Throw Me Away
By Poe
Chapter Two
"He pressed against her, she could feel his skin, so much of it, and the blood warm in his body. A wound formed at her side, where a metal part of his uniform bit into her skin. She didn't dare say anything as pain engulfed her, soothed her with its continuity, calmed her with its reliance.
His mouth was slick and hot, his hands were pushing into her. His soul, she could feel it crawl out of him and into her, the evil of his love diminishing a part of her. His body was a vibrant sin, ugly poetry, cheap champagne. He seemed to throb, to waver between existence and fiction, to suppress resistance with mere presence. He was the brushstrokes in a painting, hidden for hundreds of years by skilled artists, and now clear on a canvas. Set free.
He was a weed in a world of beauty, dug earth in a garden, an unfinished tombstone. His hand smoothed the nape of her neck, at first almost to calm her, and then to hold her head back so he could kiss her. She could feel him enjoying the kiss, feeding from it. She wished she could hate this more. But it was a moment where you could not feel, or know what you were feeling. It was so much of nothing, and so much of what she did not know.
It was a memory for a short time, and then it was gone.
Only
he could remember. He remembered everything."
Pan scrubbed the inside of the fountain with the steel wool, the blanket of green algae coming off in disgusting chunks. How Pan hated cleaning fountains. Because chemicals were sacrilege inside the temple, even for medicinal purpose, the bowl of the fountains that were immersed with water was conveniently coated with a layer of algae. Fuzzy, stringy, one-celled torment.
It was also strangely convenient that Vegeta had requested to meet at this fountain. Pan was scheduled to clean the fountain that day, and she was sure to continue working until the time of their meeting. It seemed almost planned, but Pan knew the real reason Vegeta had chosen that location. Privacy.
Pan thought about this as she scrubbed the fountain, sure to scrub until her hands were raw and reeked of steel. The inside of the temple was heavily monitored. Every word you said was recorded and every room had a camera in it. The only place on temple grounds that escaped monitoring was the gardens, but only for religious purposes. The bathrooms were located there, coinciding with the symbolism that the gardens were a private area.
Escaping temple grounds were impossible, and not just because of the monitoring. The garden had a prevention field around it, an electrical, invisible wall that would kill anyone who tried to cross it, even accidentally. There were three separate backup supplies of electricity in case something were to happen with the electricity, and guards posted at certain exits. The only person allowed to ever leave and enter freely was Vegeta. The cook was allowed limited exit and reentry, but only once a week to buy the food for the week. If the cook bought spoiled food, diseased, or inedible food, there would be no food for a week. Vegeta was carefully scanned during entry of the temple, he was not allowed to bring anything.
Supplies were replenished every month by the guards, who were high-ranking military officials, and that was all. The one place that was secluded from the guards eyes and cameras, was this spot near the fountain.
And soon she was to meet him. The sun was already an orange blur on the horizon, the time between their meeting was ticking down to minutes. What could he possibly have to say to her? What could this be about? She was just a slave, an amnesiac who had no past and with only serfdom as her future. What could Vegeta want with some poor, lost girl missing her memories?
"Fuck her, I'm sure she remembers everything. Those coy looks she keeps giving me, I know her lies," Vegeta thought to himself as he buttoned the collar to his uniform. He was heading back to the temple and changing back into informal wear, it was customary for a man of his stature to change outfits many times during the day. "Like a leaf changes colors" was the saying, and it meant that a prince who made up his mind was no good.
"I'll have to discover for sure, I can't afford to base more anger on assumptions, however logical they may be," he assured himself, taking an outward glance at the shiny metals of honor hanging from his wall from long, satin ribbons. He even thought like a warrior, everything had a battle plan. Now he was off to meet with Pan again, but was she ready for her proposal?
He took a look at his room and almost sneered into the camera. The Watchers, they were called. His silent enemies. The film continued reeling, his thoughts secret. If only The Watchers knew his thoughts, it would certainly make their day. Oh the dirty secrets he held, the untold stories he had so brilliantly hidden from those bastards.
But he hated to think of the past. Because it was at that moment, as he finished fastening on the metal of his uniform, that a memory fell onto him like acorns into a pond.
"I hate you," she had said, and he could feel her hand on the back of his neck. She was lying, he swore to himself. She had said that while he was taking off her clothes, and she hadn't done a thing to stop him. She kissed him back. She bled for him. She clung to him as though the dirty things they did were throwing her off a cliff, and like she did them because she loved him with desperation, with passion.
Not because she was lonely.
No, it couldn't have been. Everyone was lonely, every act had an aforethought of loneliness in that part of Vegetasei, but this was different. Vegeta remembered pushing her against the wall, his mouth on hers, his hands liberal. She plagued him after that, even Aila, his own concubine, could not satisfy him. Aila even knew it, Vegeta's time with her was strained. Vegeta could only think of her.
Vegeta knew these games with her were necessary, but he could hardly stand it. He wanted every inch of him on her, she could cloak him from pain. Vegeta would feed off her, drink of her soul, recede into her. Vegeta would become her.
If only things had gone a different way, then all this foolishry would stop. Vegeta did not know how much longer he could bear it. Keeping a secret was one thing, keeping one that destroyed you was another. He could almost hear it, the winds whispering it to him, the hush of the swaying trees spreading the words across the branches. It was so fucking obvious, but only he could see it. Written across the skies, around clouds, emblazoned on waters, adrift on ocean currents.
"Pan," the world would call, "Pan and Vegeta. Once together, now nothing."
Se-Aila would sleep with Vegeta, the people of Vegetasei would celebrate it, but all around them nature screamed. They were all so foolish. Those near Vegeta should've at least heard it. He lived for her. He pined for her.
The world was deaf to his love.
And so was she.
Vegeta took a long, hard stare into the camera of The Watchers. Look at me, you bastards. You can't possibly know my past, no one will. Do you honestly expect to steal from a thief? My will is going to triumph, even if my love kills it first.
Take a good look, because that's all you have.
And with that, he made his exit, leaving the room quietly, descending into a sun setting world. Fate was adrift this evening, destiny was an approaching messenger. Like the chill of winter conquered Autumn, whispers of the future were sailing on the universe's torn cloak. One red and orange sun, one forgotten past, and a future that was anything but certain.