Disclaimer: I do not own Devil May Cry.
A/N: Hey everyone! As you might have noticed, I've been really inspired with DMC at the moment. I updated two of my other ongoing fanfics and have decided to put up this new story that I've been working on. This first chapter is actually more of an introduction, but I will put up the next chapter either later today or tomorrow so that I don't keep you waiting.
This story, as always, is Dante x Lady based and really, them getting together is the focus of this story.
Hope you enjoy it!
AA~
Chapter 1 - Diary
I haven't written a diary since I was very small. I don't even know why I'm writing one now. Actually, that's a lie. I do know why I'm writing one. It's so I'll always remember. So that I never forget. That in days where I think I can't go on, I can pick this up, read it, and realise that things aren't always so bad. That things could always be worse.
I started my first diary the moment I could write well enough. I was a normal, happy child, content with everything in life. My parents were not rich but neither were they poor. We were average in every way. I lived in a small house set in a street of similar looking houses. The neighbourhood was quiet but friendly enough. I had many happy days growing up there and I can think back to them now with a smile. A sad smile but a smile none-the-less.
Then things changed. I don't know when because it happened too slowly, but by the time I realised, it was too late. I was at school when it happened. I was an average student, good at some subjects, bad at others. I was never the artistic type. I was a math and science kind of girl, fascinated by chemicals and numbers. It's always the way though, isn't it: good at one thing, bad at another. I don't think I've ever met anyone who was good at everything.
Anyway, I'm getting off topic.
I was walking home from school, dragging my bag in the dirt because the strap had broken , when I was surrounded by three boys. They were all in my class and all wearing those infuriating smirks; the type of smirk that makes you want to give them a good hard thump. I knew why they had followed me home. They'd heard the rumours too.
"Where's daddy?" One taunted. He had a shock of black hair and dark eyes. I'd never forget that face.
I shouldered past him and kept going, then suddenly I was being knocked to the ground. They emptied my bag out onto the floor and, laughing, ran away.
I've always considered myself the tough tomboy, the kind of person who doesn't ever let anyone push her around. I'd never cry in front of anyone, never show anyone that they got to me. I didn't then. I picked up my things and ran home, keeping back the sobs until the door was shut at my back and I knew I was alone.
I didn't believe them then, but one of the children at school had seen my father sneaking about at night. A lot of the kids knew him because of he worked as an archivist in the local library. And it wasn't just a small, stuffy little place. This was a library of treasures, the type of library you see in the movies. It was more a museum than anything though it was open to the public – or most of it was.
Anyway, these rumours had spread and soon my father was a thief, a murderer, a cheating swine. They called him every insult that came to mind, if only to try and provoke me into a fight or into a fit of tears. But I wouldn't and I never did.
Besides, my anger at them when I found out what my father was up to soon faded away. I found out the day my mother died, when I came home to carnage. That was the day my diary was forgotten, the day I stopped filling its pages with tales of my life.
And now I pick it up again years later. Now I attempt to fill in the gaps, from that time as a fourteen year old girl to now, eleven years later.
I'm twenty-five, adept with gun use, scarred all over and very much alone. Or I was, but I'll get to that.
My father had been secretly striving for something dark and dangerous, something that I wasn't even aware of as a child. He was delving into things that I can't understand, even now. He was playing the devil, mixing with demons and so twisted that by the time he died, there was no trace left of the man who had been my father. His soul, once pure, was riddled with evil.
I spent the rest of my childhood training in an attempt to avenge my mother's death. For he had killed her to pursue his dark desires. Then when I was ready to face him I began to track him down. It took me four years to reach that point and I was no longer a scared little girl. I was a young woman of eighteen, toned and ready to end his wretched life that had brought me so much agony and torment over the years.
Yet with all the training, I still wasn't able to finish what I had set out to do. My father was strong and so were the forces he had engaged in. Maybe it was fate that on the same day as I found my father I also found the demon hybrid, Dante.
I thought to kill him at first. He was a demon after all and when we first met, I did not understand what he was or who he would come to be. I met a snarky, irresponsible youth who tried to flatter me with his cheesy comments and roguish grin. Yet even though he looked human there was no denying it. His strength, his speed. There was demon blood in his veins. He even managed to get up after a direct shot between the eyes.
