Decumbo Amor
(Chapter 4—Love Hurts by Tifa Lockhart)
As soon as Vincent made his way backstage he collect the money and carelessly tossed in into his black duffle bag and immediately grabbed a thin white button down dress shirt. He hated his chest being exposed. The scars were pulled out so many memories, so many nightmares, from his head.
He didn't chat with the many dancers as they talked and counted their money. The dark haired man just wanted to get of that place that sounded and smelled of nothing but sin and lust.
"Valentine!" a accent voice called out, "Get your ass back over here! Don't cha run off without talking to me!"
"I have been tolerating you all month, Reno. What do you want?" Vincent said annoyed.
"Phfft. Don't go playin' that game with me. I saw ya with the Tifa girl. I thought you were big on the no touchy, touchy rule," Reno chuckled, "I happen to have good connections with her if you're interested," Reno winked behind the taller man.
Vincent let out an unpleased grunt and shrugged.
Wow! Usually he'd just walk away without so much as blinking at the Turk. He took it as a good sign.
"She's taken," Reno watched Vincent slowly close his eyes, "but it could hardly be called a loving relationship. Constantly at each other's throats, yo. You'd have the change. By the way she was lookin' at you, yo, it wouldn't be too hard," Reno slapped the ex-Turk on the shoulder.
Vincent gave him a deadly glare. Reno quickly pulled his hand away. Maybe it wasn't such a good thing…
Then the dark man walked out of the building as silent as a soft breeze. God, what a freak.
Vincent walk through the dark parking lot to his black car parked in the blacked shaded of the tree in the midnight moonlight.
Vincent sighed as the body oils he used made the white shirt cling to skin uncomfortably. He shifted before pulling his keys out to start the sports car. There were days he hated his job and days a almost liked it. Almost.
Today's work was…different. He knew he wasn't allowed to touch the customers, just like how the customers weren't allowed to touch the dancers. That rule was rarely enforced.
There were shares of attractive to plan of regulars but none of were of any interested to him.
But tonight…
His perfect lips turned into a scowl. It was stupid to even acknowledge the woman that obviously didn't want to be there. Vincent's body had a mind of its own when he saw her covering her eyes innocently and her beautiful body.
He sighed as he came to a stop at the glaring red light. It wasn't like he would ever see her again anyways.
Vincent sped up on the bar Corvette with the canopy down to let the cool night breeze sweep into his skin's pores and silky black strands of hair.
Vincent Valentine was one of richer men in the small but busy town. Being a Turk brought in a great deal of money and being asleep for 30 years gave him an awesome amount of interest from the bank. On top of that, the nights he would thrust his hips a little for the desperate women any man could get paid $200-$400 dollars in a single night.
He drove up to his extremely small apartment on 14th Velvet Street. Vincent didn't need much space when he was by himself and never had visitors so why spend money on a big house and rooms of dusty furniture?
After parking his car in the cement parking building, walking past a man and pregnant woman climbing into the car in a rush and two dark men that deal to the crack whores and housewives, they made sure to keep their distance and only speak when spoken to when it came to Valentine.
His shoes clanked against the steel steps that leaded to the top apartment on the fifth level of the industrious building.
Clank; echo, echo, echo.
Clank; echo, echo, echo.
Clank; echo, echo, echo.
Vincent pulled out the only gold key on his key chain and inserted the key into the doorknob. The metal was cut into random but customized sharp, jagged that worked with the lock to open the door.
Flipping on the lights and walking inside he was relieve when the cool, damp apartment blew against his face. But as he was walking in on the hard wooden floor he kicked a small box packaging box. Picking it up to examine it the address read "VINCENT VALENTINE" in a sloppy, inky computer text. He set it down on a small black but modern table. Right now he just wanted to bathe.
His apartment was fit for his style. Who knew the under the cheap white plaster walls would be old, messy, and brown bricks? It definitely gave the tiny living room an older feel.
The apartment was small. It walked into his living room/office that had one large black couch with two large, comfortable red ones on the left and right wall, the right wall, however, had two large French doors on the stone wall that led to a bedroom. The floor was a dark, almost black, colored wood with a good size white rug where the couches were arranged.
The office was made of an open area set aside from the living room on the opposite side of the entrance. The large book case was connected to a matching desk.
His kitchen was separated by the dark marble counter. The kitchen was rather simple; a refrigerator, microwave, oven/stove, and a sink: all black and sleek and looking at each other in two lines of on the counter. At the end was another door that led to the same bedroom as the living rooms'.
The bedroom was taken over by a large red, black, and white king sized bed. The room was the color white again but had a large painting with his signature color skim.
Vincent walked further into his home to the bathroom, but this room with black tile with black walls. The large mirror dominated the bathroom that had a rather large shower with a door, a deep bath tub, and a sink.
Stripping himself of his black leather pants and white, oily dress shirt the man stepped into the shower. Vincent turned the on the shower the as hot as the water would allow and just stood under the boiling water, washing away dirt and grim.
He looked down at his chest and nearly gagged in disgusted. It was nothing but scars and discolored skin delicately draw onto the soft skin. Hojo had taken the pleasure to cut into his skin; drawing painful circles and curves as if Vincent's body was an art canvas.
He stood under the boiling water so long his skin turned red before he continued his washing.
Once Vincent was finished he stepped out of the shower in the steamy and suffocating bathroom to grab a towel and wrapped in around his lean but strong hips.
His wet feet padded against the black floor into the bedroom.
