Author's Notes: See chapter one for disclaimer.
Thanks so much to vashsunglasses, GuesssWho, Sheamaru, Miscellaneous Penguin, Invader Sideos, JuleWooster, thesupernugget, Reds Owshad Dark, and Saiyajin Princess Chichi for reading and reviewing chapter eight! I rather liked that chapter, and I'm glad you all did, too.
I'm really sorry for being late with this chapter. Life kinda ganged up on me again, and I really didn't feel like writing this when I was supposed to. I wish I had a better excuse for being late, but I don't. Hopefully there won't be any more delays in the future.
The song "Anywhere" was written by and belongs to Evanescence. I love the song, and it clicked right into place with the scene I'm using it in. Hopefully I'm not breaking any rules by including the song in this chapter. Consider it a form of homage to my favorite band. Now, I know there's a song on their latest album called "Lacrymosa", but that's not where I got the chapter title. I'm a huge Evanescence fan, but that part's just a coincidence.
My Immortal
By Annie-chan
Chapter Nine: Lachrymose
Johnny opened his eyes. A sharp pain was throbbing along his neck and between his shoulder blades. For a moment, he wasn't sure where he was or what he had been doing. He just knew he was in a very uncomfortable position.
A few seconds later, it hit him. He was sitting cross-legged on the bare floor of his bedroom, leaning sideways against the equally bare wall. His die-ary was sitting open on his lap, and a pen was held loosely in the fingers of his right hand, which was lying limply on the page. The reason his neck and shoulders were hurting so much was because he was hunched over awkwardly, his head hanging low over the book.
Fuck. I've been sleeping again.
He sat up, wincing slightly as his sore muscles protested. Looking down at his die-ary, he realized he must have nodded off without warning. He had stopped writing in the middle of a word, unable to even finish his thought.
"Staying awake for days on end can do that to a person," a voice suddenly said from his left.
Johnny scowled darkly at Reverend Meat. The ceramic statue was still lying on the floor, cracked in places from its tumble off the dresser, but that apparently didn't hinder his ability to speak at all.
"I thought you were going to be quiet," he muttered, more to himself than to the statue.
"I said I'd be quiet for a while," Meat countered, "and it's been a few days now. I think a while is now up."
"Hmph," Johnny grunted.
"You should get into bed and sleep some more," Meat said, ignoring Johnny's irritation. "God knows you need much more than the little bit of rest you managed to get down here on the floor."
"Don't talk to me about God," Johnny growled. "And why would I willingly go back to sleep? I detest sleep."
"I know, I know," Meat conceded, though with the tone of parent having grown bored with their child's stubbornness. "It 'dissolves what certainty you have left.' Despite your ridiculous opinion of it, however, you can't deny that your body needs it. Your brain would die with exhaustion without it."
"Just why are you still talking, anyway?" Johnny suddenly asked, sidestepping the subject at hand. "I've already admitted that you've won. Haven't you finished serving your purpose by now?" He spoke through his teeth, loath to mention his defeat. It had been at least three days now, but his wounded pride had yet to begin healing.
"One would think so," Meat seemed to shrug. "I've decided to stick around a little while longer, though. I want to make sure you really meant it. One can never be too careful about these things, especially concerning someone as unstable as you."
"Great," Johnny grimaced. Deciding to ignore anything Meat happened to say next, he looked down at the page he had been writing on before losing consciousness.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be lik
As he stared at the unfinished sentence, the thought that had been running through his mind at the time came back to him.
Sometimes I wonder what life would be like if things had happened differently. Would my life be better or worse? Would I be happy or unhappy? Sane or insane? Is there any way of knowing, and if there is, would I want to know? Life has so many possibilities and so many potential outcomes. Does even Destiny know what would have happened had he walked a different path?
After a moment, he picked up the pen again and crossed out the fragment. He really didn't want to finish that thought. Wondering how life would be different would inevitably lead to wondering if things between him and Devi would be different. That was not something he wanted to think about if he could help it.
"Where are you going?" Meat asked as Johnny stood up from the floor.
"Downstairs," the thin man replied, depositing the book and pen on his dresser. He gave no explanation. Indeed, no explanation was needed.
"I see," Meat said, seeming to nod. "Well, have fun, Nny."
"Mmph."
Devi looked down at her watch as she walked down the hallway toward her apartment.
Jeez, I was in that meeting longer than I thought. It's almost eight o'clock.
Shifting the portfolio she held under her arm, she reached into her pocket for her keys. She had just returned home from a meeting with the graphic arts director at Doppelganger Press. Ms. Sununu had wanted to see the progress Devi had been making on her current project for them, as well as give her a routine performance review. The meeting had turned into a discussion about how the project may best proceed from this point on, the two of them hashing out exactly what was expected of Devi and what Devi thought she could deliver. They had eventually come to an agreement, both of them on the same page as to what the finished product would entail.
Ms. Sununu is so much easier to talk with than Mr. Nevers was, she thought as she unlocked her front door. She's clear on what she expects from us artists, but she's not a Nazi about it. She actually values our input, rather than accuses us of "not being team players."
