Betrayal.
On that day, Nelliel reeked of betrayal when it should have been anger, it should have been anything but betrayal. She should have known it was coming—she should have expected him to stoop so low.
And Nnoitra was livid that it had been any other way. She had had no fight left in her that day. Only betrayal and tears and anything but what he wanted from her.
And wasn't that how it had always been? She had never bent to his will, had never done the things he expected of her.
And as he turned to watch her sink to the ground, he wondered why it was betrayal. Had she really trusted him, of all people? Had she really taken for granted that things would always remain the same? He was a man of action…wasn't he? And she—she was Nelliel.
He threw her from the dome of Las Noches that night, disgust turning to introspection as he watched her free-fall into freedom—something he had not thought of. And his introspection was interrupted by Szayel Aporro Granz—who was not even an Espada anymore.
Nnoitra didn't care what that fuck had to say. Didn't care about anything but for the opinion of a woman he would probably never see again. And hopefully when she did come crawling back, things would have changed. He knew he would change. But would she?
Reversion into childhood caused him nothing but disgust—disgust and a pang of pain that was altogether too strange. Even though he covered it up with harsh laughter, he knew it was there—he knew—and that was enough.
He wanted to rage at the heavens that Nelliel was a pathetic whore who couldn't even remain in her original form after his attack—but nothing would come out, especially when in the company of the pink-haired madman who only wanted to spew philosophy. And even later, when finally alone, Nnoitra could do nothing but stare quietly and look within himself.
And even later, after another of his typical killing sprees, he still expected her to appear, to admonish him, to anything but not appear. And she didn't appear. She was as good as dead, at this point. As he trudged through the desert to return to his domain, he could only think that it was weird without Nelliel around, and that it would take some getting used to.
And getting used to the absence of the tercera would be well worth it. After all, now he could kill as much as he wanted without that bitch breathing down his neck all the time.
And yet, he found new ways to pass his time, for every time he went to the desert to kill he was haunted by visions of Nelliel and haunted by memories of her words and he wondered suddenly who would fucking notice him if he killed a thousand weaklings.
Nelliel wouldn't.