Crooked Lines
It never failed to amaze her, how adrenaline would rush into her head when the very man she was tasked to kill snakes his well-toned arms onto her waist, whispering sweet nothing into her ears and making her blush like a high school girl. Not that she had attended one in her course of study, but her job took her to places, and Cagalli Yula Attha, with her petite frame, innocent-looking face and shining golden eyes that burn with much passion, loves her job very much.
However, she would like to admit that this game of deception that she has been playing is going too far for comfort. It was beginning to frighten her how much she had come to actually love the man that was currently sleeping on her left side of the bed, looking like an angel with a chiseled face the gods must have made on their happy days, blue hair falling perfectly on his sleeping form. Here stood the perfect opportunity for her to finish the mission her took up 2 years ago, 'show him the cruelest form of love'. She had befriended him, made him fall in love with her, but had unknowingly; fall back in love with him. A professional killer like her shouldn't be hesitating when such an opportune fell right in front of her. Yet, she couldn't bring herself to hurt him. He was like her, abandoned, a hopeless cause that no one bothered, but lucky enough to have found each other. She had genuinely enjoyed his company, not like the other men she had been tasked to kill. She dealt with them skillfully, a stab at the heart; a silencer at the chest; all these without a bat of an eyelid, taking the name of their killer to the grave.
A sigh of defeat left her lips, for she knew that a continuing this would only bring misery to them both. Her mind weighed the pros and cons as she stared down at this man who was capable of bringing this heartless killer's life into turmoil. She had to weigh all her options carefully. It was obvious that she can never go back to the Academy. Her master would be so embarrassed by her indecisiveness, and the number 1 student would be labeled as a failure. She could run. But that would mean leaving behind Kira and Lacus, a brother she had acquired not too long ago, and her confidante, Lacus. Her plotting her own demise might save them, she thought. She could send a message in all channels available that she had died, anonymously. Yes, she needed that, to clear her thoughts, and start making all the right decisions. It was a lost cause. She can't pull the trigger, might as well.
Moving quietly across the bed, she picked up her clothes that were carelessly left at the end of the bed after another heated night spent, and scooted to where he slept. She was going to miss those emerald eyes that she first fell in love with, those lips that would never get enough of her, and most importantly, his embrace. Those thoughts almost made her regret the determination she had in her when she made the decision to leave. 'It's the least I can do for you; please make this sacrifice worth it,' she mouthed, brushing aside his bangs that lay over his eyes. With a ghost of a smile, she scribbled a few words on the paper on the table top, letting a few tears drop as she clutched the necklace he had given her. 'Our token of love, he had said, wistfully.'
And with a final look, she left, leaving no trace of her existence, at all.
His father once told him, in a very subtle way, that he was the best treasure he ever had, had ever created. When Patrick Zala passed on, he felt no sorrow, no regret, nothing. 'He deserved it, he would hear them say, and he unanimously agreed.' He lost his father when Lenore Zala left, and his father slogged his life out for ZAFT Corporation. Patrick Zala had no son. Only a shadow of what was left of his once filial son. Athrun Zala used enjoyed the company of females, and it was no secret. They came in flocks, flirting, clinging, he liked that. But he loved dumping them better. 'You heartless bastard, they would scream,' before running away. A mirthless laugh escaped his throat. A heartless bastard was what he had become after Lenore Zala left. She not only took his and his father's souls with her, but his heart as well. He didn't care; no one did, not then.
When she barged into his life, she was like fire. Hot tempered, fiery, witty, yet feminine, sexy, and was everything a girl desires. He had just initiated a break-up with this clingy thing called Meer, who had already ran off the heavens knew where, when she came out of nowhere and punched him, hard on the face. Her face was flustered with so much anger, he had laughed, and all while holding his jaw. 'You asshole, that was just a low blow, she spat, golden orbs burning, eyes in silts, fist clutched.' She had amazed him the first time they met, and subsequently, many more times, playing his charisma card.
He knew who she was. He had known of many people going after his neck for a while now, and had killed off many of them. There was many times where he wondered when she would kill him, but what it feared for himself, was how eager he was to die under her hands, in such a sick, twisted way. He observed, and found himself more intrigued by her. The child-like innocence, almost like she grew up so fast, she had slowed down and was having her childhood now. A realization dawned upon him at that moment; he was in love with the girl tasked to kill him, and her eyes told him, his feelings were being reciprocated. It elates him endlessly, and when he proposed with a necklace from the family heirloom, her eyes sparkled with so much joy, love and happiness, it made him feel like the happiest man on Earth.
When she left, he was devastated, at the very least, and suicidal. He made another humorless laugh at that thought, wine glass lying haphazardly on his elegant fingers. He finally understood how his father felt, when you want to hate someone so much, yet, unable to do so. He was luckier than his old man though, because he was given some hope to hold on to, although tiny. It has been 5 years since she had left him, but she never left his mind, that blonde fiery lady that made his life worthwhile. It was too long a time, and he had survived. Placing the wine glass on the table, his gaze wandered to the paper folded nicely on the side of it. With a hint of a smile, he took the paper, folded it carefully, and slotted it into his breast pocket. Tonight will be the night, and everything will be well again.
A tophat in hand, coat worn and an umbrella in hand, he walked out into the snowy night, looking forward to another memory.
"This is good bye for now.
See you at the fountain,
5 years from tonight."