Quick note: this chapter contains The Discussion. Sort of. I don't really like how dialogue-centric it is, but it's necessary. Please be patient with me, because this sets the stage for...well, the rest of the story.
You always hear about how people feel better or cleaner after a shower. Not so, apparently. Now that I'm out of the shower, the only thing I feel is embarrassed. I mean, I used to vomit when I was a kid - when I cried or got too angry or whatever - but I haven't done that since I was sixteen.
Yeah. Apparently, I'm not as strong as I thought I was, which is pretty dumb considering I didn't think I was strong at all. And I totally feel like a jerk for throwing up on Larxene. It wasn't my fault, but that doesn't make it any less...well, icky, as Axel would say.
I know what happens next. Larxene comes back, discovers that I'm not sick, and we have a Conversation. I know she won't lie to me - she doesn't really do bullshit well, and if she wants to hurt me, there are better ways - but I have to decide whether or not to lie to her. Normally I enjoy lying, but maybe I need to give it up for a while. For a night. For a couple of hours. It's just that if we want to be a real couple, secrets and lies will tear us apart. I don't believe in changing yourself just to fit in someone else's arms, but I do think she's worth the compromise.
...Sometimes my newfound maturity surprises me. I'm still reeling at the fact that I haven't run away yet.
"So," she says, inching under the covers with me. I should have put some clothes on. I'm not necessarily modest, but I just feel a little too exposed. "Wanna tell me now?"
Okay. I'll just spit out everything I can, and hope I can get through all of it before my brain catches up. Deep breath.
Okay.
"I'm terrified," I tell her. "I feel like I'm changing, but not into something compatible with the rest of my life. Will you still want me when you know me better? When you know the horrible thoughts in my head? I want you, Larxene. I'd even want you if you we're standing over me with a chainsaw. But that doesn't mean...I mean. I don't know as much about you as you do about me, and that's okay, but there's something in me that rebels every time you tell me what to do. I have two sides, the one that likes the idea of what will happen if I disobey, and the one that scoffs at the idea of being ordered around. I want you, but more than that, I want to keep you. And I have no idea how. And things are tearing me up inside, but until I know what exactly is going on here, I can't even say them out loud."
...Shit. When I decided to just say it, I didn't mean for it all to come out like a fluffy like cry for attention. Not that I don't want her attention. I just don't want it like this. She won't pity me, she's not like that, but I don't want her to think I want that from her.
She looks at me for a quiet moment and I'm terrified she's going to break up with me. The crazy part is, it would be an actual breakup.
"You're worrying too much, Naminé," she says, almost dismissively. "I don't think you and I have the same definition of 'want.' Besides, I doubt you could tell me anything that would make me leave."
Maybe she's right. But I don't think I can say it out loud just yet. "So...what exactly are we doing here? I don't mean here here, but...how is this going to work? I've been thinking about our conversation the other day, but I'm still not sure what..."
I wish I was gifted with words. My voice is doing that stupid watery thing and I don't even know how to phrase my question without sounding like a moron or just generally screwing it up.
"Tell me what you want," she says. The look on her face is almost hungry. I think she gets some kind of thrill out of making me tell her what's going through my head.
I shrug - partly because I don't know what exactly she means, and partly because I'd like to appear a lot more comfortable with this than I actually feel - and say, "I don't think I want what we initially discussed. It wouldn't be the same. I could live with it, but it would be more challenging than pleasurable and I think we'd both end up unhappy. But I...really liked it when you...you know. I don't...really know how to express this, but...um. Like I said...I'm at war."
She gives me an odd grin. "You know, you haven't really stumbled over your words like that in a while. I think it's indicative of discomfort. That means you're usually comfortable with me. And I think that means you can speak freely about topics we've previously covered. So there's something else bothering you, isn't there?"
"Yes," I tell her, "but I'm not ready to talk about it."
"Okay, then. As for your...relationship concerns, I already know you're not cut out for what you're thinking. To be honest, neither am I."
This makes me blink. What? I'd have thought she'd want something a bit more power-based than we currently have. It's already clear that she'd rather own me than love me. And she does own me.
