De·ceive [dih-seev] - verb, -ceived, -ceiv·ing.
–verb (used with object)
1. to mislead by a false appearance or statement; delude.
2. to be unfaithful to (one's spouse or lover).
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:: D e c e p t i o n ::
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It's been happening so often now that you begin to think of it as a daily routine. Something that's there; that's always somehow been there, and will likely never change. You don't know when it started, exactly, but you do know that it's not going to end, at least, not anytime soon.
It happens almost immediately; you wake up in the church, or on the floor next to your bed back at the bar, and you take a deep breath, trying to mend yourself together enough to face another day. You mount your bike without saying anything to anyone, and head off, once again, to the outskirts of Midgar.
Sometimes the air is a little bit chillier, and wind slicing against your arms as you approach dangerous speeds; but you don't care. You welcome the pain, it gives you a chance to feel alive again, to let you know that you are still human, and your heart is still beating. Even if it sometimes feels like it's not.
It's been 4 years since He was shot to death while protecting you, but the wound still feels the same. It takes you nearly 45 minutes to fully reach your destination on the cliff side, where His Buster Sword sat, stabbed into the dry, crackled earth. It's metal seems to have eroded even more since yesterday, but you think it's just your mind playing tricks on you again. That happens sometimes.
You'd thought that after defeating Sephiroth for the last and final time, that maybe you could move on in life. But it seems as if you still aren't fully sane enough to be a working function in society anymore.
More than once you've found yourself waking on the dirt next to His sword, having no memory of traveling out there in the first place. That's one of the ways you know you still haven't got it together. You still don't know where 'you' begins and 'He' ends. You've been used, bended, and broken in so many places that you're almost positive that you'll be putting yourself back together for the rest of your life. Part of you is almost glad that your Mother is dead; at least then she won't have to see just how much of a fuck up you really are.
You slip off one of the gloves that cover your hands, and gently run callous fingers cover the cold metal of His sword; feeling the nicks and rough rusted spots. You want to laugh – laugh at yourself, at Him, at Shinra for destroying you both. But there's no one to blame, not really. When it came down to it, it really was all you.
He could've been alive if you hadn't have been weak enough as to succumb to something like Mako poisoning. In His dying words, you had promised him that you would be His living legacy. And what did you do? You killed off His existence in your head, took credit for His work, and even stole His woman. You know He's probably screaming in the life stream about what a piss poor excuse for a best friend you really are; but you're sure He's not. He was always was too forgiving; too nice for his own good. You could've killed Him yourself, and He'd still love you.
You hate Him.
You hate Him so much, but you're terrified to loose the memory of what you once were. It's like he always has a leverage over you, a power that you cannot deny, even long after His death. You want to be the one to win; at least once. He's dead and you're still on the loosing end; still weak, pathetic, and dependent on Him to make it all better.
It was pathetic on your part, trying to live out this promise you had made. After all, you thought that you were strong enough to be able to take on the world all over again, just as you've continuously done since the harsh bullying of your childhood - but you can't. Not anymore; something in you died on That Day, and it would never again be repaired. Fresh wounds would easily heal over and scar, leaving nothing but a memory in their wake, but His death had forever shaped a wound that refused to heal despite any amount of remedies that were used.
A part of you feels like you're more worthy of the title "Damaged Goods", than that of "Hero". You never thought of yourself as one; He was the only hero in your life, as to date, but townspeople had begun calling you that after defeating Sephiroth numerous times. No one even remembers who He is anymore; not but a select few. Almost as if he never made a difference.
You know Tifa will be upset if you stay out much longer. She likes you to be at the bar for the kids; they've come to see you as something of a guardian. But you never did like kids – you know how to care for them, and make sure they're safe. You can go through the motions of parenting, but you really despise them in secret.
He liked kids a lot; always talked about how he wanted some after he retired from active duty. But then again, He always talked about a lot of things; about how the two of you could runaway together, just up and leave Shinra when things were starting to get bad. He talked about starting a life together in another city, in Costa Del Sol, where it was sunny and optimistic all the time. You knew He was full of shit, though. Neither of you actually went and did anything. He still chose his pretty Flower Girl over you, all the while talking about all those sweet-nothings, still fucking you into the bed He and his Flower Girl shared.
He always was an exceptionally good liar; sometimes you envied his abilities. The way he could play you both with such an air of innocent intentions; that smile which always made your knee's weak. You never knew just what words to believe; but it all became painfully apparent upon His death site. After all, why would a dying man lie in his last moments of breath? No, those were the truth.
Aside from how He felt for her; you always admired His Flower Girl.. Aerith was sweet, mysterious and alluring, and everything you thought you'd ever need; but she didn't have His cockiness or aggression. For a while, you had thought you felt romantic feelings for her, until it later became painfully apparent that you merely fell in love with the idea of her.
In a way, you felt a sort of sympathy for her. She was so invested in her relationship with Him, never once catching onto the fact that He was having an affair with you. Of course, you hadn't even remembered those factors until after she was dead; another fault of your own. You knew you could've saved her – should've paid closer attention to your surroundings, but it's too late now. You've lost everything precious to you, and there's nothing that can bring them back.
He had a tendency to make you cry a lot, you remember. He would never try to hide his relationship with his pretty Flower Girl, rubbing it in your face that you're not good enough, will never be good enough to make Him leave her for you. You may have been the one He fucked his anger, sadness, and grief out on, but she was still the one He wanted to spend his life with. You were just His little fuck toy, though, He did love you deeply. That much was obvious.
Sometimes he still makes you cry. You'd drive yourself out to his death site once more, the place where you stopped wanting to smile, to live; and fall to your knees, angry tears escaping from some unknown dam within.
You often wondered if things were different, if the world was more accepting – if He was more accepting of himself, would you two have been together in true relationship. Maybe he actually loved you more than Aerith, but knew there was no chance for a love like that; not in a time like this. That's not the way this kind of world worked.
You would still go back home to Tifa, smile sadly and pretend you knew how to take care of the kids, and head to bed; dreaming of the past, never once looking towards the future. You had forfeited any sort of chance at happiness and love; at life and peace long ago. All you can do now is play your role in this life, if it makes it easier on those who still need something from you, still have use for you.
After all; you died 4 years ago on that cliff - your body just hasn't decayed yet.
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