She entered her apartment and shut the door behind her. Setting her portfolio on the coffee table, she shrugged off her coat and tossed it on the couch. She'd put them where they belonged later. Right now, she wanted to get something to eat and then do some personal painting before starting on the concept sketches she had in mind for the Doppelganger project.
After turning the kettle on to boil water for a cup of instant ramen, she walked over to her entertainment system and opened her CD rack. She felt like painting to music tonight, as she often did while working on personal stuff. She didn't have any solid ideas in her head at the moment, and meant to just let the painting come out on its own. Music helped that happen, having inspired some of her favorite ideas in the past.
Picking out a CD Tenna had burned for her, she placed it in the CD player and pressed play just as kettle started whistling. She turned the music up loud enough to be easily heard in the drawing room, and went to add the water to the noodles to soak.
Tenna had given her this CD soon after Devi had begun shutting herself up in her apartment. She had described it as a collection of songs that would "help cheer her up." They weren't happy songs, per se, as that wasn't the kind of music Devi was interested in, but it was for the most part more positive fare than she generally listened to. It was a good mix of songs, she had decided, and put it in every so often while she was painting or reading.
Humming along with the first track, she perused her collection of pigments, randomly picking out colors to use. Blue, black, white, red, brown…
Slurping up some of the noodles from the steaming cup she had just retrieved from the kitchen, she stared at the blank canvas for a few moments, just thinking. As the first notes of the second song on the CD drifted in from the living room, she picked up her brush and started.
Devi recognized what was playing and smiled a bit. She liked this song. It had a nice relaxing rhythm, and the singer's voice was beautiful.
Dear my love, haven't you wanted to be with me
And dear my love, haven't you longed to be free
I can't keep pretending that I don't even know you
And at sweet night, you are my own
Take my hand
She swept the wide-bristled brush across the canvas, painting broad swaths of blue over the off-white fibers. She started losing herself in her thoughts, letting her hands paint of their own accord. It wasn't often she let herself go on total autopilot like this, but some rather interesting paintings had come out of such half-trances before, so she did nothing to stop it.
Smiling again faintly, she remembered the conversation she had had with Derek over the phone earlier today. He had called her about a new exhibit that was opening at the art museum next week. The theme was to be Psychometric Impressionism, and he wanted to know if she was interested in going. It was an art style she wasn't very familiar with, but it sounded interesting, from what he described. She was intrigued to see it for herself.
We're leaving here tonight
There's no need to tell anyone
They'd only hold us down
So by the morning light
We'll be halfway to anywhere
Where love is more than just your name
Her relationship with Derek was really going well. They had only been on two real dates so far, but they had talked with each other on the phone plenty of times. Their conversation topics ranged from art to movies to politics to music to places they had been in the past. They often jumped from subject to subject and back again, going off on tangents and then returning to what they had been talking about twenty minutes before. Sometimes they came close to arguing, but then the conversation would go off in a different direction and they'd forget that they had even disagreed on something.
All in all, their "gab sessions" as Tenna called them had been rather enjoyable. Most of her previous "boyfriends" had been pretty decent conversationalists (until the inevitable date-ending disasters), but none of them had been quite as fun to talk with as Derek.
Well…that wasn't entirely true. There was one other person she had been able to hold such engaging conversations with, and she had known him for almost three months before they had gone out on a date. In those three months, she and Johnny had talked with each other almost every day about anything and everything under the sun. She had really liked that.
I have dreamt of a place for you and I
No one knows who we are there
All I want is to give my life only to you
I've dreamt so long I cannot dream anymore
Let's run away, I'll take you there
Ugh, Johnny. Why did she have to think about him? That was the one date she wanted to forget more than all of the others combined. Considering how shitty (sometimes literally) her dating history has been, that said quite a lot about her night out with the murderous psychopath.
It had started out so promising. It had only been a first date, but she had been thinking that maybe he was the one for her. They already knew each other well, so it wasn't a blind date or anything. She thought she knew him well, at least. Man, was she proven wrong later that night.
She scowled, swiping the brush over the canvas. After what had appeared to be her first good date in a long time, he had gone and ruined it in the worst possible way. In a matter of seconds, he had completely shattered her entire world, grinning like a demon the entire time. If she hadn't been lucky enough to land that initial kick, he'd probably have her head on a pike somewhere in that filthy little house of his.
"Damn you, Nny," she gritted, feeling tears prick her eyes. Fuck, she was letting her emotions get the best of her again.
We're leaving here tonight
There's no need to tell anyone
They'd only hold us down
So by the morning light
We'll be halfway to anywhere
Where no one needs a reason
"I thought we had something!" she bit out. "I was convinced I wanted to spend my life with you! And you ruined everything!!!" She was fairly slashing the brush across the canvas now, her voice getting louder with every word. Rage over the betrayal was boiling up again, and she was practically attacking the canvas, as if it were Johnny himself standing before her rather than her easel.
Finally, with a particularly vicious jab, she punched the end of her paintbrush right through the painting. With a snarl, she jerked the brush upward, tearing a wide gash across the surface, exposing the easel's framework underneath.