"Don't give me that look, little girl," she says, almost chastising. "I like playing. You know that. You're not submissive enough to be a toy, and I'm beyond that stage. I need you to challenge me, not just let me play with you...besides, you can't play with broken toys. That's not how it works."
I don't know how to feel about this admission. I mean, on the one hand, it's such a typical Larxene thing I should have seen it coming. On the other hand, I don't know if I can challenge her, so what happens when she figures that out? "How does it work, then?"
"You're not submissive, but you are a masochist, from what I can tell. The two don't always go hand in hand. We act normal, do the things we usually do, and you let me know when you want something different. If I want something different, well...you take it, or you stop me. That's kind of the point."
I'm pretty sure I'd never stop her. I think she knows that too, but it's probably something that will go unsaid. "It sounds workable...but..."
"But what? Come on, Naminé, tell me. That's what you do when you're in a long-term relationship with someone."
Long-term? Despite the shitty situation, I'm going to die of happiness. Just a bit. "Why do you say I'm not submissive?"
"You want to keep me." I know it's the truth, but I can't figure out why, and I can't figure out how she knows. She slips down to cuddle me and I feel like I'm on fire. "I see the way you look at people - the way you looked at Zexion, the way you react when someone mentions your childhood. You're possessive and nasty and you hate it when people mess with things that are 'yours.' Even when those things are people. You refuse to let lesser people have power over you, like that fuckwad from when you re a kid, and you did that absolutely brilliant thing with your mouth this morning without asking for permission or waiting for direction."
"That..."
I think I should be flattered. From what I've observed, Larxene holds herself in the highest regard. I mean, I know her self-esteemed is kind of messed up, and she sort of compensates by asserting dominance over others, but the fact that she doesn't want that with me means that...
Well, what does that mean? She doesn't want a toy, she wants a partner, an equal. I don't consider myself her equal, but it's not up to me, is it? I may not feel like I even deserve her, but it's her decision to make. If she chooses to spend time with me, I should take her up on it. If she chooses to respect me, I won't shove it in her face. That's what clingy people do. That's what insecure people do when they want attention or validation. I'm insecure, yes, and I'm bitchy enough to manipulate her into validating me.
But I guess this means it's real love, because I refuse to do that.
"What?"
Oh, right. I never finished my sentence. "That was very astute. I'm not the type to just let go like that. And...you're right, I do get angry when my people get hurt."
I hope my face didn't do the pointed look it wanted to do. I don't want to undo what we've done here. But it looks like I didn't do a good job, because she frowns. "That's what's bothering you, isn't it? Zexion?"
"And you," I admit quietly. Before I have the chance to event think, I ask, "Have you ever considered killing anyone?"
"No," she says vehemently. "I may joke about it, but ultimately, I'm not that stupid."
The unspoken addendum here is and neither should you be. I feel like an idiot.
Larxene, thankfully, chooses to rescue me by saying, "I'm starving. Let's order food."
"Yeah," I reply, almost in a daze. "Sounds good."
I know she had plans to take me to Titan Peaks. I know she wanted to get an early start tomorrow. But I think...I'd rather just stay in bed, enjoying her. It's been a long time since we just sat still, and soon our little vacation from reality has to end. I'm trying to listen in on her conversation with whoever it is that takes food orders, but I'm still kind of...I don't know. I feel like there are only words, and I'm barely aware of my own body, except the burning thrill I get from touching skin and the complete lack of anything resembling arousal. But I just threw up, so it's not surprising that the hand stroking my hip bone isn't doing much other than giving me that nice burn.
"You know," she says, bringing me back to reality, "Marluxia once called you a ghost orchid. I didn't get it. But I think I do now."
Months of monotonous botany rants run through my head and I pick out the flower. Ghost orchid: gorgeous, fairly short-blooming, parasitic. Rare makeup, a dying species, but as with all orchids, associated with love and strength and beauty. I don't know what to make of that. Besides, I've always thought of myself as a dandelion: faithful, but ultimately an annoyance. But...maybe I don't have to be. Maybe it's time to cast off what doesn't work anymore.
Maybe it's time for a revolution.
