The Quiet Lify Arc Mcbride
I feel this on occasion, when not even Hyne sees me. When I'm standing on the balcony of a hotel, audience to the twilight over the creations of man, or when I walk through the plains by the ocean, alone but for the seagulls circling overhead. It's a sensation that I can't explain. Rather, I don't want to explain. It's more or less something I'd like to keep to myself, for now, and it's the only feeling I get these days that can take my mind off of any of the other bitter, angry emotions going through me.
So here I am, sitting on my bed in the cheapest room of the Deling Apollo, going through that sensation once more. I've been here for an hour, and already I've ordered and gone through about eight cans of fruit cocktail. The television's silent, as I rarely watch anything anymore. Not even the news- I don't want to know what's going on this worthless world anymore. The balcony screen door is open, and I've got a birds-eye view of those sparkling lights in the city. I can hear a nightclub down the block that's blaring decade-old music with synthesizers. I just twist my lip- I hate that techno garbage, but as long as I can just hear the piano in the background, I think I'll deal with it.
I rub my eyes and slump back on the bed, exhaling. My back feels like someone used it for an accordion, and I barely got any sleep last night- I'd wanted a nice ground-level room, but they'd all been full, so I spent the night in a Tent. Contrary to popular belief, they're not all that fun to sleep in, especially not when one has to set them up on his own.
On my own. I stretch my eyebrows tiredly, glancing to my travelling bag. I wonder how many months it's been since I left them both in that Balamb Inn, right after they'd drifted off. Raijin was mumbling in his sleep, gnawing on his pillow, when I slipped on my shoes. Fujin was more of a quiet sleeper- I'd only heard a light sigh from her when I was writing the note. I remember them both turning in their sleep as I closed the door and slipped away on my own trail, still remember counting the apologies running through my head at the time.
It was for the best, I'm sure. No, not really sure. I think- yes, that's a better term. It's not one hundred percent clear anymore, whether leaving my posse- my friends- behind was the best thing to do. But wasn't it? I've been out of my mind ever since the flower troupe got back five months ago and drowned in trophies. What's more, I'm constantly the subject of spy runs from Scarface himself. I'm his 'dirty little traitor.' I've found little metal trinkets on my clothes, in the bedroom of wherever I'm staying- hell, I bit into one of the things in a restaraunt. What kind of life is that?
Not like this. Not like the quiet life.
I find it bitterly ironic that I'm the loner now, and Scarface is rejoicing in the arms of his friends. Since when did we have to switch roles? I'd have taken Chickenwuss's attitude over this...over this constant depression and loneliness, over the anger and hate, over the sheer jealousy.
The jealousy...
My train of thought leaves, and I stare at the asbestos ceiling for a long, long minute. Sighing, I turn on the bed and unzip my blue travel pack, fumbling within it. My fingers brush over a spare charge for the Hyperion and a spare shirt before I find it- a wallet. I don't use this one, though, I use the black one that's sitting on the nightstand at the moment. I only keep this beat-up billfold because of the lone occupant within.
I flip it open and slide a photograph out. The edges are faded, but the quality is still fresh. The picture's of the reception hall, in Balamb Garden. I'm in there, a nice forced smile on my face. I smirk- I look pretty sharp in there, a nice twinkle to the eye and my left hand on my hip. I'd taken the Hyperion off that night, so I look a little naked, but at least my hair was combed and I'd shaved.
My smirk fades. I didn't take out this picture to look at myself. I look to the rest of it, and then I feel the unexplained emotion pick up. My right hand is resting on a bare, almost pale shoulder that belongs to a petite girl in blue and black. She's got black hair with a few barely noticeable brown highlights down the sides, and a timid smile on her face. The forefinger of her right hand is up, her thumb upraised in turn, and her eyes are on me. She's obviously getting ready to comment on the fact that my fly was a little more than open.
I chuckle once at the memory, but only once. Rinoa Heartilly had such an air about her. She was fun-loving, pretty, innocent, had an easy smile and an entertaining sense of humor, and was really just a great person to be around. Rinoa was everything I wasn't, and I liked...like her for that. I value the night of conversation I had with her more than any night of passion I had with Edea. I really, really enjoyed myself that night, and I didn't need to mentally undress Rinoa to fully appreciate her company.
I slide the picture back into the wallet- actually her old wallet. I'd seen her dump it at the end of the night, and through some cheesy sort of interest, I plucked it out. The ridges are all worn down, and every day a bit more of the stuffing comes out. It means nothing to her today, I'm sure- it's worth as much as a five-year-old's doodle of the Headmaster and the Matron's wedding night.
