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In My Every Heartbeat

"Do you know… why the rose dies?"

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I saw in her eyes, beautiful and vibrant, my world. As for her, she could get hold of my world with one glance. I freely let myself be hers, finally it was to be, us together. Then in one moment, everything which I'd obtained had been ruthlessly torn apart, it meant to me the end of the world.

Our existence had been peaceful, I'd delivered to Nida and Quistis my position at Balamb Garden to take on the art of photography and she was there with me, by my side.

No more fighting, wondering whether or not it is the tomorrow when we may be permanently separated. No, not any longer. For us, it was the most peaceful time of our lives. My photography was becoming as much a part of my life as her. In fact, she worshipped my images. As she loved writing, my images always impressed and intrigued her. Once I hung a photograph on the wall, it was of nothing but a dying rose, it was her eyes which spoke to me of her appreciation and love for this particular piece of artwork.

Yes, that time we spent together had been perfect and happy. A happiness so real and pure, that I have not forgotten it under any condition. My every heartbeat has remembered that feeling with a profound regret.

I recall the day she had convinced me to see the doctor since I'd been suffering a strange and most inexplicable loss of my peripheral vision. I still remember the news I'd received and the complete lack of hope that I'd felt.

I'd become depressed and closed off again and she hadn't understood since I'd never told her about my condition. I was afraid of what she'd say, what she'd do. If she'd leave me or not.

After all, what good is a man to a woman if he can't even protect her? If, eventually, he'd become nothing but a burden to the one he loves? It's too much to ask that she sacrifice her life for me, offer her best years to someone who is to become so weak and helpless.

I'd tried to leave her before it had developed to the point where it would be obvious but the words would never leave my mouth. I went through small surgeries, tried treatments, nothing helped. It had been too far along. Too developed already.

Then, I'd come home one day to discover her crying. When I'd asked her what it was about she hadn't said a word, she'd simply handed me a note. After she'd left the room I'd understood why it was she'd been so upset. Scribbled in blue pen in her cluttered handwriting was a phone number, one I'd come to recognize all too well.

The local hospital. I'd been too nervous to approach her and much to my surprise, she'd began distancing herself as well. I don't know if it was out of fear of my condition or if it was because she had a growing hatred for me because I had lied to her. I'll never know. I just remember those eyes not being the same as before. They were still beautiful, but not because of their vibrancy. It was now in a wistful sort of way.

Eventually, I'd gotten angry and had taken out my hurt and confusion on her. It would have been easier if she had been more herself, if she'd reached out to me in the way she had before, if she hadn't changed into a person I'd hardly recognized.

I know now how ignorant I'd been to place my problems on her. She couldn't possibly understand the pain of knowing you're going to lose your vision. The pain of knowing that your lover will never care for you like they used to, will never see you as the same person again, never again.

In part it was my weakness, some might say, but all I wished for was to maintain my pride that way. As Squall Leonhart, the ex-Commander of Balamb Garden, front Commander who had lead the fight against a demon threatening all of mankind, and who had won. "A brave man."

Those were the very thoughts that had led me to the conclusion that there is no acquisition for the troubled man who feels like nothing but a burden to the ones he loves. Therefore, certain people and feelings are best to remain in memory, because somehow, even in killing myself slowly it has served a purpose. It is for the best.

I'd almost convinced myself of this, but then, out of nowhere her words would come to me from that night. The last time we'd been together.

She'd stood in the doorway, a suitcase in her hands and a wistful beauty in her eyes. I remember her asking me "Why?" and my only response had been, "I don't know what to say." Her expression had explained to me that she felt the same, but her eyes had caught sight of something at that moment and before I'd dared to look she'd captured my attention once more with her words.

"Do you know… why the rose dies?"

By the time she'd left and closed the door behind herself, I still hadn't thought of a word to say.

The sad part is, we were engaged to get married that very weekend.

After our breakup, I'd lost contact with anybody from Garden, with anyone at all. I'd lived in seclusion, allowing my grief to eat away at me whenever and wherever it felt like it.

I'd truly become the helpless, blind weakling which I'd always feared I'd become. The worst part was that I'd ever thought I could secure my pride in such a way. Once the realization had come to me about how wrong I'd been, I'd found my answer in the only person and feeling that I know so well, in my every heartbeat. For I hadn't forgotten, even over the years. By the time I'd gone looking for my beloved ten years had passed, she would be twenty-nine. I hadn't known what to expect.

Would she still be angry with me? Would she still want an answer to her question?

Of course, the first place I'd sought her out had been Garden, my old home. By now, I was completely blind, and all I remember from meeting my friends again was how it seemed like we had never met before in our lives. They'd all met me with the same light-heartedness that we'd had when we'd actually known each other, but they had failed to withhold gasps at how I looked, how evident my loss of sight was, I presume, was what had elicited them. I remember knowing, just somehow knowing that each and every one of them was carrying a burden. I could sense it in their words, the way they'd attentively took my hands to guide me, and I also remember thinking how symbolic it had been, how much it reminded me of the past. Except this time, I allowed them to help me.