"BASTARD!!!" she shrieked, lashing out again and knocking the easel to the floor with such force that it skidded several feet toward the far wall before coming to a stop. Falling to her knees on the paint-splattered drop cloth, she flung her brush to the side in frustration. Wet paint was smeared across the backs of her fingers from where her fist had hit the canvas, and her hand throbbed dully with the impact. Though the pain was only slight, it was enough to make her brimming tears overflow and stream down her reddened cheeks.
Forget this life
Come with me
Don't look back you're safe now
Unlock your heart
Drop your guard
No one's left to stop you
"Why the hell are you crying?!" she muttered hoarsely to herself, swiping at her tears. She was in a relationship she was happy with. Why should she even care about what could have been in a previous relationship? That was all behind her now.
Listen to the song, she said inwardly, swallowing thickly as she did so. Deep down, that's what you wish you could say to Nny. He was perfect for you, and the idealistic little girl in you wanted nothing more than to run away and build a new life in a new home with him. A fresh start away from all your troubles. But he dashed those childish hopes of yours against the harsh rocks of reality and left you with nothing but the bitter fragments of your girlish fantasy. Could he possibly have been any crueler to you?
Was it really true? Was that why she was crying? Did she really wish things had gone differently between her and Johnny? But why would she have any reason to wish that? She had a boyfriend, and she was happy being with him. Derek was so much better for her than that circus freak could ever be. She'd have to be crazy to wish it was Johnny she was dating rather than Derek.
Forget this life
Come with me
Don't look back you're safe now
Unlock your heart
Drop your guard
No one's left to stop you now
Sniffling, her face streaked with tears and paint and makeup, she wobbled back up to her feet. Her head was swimming, and she almost dropped back to the floor. She needed to lie down before she passed out.
Looking down at the toppled painting, she saw through blurry eyes just what she had painted in her fit of emotion. The mere sight of it only made her cry harder. It was a crude picture, made up entirely of jagged slashes and rough edges, but even through her tears she recognized who it was.
Johnny C. stared back at her from the torn canvas, his expression serene and not at all threatening. He had often worn that look during their conversations in the bookstore, feeling wholly at ease with Devi and the complete openness she displayed while speaking with him. He had seemed to take special pleasure in their casual bantering, as if he preferred her company over anyone else's. Compared to the murderous psychopath she had discovered him to be, the face in the painting seemed to belong to an entirely different person.
We're leaving here tonight
There's no need to tell anyone
They'd only hold us down
So by the morning light
We'll be halfway to anywhere
Where love is more than just your name
Devi staggered out into the living room as the last lines of the song emanated from the speakers set around the room. Fairly collapsing onto the couch, she realized she was sweating, which only made her shiver in the cool air of her apartment. If she hadn't known any better, she would have thought she was developing a fever. Pressing her fingers to her temples, she tried to will herself to calm down.
It didn't work.
After several moments of futilely trying to relax, succeeding only in getting tenser and tenser with every passing minute, she sat up and reached for the phone. She dialed the first number that came to her mind, but suddenly stopped herself just as she was about to punch in the seventh digit. She was about to call Derek. She couldn't talk to him about this. How could she possibly explain to him that she had just been sobbing over an ex-boyfriend of only one date? One who had tried to kill her, no less? Her relationship with Derek was going well, but they had just barely started. If she threw all this on him after only two dates, chances are she'd never see him again. She didn't want to risk scaring him off when their relationship had such great potential.
Hanging up and starting again, Devi dialed a different number, one that was even more familiar to her.
"Tenna?" she asked shakily when the other woman answered. "Are you busy? I really need someone to talk to right now…"
To be continued…
Author's Notes: Sooooo…what do you think? Is it too dramatic, or did I keep it from going overboard? My original plan for this chapter had Devi more in control of her emotions, but I think I like it better this way. Music can evoke rather powerful feelings in a person, and since Devi is so passionate about painting, she's quite emotionally invested in her art as well. Mix those two things together with her volatile feelings surrounding Nny, and you potentially have a miniature meltdown like what she just had here. My only questions are if you guys think I wrote this chapter well, and if I used an appropriate song. I've never incorporated a song into a story before, and I'd greatly appreciate any input.
I suppose the first scene may seem a bit extraneous, but I'm not worried about it. I just wanted to give you guys a glimpse into how Nny is doing since his admission of defeat in the last chapter before going on to the main part of this chapter. If you think the first scene is pointless, I apologize.
Anyway, please leave a review. This chapter took me forever to write and edit, mainly because of various distractions that kept coming at me. One, my brain kept wanting to freeze up for no apparent reason. Two, I was treated to unnecessarily loud music from the cleaning crew in the apartment across the hall from me. Three, my seven-week-old kitten kept jumping up onto my lap and chewing rather vigorously upon my hands. As a result, I am rather tired out after writing and editing this. I would be most appreciative of any feedback you guys may have for me. The reviews so far have been lovely, and I hope you all continue to enjoy this story. I'm very thankful for your praise, believe me.
Yes, I snuck in another Sandman reference. Dunno what possessed me to do it, but I did. If you spotted it, nice work; if you didn't, too bad. In the words of the Almighty Tallest Purple, YOU SHOULD HAVE TRIED HARDER!!!