And even though I hated him I slowly came to understand something.
That he was human. More human than most I had ever met.
After my father had been finished off and Dante's own past had been faced, we left that terrible tomb of a tower, Temen-ni-gru and that was where we parted ways. But not for good. He'd captured my interest, I'll admit that now. There was something intriguing about him, the way he chose to live his life, the way he used his strength to protect. He made me realise that I couldn't turn back now. There was no way, after all that I had been through, that I could return to a normal life. I knew of demons, I knew of torment and evil. Besides, I was a good demon hunter and if I could use these skills to protect others, why put them to rest?
That day, I dedicated the rest of my life to disposing the world of demons.
My relationship with Dante was not an easy one. For the following couple of years we helped each other with jobs, lent one another money when necessary and basically held this silent vow to look after one another. He was stronger than I was but sometimes even he felt as if he needed some help, though he'd never admit it. Maybe deep down he was as lonely as I was.
He annoyed the hell out of me at first. His diet was atrocious and so was his shameless flirting with every pretty woman he came across. I used to sit there and watch him sweet talking some slut across the bar and she'd lap it all up as if she were the first he'd ever even thought of in that way. More often than not they'd leave the bar together and I, forgotten, would be left with the bill. It used to just get me angry at first but after a while things began to change. I'm hesitant to write down exactly what I felt; it was anger but that wasn't all it was.
We'd grown close over the couple of years that I'd known him. I felt as if I knew him better than anyone and that he knew me, too. And despite the fact that we spent a lot of the time arguing and falling out, I trusted him more than I'd trusted anyone. I could talk to him about things I had to hide from others, I didn't need to be secretive and for the first time I felt safe in someone's company other than my own. For the first time in my life I didn't feel alone.
But like everything in my life, that didn't last long.
It was a couple of days after my twentieth birthday. Work had been slow for both of us and money was tight. We'd had a row the week before, so I'd been avoiding him. The only reason I went back to see him was because I'd heard rumours about a sudden upheaval of demons in one of the villages outside of the city. It sounded too big of a job for me to handle alone so I'd decided to bite down my pride and ask for his help. I just couldn't afford to mess this job up.
When I got there he was drinking and he wasn't alone. There was a woman with him. I recognised her but I wasn't sure from where, probably one of the local bars where we went to keep a listen out for any potential jobs. They were all over each other, half-naked and clearly fully involved in their "activities". My first intention was to give him a piece of my mind, but I felt awkward. I felt as if I'd walked into a part of his life that I should never have. He clearly hadn't heard me come in and he was all over this woman. My face heated and I was frozen with indecision. Shout at him or leave before he noticed?
Shout or leave?
Shout or leave?
But before I could even start thinking about what to do, the woman looked up and said something through a high-pitched giggle. He looked up at me and I couldn't decipher the meaning of that look in his eyes. He looked almost ashamed, almost. But shame isn't quite right. I felt my face heating up and desperately sought a sharp retort. I was always shouting and lecturing but this time the words were stuck in my throat. I suppose, when we were out and about I could expect it from him. But not in his house. I'd never caught him with a woman here before. I'd even begun to think that he never brought them back there.
I said nothing. I stepped backwards out of the door and slammed it behind me. It was then that I realised something terrible. It wasn't just anger and embarrassment tormenting me. It was the feeling of betrayal, the feeling of grief and…jealousy. Okay, okay, so I'll admit it now. I had fallen for him. I hadn't realised it until that moment but it was true. That irritating guy had wormed his way into my heart and I hadn't even noticed until it was too late.
Words cannot describe my feelings then. I felt ashamed and embarrassed and more to the point I was afraid of facing him again, now that these feelings had made themselves apparent. I couldn't imagine ever looking him in the eye, knowing what I felt and how he could never feel the same.
How could we continue on as we had been when every time he flirted or slept with another woman, I would feel as if he were twisting a knife into my heart? And as I walked the clouds opened and the rain came down upon my head.
I made a vow then. A vow never to see him again.
Five years later and I haven't seen him since that day. He never knew where I lived but I moved away as soon as I could, to another, remote part of the city where people seldom went. And it's here that I've been ever since.
But I do not live here alone.
To be continued...
