The Tragic Unending Play
An invitation for a few drinks. Friday. 9:00PM. Madame Christmas' bar. Nothing formal. Just as friends.
As always. The stage for our tragic unending play.
Nothing ever changed with that man. Not that I ever wanted anything about him to change. I doubt I ever would either. Perhaps his maturity and serious nature could shine more often though. It would save me the nagging. I giggled slightly; after all I'd miss getting on at him. I ran a brush through my long hair. He preferred it that way, and said that I looked scarily serious with short hair. Even more so than usual. He actually seemed genuinely upset when I had it cut short again after the Promised Day. As the brush reached the end of my hair I clasped it in both hands. It was strange to think that it had been almost five years since that day and just how the world had moved on.
However some scars and burdens could not be forgotten, no matter how much we wish for them to fade from existence.
Our first 'meeting', as the General tried oh so desperately hard to avoid using the word 'date', fell five months after that day. An invitation for a few drinks. Friday. 9:00PM. Madame Christmas' bar. Nothing formal. Just as friends. The same happened again nine weeks later. Then five weeks, followed by four, then seven, and so on until recently there was six weeks, another six, then eight weeks, and now it had been three weeks since the last one. I could remember it all.
If I had known at the beginning how this hopeless cycle would transpire would I have acted differently?
The taxi dropped me off five minutes prior to nine o'clock. Upon stepping out I couldn't help but smile. So much for nothing formal! Roy was stood by the door, impeccably dressed in his dark three piece suit almost hiding behind the bouquet of flowers held out in his right hand. Though I was hardly one to talk. I stepped out in a short black sleeveless dress with a small brown leather jacket and brown leather boots. My hair fell lightly over my shoulders and ruffled slightly in the cold wind as I clutched my bag. He lowered his hand carrying the flowers awkwardly, eyes staying on me. I was used to seeing him all dressed up, and he rarely caught me like this. I tried to avoid blushing due to his gaze as I approached him. My hand brushed his as I gently grasped the flowers he handed me, the touch seeming to shake him back to reality. Taken off guard he stepped back, but quickly countered by wrapping his arm around me ushering me inside. His hand lingered hauntingly on my back for a little too long before moving to my shoulder.
And so the curtain rose for another act of our tragic unending play.
He led me to a small high table for two and pulled out one of the barstools for me. I smiled courteously, placing my bag and flowers delicately on the awkwardly small table, before taking the seat. It was the finest strategic point in the bar. I had noticed that on our first… whatever he wanted to call it. Close enough to the bar, yet far enough as to avoid the traffic of people fighting for drinks. Equally the table was rather isolated from the rest, so we remained uninterrupted and could discuss matters without fear of prying ears. It seemed like the man's brilliant militant mind never rested. He disappeared to the bar for a moment and returned with drinks almost immediately afterwards. He could never have been served so quickly. Not on a Friday night. Not in a place like this. Madame Christmas looked over with a warm joking smile and a wink, a façade to mask her sorrow and pity.
She's witnessed this scene play out enough times to know exactly how it all ends. She must know.
The career driven Mustang made the first appearance. He spoke of his moves and advancements in the military, as if I wasn't aware of them already. Regardless I listened intently and offered advice where I could. He exploited even the slightest of opportunities to its fullest potential and had made considerable progress. In spite of this he remained humble and level headed, keeping his eyes on his eternal goal: becoming the Führer. It was quite admirable, not to mention endearing. Onlookers might have guessed that he didn't know me at all when I got irritated at him trying to buy every round of drinks. I could fare for myself and wouldn't allow anybody to treat me like that. A small lecture quickly put him back in his place as I ordered the next round. Madame Christmas had two more drinks poured and ready by the time I reached the bar. Other customers weren't too keen on the special treatment or the free drinks the two of us received. Though she did say the future Führer would have a rather large tab to pay off when he came into power. I still slipped some money behind the bar with a smile and thanked her for the drinks. I seriously still question if the only reason we come here is because Roy gets free drinks…
Truly, the saddest part of each act lies in the fact it never fails to make me forget the repeated past and the imminent future. It gives me hope, a mere prerequisite for heartbreak.
After a few more drinks the conversation lightened as we diverted to talk of old friends. The Elric brothers, Edward and Alphonse, and stories of their travels were always a hot topic of conversation. Mustang provided an 'ever so slightly tipsy' impression of Alex Armstrong, sadly without the trademark shirtlessness, muscles, and sparkling. He then proceeded to compare me to Alex's sister, Olivier. Not the strong and respectable aspects of her however, instead he claimed similarity on the basis of being stern and cold. I don't think I ever stopped smiling at his stupid ramblings. Of course it was impossible not to mention the old squad- or gang as Roy accidentally called them, much to his embarrassment- Vato Falman, Heymans Breda, Jean Havoc, and Kain Fuery. Havoc supposedly finally got himself a girlfriend though these rumours often fell disappointingly flat so neither of us held out hope. A shame really. We reminisced over the old times with plenty of laughs and drinks. It wasn't long before things darkened over the mention of the past, one man; Maes Hughes. The Colonel hid it well but beneath his resolve the man's heart still ached over the loss of his closest and dearest friend. We paid our respects to the Brigadier General over our final drink as the alcohol began to take its toll upon the two of us and we decided to leave.
Thus we drew closer to the finale. The climax. The crescendo. The end of this act.