But it's the only thing I have to remind me of her. Of just what it was I lost.
"How'd I ever let you go?" I ask the ceiling, feebly. Yeah, I wasn't myself, but then, I don't have a self. I've redefined my personality since I was a kid, evolving into another person every couple of years. I was a bully at fourteen, a nobody at fifteen, a charmer at sixteen, another snob at seventeen, and a criminal at eighteen. That constant spiral into anger had cost me a lot of things- my potential as a SeeD, my source of income, my friends...and a future with Rinoa Heartilly.
The truth was, I left because of her. I left Fujin and Raijin behind because I couldn't stop thinking about her. I've been aloof for so long because she wasn't leaving my thoughts, and every time I held the old wallet over a trash can, I pulled back. It's the only thing I have that was hers. That I'll ever have of her, now that Scarface- Squall- is in the picture.
A year ago, I might have said 'he better make her happy, or I'm coming after him.' But now, I really just want to come after him. I don't want them together, no matter how perfect their relationship is.
What I say to myself today, what I've said to myself ever since they returned from the future, is 'please, please, Hyne, make her unhappy.'
People would call me selfish. People are so harebrained. It's not selfish to want to love a person, to want to make her happy. I know she says she's happy with Squall- I see enough of that in the new "Balamb Maniacs"- but I don't believe that. Squall might be happy, and Rinoa might be happy, but I'm not happy. And I should be happy, after being warped by Ultimecia, after working up enough debts to pay back Balamb Garden, after leaving the posse, after giving up a home, after becoming so pathetic that my only sense of comfort is a beat-up photograph.
I hear crickets chirping outside, and I realize twilight settled as I was thinking. I twist my head and look at the alarm clock. It's just after 7- early, but I'm tired, and the last thing I feel like doing right now is remaining conscious. I kick off my shoes and straighten on the bed, propping my head against the pillow. I close my eyes and sigh, trying to make some sense of how the universe works. If I can't have Rinoa, I don't want a life. All the same, death would be a lot more unsatisfying. So I suppose that, if I may combine the two, it won't be so bad without Rinoa's love, if I live between life and death. If I live with peace of body and chaos of mind.
If I live the quiet life.
I feel this on occasion, when not even Hyne sees me. When I'm standing on the balcony of a hotel, audience to the twilight over the creations of man, or when I walk through the plains by the ocean, alone but for the seagulls circling overhead. It's a sensation that I can't explain. Rather, I don't want to explain. It's more or less something I'd like to keep to myself, for now, and it's the only feeling I get these days that can take my mind off of any of the other bitter, angry emotions going through me.
So here I am, sitting on my bed in the cheapest room of the Deling Apollo, going through that sensation once more. I've been here for an hour, and already I've ordered and gone through about eight cans of fruit cocktail. The television's silent, as I rarely watch anything anymore. Not even the news- I don't want to know what's going on this worthless world anymore. The balcony screen door is open, and I've got a birds-eye view of those sparkling lights in the city. I can hear a nightclub down the block that's blaring decade-old music with synthesizers. I just twist my lip- I hate that techno garbage, but as long as I can just hear the piano in the background, I think I'll deal with it.
I rub my eyes and slump back on the bed, exhaling. My back feels like someone used it for an accordion, and I barely got any sleep last night- I'd wanted a nice ground-level room, but they'd all been full, so I spent the night in a Tent. Contrary to popular belief, they're not all that fun to sleep in, especially not when one has to set them up on his own.
On my own. I stretch my eyebrows tiredly, glancing to my travelling bag. I wonder how many months it's been since I left them both in that Balamb Inn, right after they'd drifted off. Raijin was mumbling in his sleep, gnawing on his pillow, when I slipped on my shoes. Fujin was more of a quiet sleeper- I'd only heard a light sigh from her when I was writing the note. I remember them both turning in their sleep as I closed the door and slipped away on my own trail, still remember counting the apologies running through my head at the time.
It was for the best, I'm sure. No, not really sure. I think- yes, that's a better term. It's not one hundred percent clear anymore, whether leaving my posse- my friends- behind was the best thing to do. But wasn't it? I've been out of my mind ever since the flower troupe got back five months ago and drowned in trophies. What's more, I'm constantly the subject of spy runs from Scarface himself. I'm his 'dirty little traitor.' I've found little metal trinkets on my clothes, in the bedroom of wherever I'm staying- hell, I bit into one of the things in a restaraunt. What kind of life is that?
