Chapter 31 - Weakening Ties
October, 1985
Orlin tells him to open the box in private.
He doesn't want to see what is inside.
So Sephiroth waits and holds it in his hands. It burns his skin.
They return to HQ together late that night.
Orlin laughs as Sephiroth insists that he walk him back to his apartment. The alcohol takes him completely by the time they get in the elevator. He slumps against Sephiroth and his words grow incoherent. They start as half sentences and break into empty words heavier and heavier with guilt. He takes him to his bed, peels off his shoes and pulls up the cover. Orlin is small as Sephiroth fusses with the edge of the blanket, not knowing what else to do. Eventually he empties a trash can, fills a glass of water and leaves both by his bed. Orlin's mutters collapse, the wrinkles smooth on his forehead and his breath evens out.
Only then does Sephiroth leave and slip away to his own room with the box tucked under his arm.
A journal sits inside the box when Sephiroth opens it.
The leather is scuffed and a silver clasp brings the edges together. Already, broken leaves have fallen out from between the pages and become dust in the corners. He lifts the journal out. Dead plants dribble further out between pages.
Something twitches in his mind. He's held this before. He is sure of it. Orlin warned him that this could hurt him. He chews on his lip and sets it next to him on his bed. He takes a few breaths, trying to make sure that he makes a good decision.
There is no good decision.
If he opens the journal, his destroyed mind might give up entirely. He can touch the danger, the sharpness of a cold knife against everything that he has built up since it was all lost. His fingers draw against the cover. Everything that he had lost. It could be right there. The mysteries of his life could be unspooled before him that explains every flash of a bloody past that he doesn't understand. Every slip up by Mariella and Orlin explained but what if it hurts? He has no idea what it might do to him.
He hovers there. The early hours of the morning slip by uncounted. The notebook stays where it is. It has waited this long, Sephiroth imagines that it can wait a little bit longer. Eventually, he draws it back into his lap. He plays with the silver clasp. It's cold and solid. He pushes the leather strap through it. Papers start to edge out from between the cover and the first page.
Sephiroth's head squeezes. It could explode.
He struggles, hangs onto the edge one more second.
The journal opens in his hands.
Carefully trimmed pieces of printed paper greets him before the handwritten pages start.
The words come to him before they can stop them, feeding into his bloodstream, catching it on fire.
Hello
Monday, Jan 16, 1984 at 09:56 AM
From: Mariella Haynes
Bcc: Landon Lemb , "Professor Hojo"
To: "Professor Gast"
—
Dear Professor Gast,
"Professor" is a hard word to spell. It has too many ss. Ms. Haynes is letting me type on her computer but she says she is not reading it. This is from Sephiroth. This is not Ms. Haynes.
Mariella tells me to tell you how I am. I am good. Charlie is good but he had an accident yesterday. It was not on the rug. The green gas is not good but not bad. I feel brave like you told me…
The rain drizzles through the clouds a week later.
Sephiroth wills the weather to pour against his umbrella as he walks back to HQ. The drops don't make a sound against the plastic and then they hang off the edge, teasing him. His breath raspy in his throat and he can't seem to catch it. The sidewalk is gray. He can't look up. It's too heavy to see other things. There is nothing of interest anyway. Why should he look? He walks this path every day.
School is the same too. The boys tease him and he takes it. When Mariella walks with him to HQ, her chatter comforts him but now everything is quiet. He closes his eyes. Does he even want to walk with her anymore? The hair on his arms goes prickly and he pulls himself back from walking into oncoming traffic. That ticks up his heart beat for a second. It's nice to know that it is still working.
He waits for the light.
It has been a week since he read his journal. Parts of it are memorized but he can't comprehend everything on the page. Sleeping hasn't come easy. Eating went away. Thinking fell apart after that. Now, well, now he isn't sure where he is.
The light clicks. The crosswalk sounds. His body automatically crosses. His socks are wet. When did that happen?
He goes hot and shivers. If it would just pour, everything would be better. As it stands, the umbrella is useless against the spray that falls against his face. The diary entries had done something to him. After the printed emails came pages and pages of written thoughts and drawings. It had hurt more and more until they cut off at his kidnapping.
Sephiroth had lost something. Knowing that had cut deep into him and now he couldn't stop the bleeding. He couldn't forget it. He had a life before he was kidnapped. He was happy. Annoyed at school and life but he had a childhood. The Sephiroth on the page was vibrant and alive compared to who he is now.
He sways to the left before coming back to walking in a straight line. He isn't sure how he is going to train with Dinand today. He hasn't felt himself in a few days. His muscles are weak. His attention slips off everything. Orlin hasn't bothered to show up to training so at least he doesn't have to worry about him.
He's not angry at Orlin. He's thankful that he knows more than he did before. Once he starts feeling things again, these written down memories can only make him stronger. Orlin gave him Professor Gast back. Somebody who had believed and loved him. The emails paint this warmth until the edge of grief cuts in. There is no explanation on why they stopped talking, just a nothingness.
The questions are endless. They build under his skin and bone and drag him down until he's weak and tired.