I held my bag and flowers tightly under my right arm. Despite my best efforts I was shaking, though not due to the cold of night, it was nerves that wracked my body. Thoughts gnawed in my head of what was destined to come. Roy noticed and in a true gentlemanly manner, draped his jacket over my shoulders and slipped his hand round my waist. It felt completely natural to accept his warmth and advancement. I even found myself leaning into him a tiny bit while walking. I wanted to believe it was for warmth at the least, or even to hold myself up better, but I knew it wasn't. It was what I wanted; to be close to him. I glanced up at him. He really is everything I've ever wanted, everything I've ever dreamed of. But his eyes were set dead ahead. He walked strong but it was a front. His hand clenched my dress. He wasn't there. His mind was elsewhere. Seems I wasn't the only one who was distracted. I lowered my head to conceal my sorrows. With that his entire mood changed. You'd think it was because we'd finally found a taxi.
In reality, it was because he was attempting to rewrite the script which had been set in stone.
As we stumbled through the door to my home Black Hayate bounded over to us, sitting dutifully before our feet awaiting the unbridled affection he was sure to receive from my superior. Needless to say within seconds they were hugging, rolling around on the floor, and playing. I watched for a few moments, captivated by this side of the General that nobody else saw, before hanging up my jacket and heading through to the kitchen. Glancing back my eyes met the beautiful man being pinned down by my tiny dog. I rolled my eyes while Roy fought my companion to get back on his feet. He cleared his throat awkwardly and dusted himself off in an attempt to regain his composure. I rolled my eyes and stifled my laughter. There was an empty space in the kitchen where I always put the flowers he gave me. The place didn't look right without them. In their usual vase they sat and completed the kitchen. As he completed me. I whirled round to find the man before me. He grasped my right hand with his left as his right hand found my waist and my left touched the side of his neck. His scent and touch drew me in. Everything went so slowly but so quickly. My eyes drowned in his, lost within a fantasy of happiness, excitement, and love, only to close and lost all that for a sensation more amazing than any: his lips pressed against my own.
Though behind those eyes welled tears stuck in a nightmare bearing sadness, regret, and heartbreak. Those lips longed for the fleeting finite to become infinite, and for time never to move on.
There was a warmth to him that I had never felt before until times like this. I never ever wanted to feel anything but this warmth. It burned all my senses before it slowly completely consumed me. There was no greater feeling in this world. I lost myself in that warmth, in him, and became his. We stumbled drunkenly through the kitchen and back into the hallway, our lips never separating except for the slightest fractions of seconds, until we found ourselves reconnected in passion. He had me against the wall, thankfully the coats served to cushion me while the General and I were joined in a moment of sheer intimacy. My heart raced as our tongues touched and I allowed a gentle moan to escape my mouth. In the blink of an eye I was being cradled in his arms though never did our lips part. He carried me through to the bedroom and lay me down on the bed. There was no worry or fear in his eyes, just certainty. I was not given long to either catch my breath or savour the gentle act as I sat up immediately to feel his warmth again. We threw ourselves around together in ways only lovers could. Time eluded me. I could feel and remember everything for what felt like forever yet it felt like a mere instant. His hand reached the straps of my dress and bra, and ran underneath them over my shoulders and to my back.
Everything to nothing.
His hands stopped. The man froze. The fire disappeared. His eyes became sullen pits of darkness that took away all life. After being motionless and lifeless, he began to tremble. He removed his hands from under my dress and lifted them off of me. He hesitantly retracted them, never taking his eyes off them. His mouth twitched as he murmured;
"The scars. Riza. I, you, scars…"
I had to stay strong. I couldn't hurt him anymore. I withstood the daggers that were his eyes as they turned back toward me. Tears streamed down his face, driving and twisting those daggers deeper into my being. He stumbled back off the bed on to his back and retreated to the wall. Once there, he leaned against it for support and stared back down into his hands. He screamed and buried his face in his hands.
"I did that to you… The scars. I did that… The fire. I burned you. I hurt you… I… scarred you. Riza, the screams, Riza. The screams. Your screams. I… I can't."
A single tear rolled down my cheek which began the full stream of tears. I was never strong enough to withstand seeing him in this state. It tore me apart. The worst part however, was truly that there was nothing I could do. Previous attempts at comforting him sent him berserk to the point where he couldn't see me after that for a month. Reassuring him only furthered his despair and distractions were truly a waste of time. Instead I removed myself. I couldn't even bring myself to look at the man I loved while tears ran down my face. All I wanted to do was to hold him. To protect him. To love him! But I couldn't. I had to stand back and endure his pain and my own. In the few metres that separated us lay a wasteland caused by a single flame. To think that something burning could create such cold. Eventually the husk of a man rose from against my wall and moved to leave the room. His feet dragged as he fell into the wall and then the door. I just had the strength to lift my head to catch a glimpse of him looking back before he fled from sight.
He could never fathom the pain he caused me. Not then or now.
I heard the front door shut. The bedding was tossed around. My hair was a mess. My clothes barely hung on to me. With my head hung in pain tears dropped on to my open hands. You always were useless on a rainy day Mustang. I couldn't take it anymore. I let it all loose. My fists clenched, nails digging bloody into my hands. Any resistance I had broken down as I wailed, tears pouring from my eyes. I slammed my fists against the bed and against my things. I curled up and rocked back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until I embraced the emptiness within me and fell on the bed. Nothing. I was nothing without him. Black Hayate appeared from nowhere to offer his sympathies as he licked tears from my cheeks and cuddled up against my stomach, whimpering. I didn't even feel him. I didn't feel anything. There was just a numb cold in place of where a person ought to be. I didn't even think. My head was empty. Feeling and thinking hurt and I just didn't have it in me to perform either action. I closed my eyes and braced myself for a sleepless night, or one riddled with nightmares of pain, or the worst, a night filled with dreams of being with the man I love.
And so the curtain fell once more on our tragic unending play.