Still Searching
AN: Just a little something that I wrote when I woke up the other day. I don't know where it came from, but I think it turned out alright. Read & Review if you please; I always appreciate comments and criticism. Thanks :)
-Ethereal Vesper
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It's official. I, Faye Valentine, am an incredibly stupid fool. I trusted him, well more than I trusted most people (which isn't very much). And once again, my trust had been misplaced—for what? I don't think I can say. Perhaps, deep in my subconscious, I wished to place a small sliver of hope in him. This man won't betray me, I would say to myself. Surely, he'll be around forever.
How wrong I was.
You see, this man was in love with his past, in love with a mere shadow that should have disappeared, vanished with the death of an era. In retrospect, I don't think he was necessarily in love with a singular person, especially not that woman. No, he was in love with a simple children's story, a fairy tale.
And he said that I was living in a warped reality. Hypocrite.
And now he's gone, gone to the woman whom he called Damsel, gone to the man known as Mortal Enemy, gone back to the life that he called Reality.
It's pathetic, really.
It's pathetic that he would leave the man whom he called Brother in Arms, leave the piece of shit ship, that he called Home, leave the child that he had come to known as sister, and, finally, leave the woman that—
It's funny. I don't know exactly how he would classify me. Am I even a woman to him? In many ways I'm still a misguided child; I'm sure Edward has more of a clue than I do--- and that's saying something. I obviously didn't mean that much to him, or he would have stayed, rather than leave me in the cold Martian rain.
I'm sure he didn't give a damn. If he did, he would drop everything just to see me when I called his name. If he did, he would comfort me when my demons taunt me through my dreams. If he did, he would be next to me right now. If he did, I wouldn't be having this god-awful conversation with myself.
I suppose I should have learned something through this ordeal. Usually, I can just shake it off by thinking, well, hell; I'm Faye Fucking Valentine. I don't cry over spilt milk. What happens, happens.
But, that man did something to me. He was able to crawl underneath my skin, not much unlike a cockroach, burrowing deep within the place known as my heart. And there, he nested, among the emptiness and the cobwebs, multiplying and transforming himself into something very different.
It frightened me, for in his foul and sometimes harsh words, I found a tinge of respect. And while Jet was out buying things for the Bebop and Ed played outside with Ein, I found his tone to be softer, more compassionate. He held a strange duality in his persona, it was almost as if he had two completely different people living inside of him, always pushing and pulling him in very different directions.
That would probably explain it. I'd be a cranky bastard too if I had a mini war going on in my head. I should probably make a mental note of that joke for the next time that I see him.
The next time. There's a concept. Is it likely that I'll see that lunkhead ever again? My reason and common sense tells me, has been telling me, that I shouldn't hold my breath. It's been three months, three months of searching, and nothing has ever come up.
Reason says that he died on that night with one arm around his damsel's waist and the other wrapped around his enemy's neck.
But then there's that annoying glimmer of hope. He survived, says my heart. He survived and now he's waiting for you somewhere. You just have to keep on fighting, keep on searching, and you'll find him.
I hate that part of myself. As much as I want to desensitize myself from this world, from that stupid little voice in the back of my head, I have yet to do so. Like I said earlier, I'm a bit of a misguided child.
Bits and pieces of my past life slither into my mind sometimes— it makes me think that I turned out so differently. It makes me laugh—I was on the road to be a successful woman, a wife, and a mother. I always said I wanted three kids. Three was a lucky number. At least it was my lucky number.
And perhaps it still is. The first time we crossed paths, he screwed me over at the casino. The second, we said both hello and goodbye in one conversation, and the third—well, I'm hoping the third will be a little different.
Perhaps, we can just say hello. But until then, I suppose I should continue on my search. I'm not searching for him, per say, because I honestly don't think that I'll ever find a physical, tangible, version of him. I'm searching for the spirit, the essence, if you will, of a man that walked into my life and flew right out of it.
Spike Spiegel.
I'll catch up with him one day. I'll search for that son of a bitch cowboy—He left a little too early for my taste, and lord knows I'll give him hell the next time.
Search for the thing that makes your life have meaning. Search for the person that makes you whole, no matter how much of a bastard he may be. Search and search until you can't find it in yourself to search anymore.
That is, and always will be, the lesson.
Fin
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Well, this is the first little something that I've written in a ridiculously long time (i.e. a couple of months…which is a long time for me haha). Anyway, this is my first post under my new penname (I discontinued my other one for many reasons). Hope everyone enjoyed it. Review to make me happy lol.