Not like this. Not like the quiet life.
I find it bitterly ironic that I'm the loner now, and Scarface is rejoicing in the arms of his friends. Since when did we have to switch roles? I'd have taken Chickenwuss's attitude over this...over this constant depression and loneliness, over the anger and hate, over the sheer jealousy.
The jealousy...
My train of thought leaves, and I stare at the asbestos ceiling for a long, long minute. Sighing, I turn on the bed and unzip my blue travel pack, fumbling within it. My fingers brush over a spare charge for the Hyperion and a spare shirt before I find it- a wallet. I don't use this one, though, I use the black one that's sitting on the nightstand at the moment. I only keep this beat-up billfold because of the lone occupant within.
I flip it open and slide a photograph out. The edges are faded, but the quality is still fresh. The picture's of the reception hall, in Balamb Garden. I'm in there, a nice forced smile on my face. I smirk- I look pretty sharp in there, a nice twinkle to the eye and my left hand on my hip. I'd taken the Hyperion off that night, so I look a little naked, but at least my hair was combed and I'd shaved.
My smirk fades. I didn't take out this picture to look at myself. I look to the rest of it, and then I feel the unexplained emotion pick up. My right hand is resting on a bare, almost pale shoulder that belongs to a petite girl in blue and black. She's got black hair with a few barely noticeable brown highlights down the sides, and a timid smile on her face. The forefinger of her right hand is up, her thumb upraised in turn, and her eyes are on me. She's obviously getting ready to comment on the fact that my fly was a little more than open.
I chuckle once at the memory, but only once. Rinoa Heartilly had such an air about her. She was fun-loving, pretty, innocent, had an easy smile and an entertaining sense of humor, and was really just a great person to be around. Rinoa was everything I wasn't, and I liked...like her for that. I value the night of conversation I had with her more than any night of passion I had with Edea. I really, really enjoyed myself that night, and I didn't need to mentally undress Rinoa to fully appreciate her company.
I slide the picture back into the wallet- actually her old wallet. I'd seen her dump it at the end of the night, and through some cheesy sort of interest, I plucked it out. The ridges are all worn down, and every day a bit more of the stuffing comes out. It means nothing to her today, I'm sure- it's worth as much as a five-year-old's doodle of the Headmaster and the Matron's wedding night.
But it's the only thing I have to remind me of her. Of just what it was I lost.
"How'd I ever let you go?" I ask the ceiling, feebly. Yeah, I wasn't myself, but then, I don't have a self. I've redefined my personality since I was a kid, evolving into another person every couple of years. I was a bully at fourteen, a nobody at fifteen, a charmer at sixteen, another snob at seventeen, and a criminal at eighteen. That constant spiral into anger had cost me a lot of things- my potential as a SeeD, my source of income, my friends...and a future with Rinoa Heartilly.
The truth was, I left because of her. I left Fujin and Raijin behind because I couldn't stop thinking about her. I've been aloof for so long because she wasn't leaving my thoughts, and every time I held the old wallet over a trash can, I pulled back. It's the only thing I have that was hers. That I'll ever have of her, now that Scarface- Squall- is in the picture.
A year ago, I might have said 'he better make her happy, or I'm coming after him.' But now, I really just want to come after him. I don't want them together, no matter how perfect their relationship is.
What I say to myself today, what I've said to myself ever since they returned from the future, is 'please, please, Hyne, make her unhappy.'
People would call me selfish. People are so harebrained. It's not selfish to want to love a person, to want to make her happy. I know she says she's happy with Squall- I see enough of that in the new "Balamb Maniacs"- but I don't believe that. Squall might be happy, and Rinoa might be happy, but I'm not happy. And I should be happy, after being warped by Ultimecia, after working up enough debts to pay back Balamb Garden, after leaving the posse, after giving up a home, after becoming so pathetic that my only sense of comfort is a beat-up photograph.
I hear crickets chirping outside, and I realize twilight settled as I was thinking. I twist my head and look at the alarm clock. It's just after 7- early, but I'm tired, and the last thing I feel like doing right now is remaining conscious. I kick off my shoes and straighten on the bed, propping my head against the pillow. I close my eyes and sigh, trying to make some sense of how the universe works. If I can't have Rinoa, I don't want a life. All the same, death would be a lot more unsatisfying. So I suppose that, if I may combine the two, it won't be so bad without Rinoa's love, if I live between life and death. If I live with peace of body and chaos of mind.
If I live the quiet life.