the neighbors and friends she had were never to be seen again. You wouldn't think they had suffered such tragedy if you saw them on the bridge most mornings, practicing dance routines and giggling like a gigglin' fiend on Haste. They always asked why I didn't join in on the fun.
Their kind of fun, wasn't necessarily mine, and they figured that out after a few weeks upon meeting me. I liked walking into my past. I liked sinking my feet into the warm Bikanel sand. Feeling the cool mist of Mushroom rock on my skin. Watching the calm sunset atop the cliff by Mi'hen. And then spending a quiet night in the cabin of the Celsius. Reminding myself – because sometimes, I would forget – of where I presently lived. What I've overcome. Why I chose this path. These girls and guys. This place and this livelihood. Why what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger.
I'm not strong. But I've been aimed at, shot at. Punched by, stabbed by. Loved and loved back by friends and friendlier friends, and family somewhere snuck in between. Maybe I died somewhere on my way here. My heart, my soul, my trust in others that I believed cared for me and I cared back. Stab to the back here and a bullet to the shoulder there and somewhere along the way someone must've killed me inside. Because I'm not strong. I've not been made strong by situations that haven't killed me. In one way or another, they all left a wound in my heart. A hole in my chest where my heart used to be. And maybe that's why they call me strange. No heart to care, no heart to feel, no heart for me to keep alive with hope. I wasn't the same as them. I didn't belong in their world. So I left. Left after a few weeks of meeting them and wandered on my own for a while. Because I knew their story. I knew their sorrows, their losses and their regrets. And it wasn't a matter of who had been hurt the most… but rather, who recovered best. And that certainly wasn't me.
I didn't wake up on the wrong side of the bed like she'd said. I woke up on the wrong bed. Years ago when I wasn't strange and quiet and I could still feel my own pulse by the crook of my neck. Years ago when I was naïve and stupid and who's to say I'm still not the exact same way? I may in fact be, really. I may in fact be the kind to constantly wake up in the wrong bed, losing my heart again and again each time because I know that's not how it's supposed to feel. I know and I believe that's not how true love is like. You're blinded into thinking this may be the one, this may be the day, this may be the night. This may be your chance to open up and let someone catch your not-so-strong-self. And when it hurts afterward, you realize you've gone and made the same mistake again. You've gone and foolishly thought that you were smarter now.
Yuna said it first. "This'll be your bed, Paine." A sweet smile and gentle voice. She stood a comfortable distance away and gestured with her hand. "Rikku and I are right beside you." And because she giggled and grinned, and her hyper little cousin jumped on her back a minute later with a squeal of excitement, I never thought I would think of them one day as 'smart' women. Smart enough to find me when I had wandered off alone. Smart enough to guide me from sinking into memories I couldn't pull myself out of. Strong enough to have their hearts filled with ambition and courage and hope that overwhelms them despite what pain they've experienced in the past. Strong, smart women who knew I had a story, perhaps just as dramatic and sorrowful as theirs. And so maybe that's why they were so loud all the time. Hearts so full with energy and motivation and enthusiasm all the time, as if they knew I was missing my own heart. And in turn, they held out theirs, freely and willingly, to share with me until I could finally breathe again on my own.