Mariella has never mentioned Landon to him. A scientist that lived with them. Never once in all her descriptions of his life had she brought up that name. Then there were experiments with "green gas" and mako before Wutai. Professor Gast and even his younger self seemed almost enthusiastic about it.
He wants to ask her why but he can't do it.
It hurts his head.
It's too big of a problem.
HQ comes into view and Sephiroth drags up his view of the sidewalk to look at it. The outside cutting up through the clouds does nothing to stir a feeling in him. The red logo shimmers with the rain. Why is he even living here? He was so happy living somewhere that wasn't Midgar. The journal never says exactly where they were living but it wasn't in a city.
He digs for his keycard and walks to the staff entrance.
Mariella can't be asked because his questions will bring on more questions.
It'll get him in trouble but it will get Orlin in more trouble. No matter what, he can't endanger him. He's broken the rules. The journal is not supposed to be his. He knows things now that Mariella has tried to cut out of his life. There must be a reason but why? His stomach works itself over.
Everyone has been lying to him. Why couldn't he know about himself? Why had Wutai taken him? His brain is fuzzy. He tries to be angry but he can't even lift his head. Even Orlin lied but he is the one thing that seems true. Maybe he can ask Orlin questions but he has not been around. Texts go unanswered from his number. The door stays locked.
The keycard doesn't beep on the reader. The staff door's handle doesn't budge when he grabs it.
He swallows and leans his free hand against the door frame. He tries again and the light stays red. He blinks. Have they locked him out? Do they know that he knows? R&D could kick him out for finding things out. The fear is dull. It can't be worse than this. He could go to the park and lay under a tree and die there. He closes his eyes. If it ends the ache in his head, it almost sounds nice. Rain soaks his back.
The ID number appears in front of him when he looks again. He coughs a laugh and flips the card. The sensor reads properly. The light flashes green and the lock clicks open immediately.
The lobby is warm. The tile is covered with black rugs and chatter echoes the room. A bank of elevators click and chirp as they rise and fall. He's sure that Professor Gast has been exactly where he is. His umbrella snaps shut and he steps aside so other staff can come in behind him. The edges of the room swim. He takes another step. His foot lands weird. He staggers. He needs to sleep. Probably he needs to eat as well.
They called him a "white freak" today at school.
He's getting used to swallowing it. He can be different. He can be emotionless. If Dinand has taught him anything, it is that it is better to be like a rock than to show anything. That's what they want, right? It's okay with him. He doesn't want to be himself anymore.
He adjusts the backpack and takes another sidestep. His chest burns. A few benches sit across from the steel doors of the elevators. He shouldn't need to sit down but he does. It is either sit or fall.
The seat digs into his thighs and relief of not carrying his own weight floods over him. That's not the way that it is supposed to be. His shirt isn't covered in rainwater. It's sweat. His head falls into his hands. He makes that walk every day without even thinking about it.
The people around him blur. Closing his eyes doesn't make it go away. Instead, the blackness moves in oily lines. His heart and chest hurts. Something washes over his skin making the rest of him go ice cold. He can't stop shivering. When he opens his eyes enough to look down his shirt, he sees red bruises blooming under it.
Is it because he read that stuff? Is this how his mind rejects what he knows? He takes a breath and tries to steady himself. He trembles harder instead. He's scared, he realizes, something is wrong. He needs help. He's made a mistake. He knows too much. His fingers waiver as he pulls out his phone. He selects Mariella's face.
It rings.
Sephiroth shakes.
It goes to voicemail.
He hangs up before he can hear it and swallows a breath. Nobody has noticed him. He doesn't want them to see. He's small. He's fragile. Mariella will help him. No matter what he's learned about her, she knows him and she'll save him. She's his doctor. His fingers go numb as he presses redial.
It rings.
He presses it close to his ear. The ringing sound jabs his brain. The huge room is compressing.
She'll pick up. She always does.
"Hello-"
"I'm downstairs, something-," He says. His tongue is thick.
"-you've reached the voicemail of Mariella Hayn-"
He hangs up.
A deep breath.
He forces the air through him. It comes out in a wheeze.
He dials again.
Seven rings.
Voicemail.
One more time.
His finger slips over the screen. He calls the bookstore instead.
He has to hang up and try again.
It rings.
On the sixth ring, it stops.
"Sephiroth?" Mariella's voice comes through clearly.
"Mariella. Please. Something is wrong."
Well. I have good news and bad news.
Good news: clearly, we are hitting the climax of Part Two. Are you having fun yet?
Bad news: I need to take a week off. There are a lot of different factors but it boils down to the easy statement that I have posted every weekend for almost six months (A has been at it...four?). I'm tired. A needs to sleep. This story is powerful but also powerfully draining.
This is a one week break. I wouldn't usually worry about it but we've been very consistent.
I'll post a quote next Saturday on my Twitter (Quinhwyvar) if you must get your fix.
We will be back drowning you all in angst with "Damaged Goods" on 5/22/21, no worries.
So that cliffhanger. How's the view up there? Tell me your feelings.
Thank you for reading as always -Quin
Thanks to A for betaing this chapter. They are amazing. You can find their FFVII work on Twitter (AngealLovesYou).