After I'd been there a whole day and they had invited me to dinner I'd figured that I could safely say that Rinoa hadn't been staying there. I'd felt it an appropriate question to ask then, if one of them might know where she'd gone after our split.

"Do any of you know where Rinoa is?"

My question had gone unanswered for many moments before I could almost capture the sound of a whimper coming from Selphies direction. Were they mad at me, too? I'd thought, "Have they all sided with Rinoa because of how ignorant I've been in the past? Have they only felt the need to be so kind to me because the reality of my condition has only been allowed to hit them on this very day?"

"Yes."

My answer had come from Nida, who had assumed the role of authority since my absence. I remember thinking how much he resembled my younger self due to his newly developed characteristics.

It had become silent again after that. Not just a normal silence, but a silence that I can still hear, much like the happiness that I can still feel although it is now tainted by a bitterness.

"Squall," he'd begun and I remember thinking to myself one million thoughts in that one moment.

First questions that I'd tried to answer and when I'd found no answers I'd drew a blank. The only thought left in my mind being for me to maintain my composure, my dignity, as much dignity as a blind man can uphold.

"Rinoa was sick, she died a year ago."

I know I'm blind, but I wonder if at that moment they could see the emotion in my eyes. I hadn't cried until I'd excused myself and Zell had escorted me back to one of the guest rooms.

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I'm sure that they could all tell how much I'd cried when they'd greeted me at breakfast that morning. There was still that eerie silence hovering over us all. After I'd gotten an address and had wished them all farewell I'd sworn never to return back to Garden. Of course they'd made offers, all of which I'd turned down. Somehow, that nagging feeling of losing my pride was still there. Smaller now, but I still felt it, more so with my old friends than other people.

I don't remember the precise amount of time it took me to gain enough courage to go there. All I remember was how many times I'd replayed those last few moments we'd had together in my mind. Over and over again. It had tormented me then more then it ever had before.

Then the day had come. I'd called up a taxi and removed the small slip of paper with the address written on it from the drawer beside my bed. Kept there like something holy, and to me, it was.

I remember the long and nerve-wracking ride, how my mind had raced with questions and an uncertainty I've come to learn to live with. When we'd stopped I remember feeling like my heart had as well.

"We're here," the driver had told me and then he'd offered his support.

After stepping foot out of the taxi I'd had to struggle to keep from falling over. I couldn't bring myself to believe that she is really gone and that I hadn't been there for her. My heart was beating out of my chest as the stranger who had driven me helped me find the stone with her name on it.

"Rinoa, Rinoa Heartilly, right?"

I remember nodding and hearing that silence again, except this time the sounds of the summer breeze and the soft bristling of leaves against the branches of trees kept me slightly more at ease.

"I'll give you some time alone now, call on me when you're ready to leave."

Before giving myself the time to think and take in all that had happened to me I'd found myself brushing my fingers against the stone. Carefully memorizing it's shape and feel, finding some kind of solace in feeling the familiar name carved across it.

I felt like I could cry again, for the rest of the day, until the end of the year, for eternity. Instead I'd grasped the flower that was in my hand tighter and prepared myself.

"Do you know… why the rose dies?"

Her words had repeated themselves so clearly in my subconscious that I'd felt as if she were there with me. It was like I could hear her smiling, picture it in my mind as clear as any photograph I'd ever taken, and absolutely, definitely more beautiful.

I'd rested the flower down after feeling around for the mound of dirt before my knees and suddenly something strange happened.

I smiled. It was something about the feeling that being in that place gave me, of course I still felt like I could burst into tears at any given moment and of course I wasn't happy about my situation just then, either. It was simply a split second feeling as if she were there with me, the familiarity of her presence sending shivers up and down my spine, making my breath quicken and my senses become alert, even more so than your average blind mans.

It had been the beginning of my understanding of what she had meant. I could feel it, like a refreshing air all around me, the first I'd breathed after drowning in all of my regret and sorrow for the last ten years of what had been my miserable life.

"Yes," I'd said simply to the grave, "I do, Rinoa. It's when you lose sight of why you have your love for it, when you become blind to the reason why that flower was important to you. After all, there are plenty of other flowers. I realize now that it's because they mean nothing to me, it's because that single flower, that one that I protected, that I might like to think, helped grow in someway is special to me, out of all the others. It's when I lose sight of all of that..."

I'd wiped the tears from my eyes and gotten to my feet shakily. Somehow, I knew this made her happy, this answer.

"You've missed out on so much." I could hear the familiar words in my mind, her voice saying them like that time on the Raganark. And for some reason unknown to me I'd answered them.

"... I know," I'd whispered while turning to leave, not expecting a reply, but there had been a sudden silence like the time around me stopping. Then all at once the heaviness in the air had vanished with a newborn breeze.

"Goodbye, Squall." I could almost hear her sweet voice say to me, like a gentle whisper in my ears, carried on this breeze. Of course I'd dismissed it as just that, the breeze. I'll always remember it, though.

Just like I remember that hopelessness and the silence. Just like I remember our happiness and her smile. That familiar feeling of us, in my every heartbeat.

"Goodbye".

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Fin.