He thought about what Reno had told him backstage and pulled out a pair of black pajama pants and a black wife beater. When he had heard that long haired woman at the club was taken he was a little disappointed.
'Why should you? Of course that woman would have been taken already. There are a lot of women in relationships that still visited strip joints,' Vincent thought to him self in disgust.
Since when did he get hung over up over a pretty face and some silicone? He had Lucrecia. Even if she was really dead now he still had his only true love.
'I still have Lucreia…," Vincent thought to himself as he picked to open the brown package he had left laying on the table.
Ripping away at the wide tape and stickers he slid the item out of the cardboard.
A novel slid out into his left hand.
Vincent had forgotten he had ordered the book online. He examined the cover of it.
It was a picture of a brunette and a blonde haired man. The man had his arm wrapped arm the woman and the angel was as if one of the couple had taken it to post on their MySpace. The woman had a small smile on her lips, with a closer look he could she bruises on her neck, and the male had a smug grin of his.
The title was called "Love Hurts" by…
Tifa Lockhart.
Vincent stared at the name. The girl at work was named Tifa…But, so were probably 100 different girls in the town. Hell, it could have only been her name when she wrote books and her real name was Bertha Higgins.
He flipped the book around to look at the back. He was shocked.
So it was the girl from the club. She looked even more beautiful on the back on the book.
The Tifa girl was wearing a white sun dress and was sitting on a bright porch of an old, white house. The smile on her lips looked like it was fake, however. Maybe she didn't want to take the photo shoot.
Vincent plopped himself down on his couch.
oOoOo
It was so cold. She thought she had found happiness, light, love.
Staci cover her face as her boyfriend, Ben, pushed her to the ground. The frail girl hit the ground and sobbed. The tears leaked from her eyes for the sake of her life.
"Why are you so weak," Ben asked with stinging words. He took a stride over to her cowering body. His large hands reached for her neck as she lay there, shivering in fear.
The blonde haired monster picked up Staci by her neck and slammed her against the wall. The shock of the blow stunned her as she stared at him with her large deer-like eyes when she felt her jugular being crushed slowly by the hand of her lover and attacker.
"Listen to me and listen tome well you fucking bitch," Ben began, his grip not hindering at all.
"You never say anything to Amy again. The next time I fucking see you talking to her I'll kill you."
Staci replied with a choke. How could he say these things? The other day she had confronted the Amy girl and discovered that Ben was having an affair with the tiny girl. And now she was being beaten for it. She felt guilty. If she had just left when she found out about Amy then she wouldn't be suffocating.
Ben threw Staci to the ground, being sure her head of brown hair had hit the floor he spit on her in disgust. "I wish you were dead. You're nothing to me anymore," Ben smiled and crouched down to her level in the cold floor, "But you're so desperate for attention you stay. Just like the whore you are."
"You wanna know who Amy is? She's mine. I never loved you. I fucked her good and hard. And you know what? I liked it. The best fuck I've ever gotten."
With that he kicked Staci in the ribs, leaving sores spots and bruises.
"I…I still love you…Ben…," Staci sobbed and crawled the at least prop herself up on her screaming arms. There wasn't anything true love could undo.
"Of course you do you whore. But I don't. I never did. And I'll start loving you when hell freezes over."
She cried when she heard to door slam. Would he come back? Would he go to Amy? She didn't care anymore. He did his damage and he'd probably bait her back again, just like he did before, with sweet nothings and kisses. The result always put her at the bottom.
Staci picked herself up, the bruises on her legs ached when the muscles under them moved and contracted. The lifeless, hollow doll struggled her way into the small bathroom with a zombie.
The beaten woman looked through the wooden drawers when she found a small metal replacement wrapped in thin white paper. It was Ben's.
It's true that we're all a little insane at times.
Her long fingers torn at the paper and a replacement razor blade exposed its self. She wasted no time to push into deep within her palm and slide down on the side on the cold tile wall.
"I couldn't hide it anymore. I never wanted it to be so cold. You just didn't drink enough to say it. I wanted you to at least say it, Ben. Did you forget how we were when we were young?"
The razor was pushed deeper into the nerves or muscles.
"It's okay though, I still love you. You may not but it's okay. It's okay. Anything is better than being alone. It's better this way but I wonder what's wrong with me. What's the fuck is wrong with me?! I'm not beautiful. I'm not loveable."
The razor was now complete surrounded by broken veins and arteries, broken flesh and muscles.
She felt a certain high feeling the numbness fade away. The blood flowed into a large pool. A beautiful pool of love and anguish stained blood poured over her thighs, stomach, and the tile.
It was almost one o'clock in the morning and Vincent was almost finished reading the book he order call "Love Hurts" by Tifa Lockhart.
He found her book very morbid and dark when it came to Staci's and Ben's relationship. How Ben had taken up a mistress but still kept Staci like a slave. Now she was pushed to the edge.
The detail of the book either showed great intelligence and understanding, or just flat out experience.
He read on.
Hours pasted.
He finished the book.
Vincent could see why people raved over the book. Its look into an abusive relationship made it candy to weak women that wanted to see how they see themselves.
He stretched his long legs before heading to bed.
(End of Chapter 4)
This chapter took days because I didn't have a clue on how I wanted to end it. Please put your input on it!
Suggestions, advice, flamers, requests, anything you want with the story tell me! I actually still haven't exactly put together the couple yet but I have in-the-relationship ideas…So it'll be slow until then!