The Thunder of Guns, So Sweet in My Head


Part One: Mirror Image

"She gives him a taste of what he's had all along, and he can't wait to make her bleed."


He wonders sometimes, that if the world was different, would he be? He doesn't know. He doesn't give a shit or care to know on a person to person basis either. He enjoys cocking the gun and pulling with the sweet twist of his finger. He takes pleasure in hearing the bullet pound against bone with a thunderous roar followed with the slick crunch of bone and blood spray painted onto the ground below. He smiles at the mess and at the body. He says he loves it when they scream, when they fall to the ground in rumbled clumps of bone and flesh, begging. In a realistic view, he doesn't care.

All in all, he's just trying to forget that he is who his is, and it will never change, at least, for the better anyhow. He wants to erase it.

Scream for me…

Beloved…

You are mine…

And I am yours…

It'll disappear eventually, from his mind, from the ground, the crusted crimson staining the cuff of his sleeve. It'll wash off.

He glances carelessly at the women in front of him, her arms twisted; mouth a gaping hole, teeth stained a brackish red. He lets himself laugh for a second, then, checks his watch.

Four to twelve, and at home, she's waiting.

He wipes the smile off his face. Will he wait for her to be there tomorrow morning?

'I could just get it done with, and then I'll never have to see her leave.' He's sick, in fact, too sick with delusional thoughts and stiletto screeching cackles. He wants to kiss her lips as she looks at him without fear.

He wants to hear her say his name.

He wants to stay with her forever.

He wants to see her burn.

He wants to make her scream.

He wants her to leave.

He doesn't want to hurt her.

Yet, if she leaves, he'll die. So it's better, if she bleeds.

'Yes… better, much better if she bleeds…'

They're standing under the sky, and she's wiping her cheek with an already bloody rag. He's just arrived, and he sees the knives in her pockets, the red layering over her knuckles. The gun in her other hand.

She's wearing an apron. It was yellow. By now, a grotesque piece of splattered artwork. She's smiling.

"Back from work early, neh?"

He nods, slightly perplexed. She walks back inside, mumbling in a cross manner as she flings the apron onto the floor. He steps on it. Sees bits of food and blood, takes his foot off, and blanches. What is she?

In a clatter of noise, she explains, arms clanging already heated pots and pans on the stove just to make noise. He briefly wonders what'll happen if he bashes one on her skull. He takes another hurried glimpse at the gun still held loosely in her hand. He stops thinking about the pans.

Pale blue eyes revert back to her pale skin, now, his imaginary hands butterfly kissing all the way from her neck to her chest, tracing little circles around and around her navel. The clattering of breaking glass breaks his thoughts.

She cackles.

"Damn bastards tried to kill me, Reno. Two of 'em, stupid asses thought I was just a housewife. Didn't think I could break his neck and shoot a gun, eh? Of course, you know me better than that…"

'no…" he thinks, idly sauntering over the spattered tiles, just to stop in back of her, hand whispering over the small of her back, ' I had no idea…'

He grins.

It's better than he expected. He always gets his way…

She leans into his hand, before whipping around, snatching the gun straight from his hand. He can't move now, fingers itching to wrap around her pretty little neck. The hollow barrel of the pistol warms against his sweaty temple, and she screeches another eerie laugh. It's hollow too. Like the gun. Like the whole bullshitting corrupted world.

Like him.

"You think I'm stupid? Huh?" She prods the gun against his forehead a little harsher, eyes hard, but shattered like gray slivers of glass.

He wants to swim in them.

He wants to drown in them.

He wants to rip them out and keep them.

'Hang them on my wall…' He mentally sneers, while his lips twitch into a sardonic grin.

"Yeah. You're stupid, kid." He laughs, "So. Fucking. Stupid."

She smiles, loosening her grip on the gun, if only just a bit. "Please, explain. Explain to me why I'm the idiot, when I could blow your fucking brains out with the twitch of my finger. Come on. I dare you."

His stomach ripples with chuckles, he can't stop laughing. Laughing at her, laughing at himself, laughing at the whole goddamned world they live in.

"Kid, you're stupid. Stupid for getting involved with me. Stupid for not killing me right now…" he takes a breath, looking at her eyes, staring…just staring. She shifts uncomfortably, but still keeps the harsh hold of the gun against his head. He frowns. "You're stupid for letting me do this."

He lunges, effectively knocking one of the guns from her hand, his face dangerously close to hers. Lips connect.

They fall to the floor.

Her hand is in his hair—the other one still grasping for life to the gun—his lips angled over hers in a fierce ferocity. She laughs again, mockingly, threateningly, before with a single snap of his jaw, he bites down her ear.

She's not laughing anymore. But she is still snatching handfuls of his hair.

He grabs the gun, and is surprised, because she's still staring at him smiling, eyes shiningly wet, and she's not flinching, not at all afraid of the gun pressed into her side.

She knows he won't do it. Just like he knew she couldn't do it to him.

They're the same.

He wonders briefly between kisses, where exactly she'd been all the time.

He doesn't care to know. She won't tell him anyway. All that matters is that they're there. And she's so like him—mirror reflection—he almost wants to pull the trigger.

The gun scrapes against the tiles as he flings it away from them.

He growls deeply in his throat, she feels the rumble of his lips across her neck, tongue edging into the dip of her collarbone, "I can destroy you."

Smirking, she licks her lips.

"Bring it on."


A/N:

Welcome to the more violent side of Reno and Yuffie. It's dark, and, it's real. We all know we love it. Anyway, starting a new series, though this one will be in chapters. I'm tired of using different titles, and I thought a chapter story would be nice. I hope they're not out of character, though when I write, I tend to make them more...like different characters. I should stop writing fiction and changing it into fanfiction. Haha.

Until next time,

Feedback's a babe with Long Red Hair.

TMoh.