Nobody on the road,
Nobody on the beach.
I feel it in the air -
The sun was out of reach.
Empty lake, empty streets,
The sun goes down alone.
I'm drivin' by your house,
Though I know, you're not home.
Leaving it All Behind
I locked myself in my office for the next week, distracting this new pit in my soul with the mundane business of running Garden.
It was the only way to ... I don't even know.
I just knew that I needed to keep my hands busy.
And my fucking traitorous mind.
Somewhere deep back there, I knew that breaking up with Irvine was the right thing. Not having his body wrapped warmly against mine as I stumbled into sleep, not waking up to his violet eyes brimming with tenderness.
Who would have thought that our world-class flirt would be so damn emotional.
The bile in the back of my throat when he held me close was not there anymore. I could almost think of eating without dry heaves.
Almost.
Because as the back of my mind was relieved to not have the stress of ... Irvine ... the rest of my mind was kicking my ass. Really hard.
I felt empty.
Hollow.
I found myself wondering if the constant fucking sickness was better than the empty pit consuming me.
No.
No way abso-fucking-lutely not.
I was a killer.
What was I supposed to feel? Joy? Relief? Was I allowed to find comfort with another soul, even for a moment?
I was right to break up with the cowboy. Yah, I felt like crap, but what was I to expect, huh?
Crap is all I should be allowed to feel. Ever.
I'm a killer.
Alone.
Forever.
"Fuck!"
I tossed the stack of papers I was shuffling through across the room. They scattered in a furious flurry -- a squall of paper. A squall of my metaphysical anger.
I wonder if my name was a foreshadowing of what I became over the years.
A fury deep inside my body, a storm of my soul.
If I ever find out who cursed me with my name, I'll wring their necks. Or show them the business end of Lionheart.
I'll give 'em a Squall, damn it.
"Fuck!" I yelled again, louder, as the papers settled on the floor in little piles of responsibility. I should clean them up, but I just don't have it in me. Not now.
I crossed the room in a storm of rage, having enough sense to walk around the papers. I'd probably slip on them and fall; with my blade permanently fixed to my hand, that was an unsuggested activity.
Though a good stabbing sounded pretty good right about now.
Just to make all this shit piling in my head go away. Maybe the metal would fill the void inside.
Maybe.
I heard the papers rustle, little eddies in the squall that was me as I slammed my office door behind me.
Over the past week, people have really gotten the hint to leave me the fuck alone.
They did today, quite nicely.
Hand wrapping (nervously?) around the familiar handle on my blade as it swung bodily at my side, I stalked the halls of Garden. The fountains everywhere where the only solid thing I concentrated on. I passed by people without notice or recognition, past classrooms, faculty, friends.
I just wasn't in the mood.
The constant pouring of water on water was almost a mantra, a soundtrack for my turmoil. Constant, steady and monotonous, the spatter of water was grinding on my last nerves.
I had to leave.
Pronto.
Decision made - without consulting the logical part of brain, but hey, who am I to argue with a ratified decision - I turned back to my room. I made a quick job of packing, throwing a few loose shirts and another pair of plain leather pants in the old duffle bag I've had since forever. Bag swing over my shoulder, hand still curled around my blade's handle, I left my room.
I started down to my left, back toward the nucleus of Garden. Even with my feet moving forward, something was holding me back. I slowed and eventually stopped, allowing my subconscious tug-of-war the chance to play out.
I was compelled to turn back.
So back I went.
Deep inside me in that little place where my emotions actually play out, I knew where I was going.
Still, I allowed myself the comfort of surprise when I stopped in front of room A-203.
Irvine's room.
I stared at the pattern of light playing against its Plexiglas surface. I reached one hand out to touch it, feeling the smooth material under my fingers. It had a slight electric shock to it, sending a miniscule jolt through my hand.
I pulled my hand back to my body, wrapping it in a fist over my chest. It hadn't hurt, not physically, but .
I was still a slave to the hold Irvine had over me.
Fuck, he wasn't even in the room. It was mid morning - he had class now. His last week of class before he too took the SeeD test.
His last week before he would need to choose to stay on the Balamb team as a soldier, or an instructor, or to simply take his graduation and leave.
Say his goodbyes and move back to Galbadia, or to find his own path in the world.
I wish his path will have me in the equation somewhere.
I think.
I don't know.
Don't know much anymore. I need to know, and that is the problem. I am the leader of this joint, and if I can't even sort out my personal life, or hell, even my head, how am I to run Garden?
The whole operation will fail if I cannot figure myself out.
Damn it, Irvine!
I beat the door once with my fist, hard enough for the side of my hand to ache.
With that, I turned and left, determined to leave what was behind behind. I was determined to get my shit straight. Maybe then . I can figure out what it is that nags at me constantly. Maybe then .
I turned of my thinking before I went places I did not want to go right then and walked through the hallways back to my office, where I left a note for Quistis about what I was doing. She'd understand.
She was always telling me that I needed to go out on vacation. She'd be happy I had finally left.
And honestly, I didn't care if she wasn't.
Note written, excuses made, I practically ran through Garden to get out to the city. I took the long way because the direct route would have taken me past Irvine's Battle Strategy class. I'd had enough reminiscing for one day, thank you.
Balamb was pleasantly deserted as I crossed town to the rental lot. Most people were doing their morning chores, or were in school, their jobs, or perhaps still tucked in bed.
I rented a simple car - I had never seen the need for extravagance. Though I could afford it now. Being headmaster of what was now the most famous Garden facility in the world did have its perks. I was just a believer in practicality.
So what if the car I got was ten years old, an ugly model, and primer white? It had a motor. It'll get me out of here just fine.
That's all that counts.
I took off unceremoniously after tossing my bag in the backseat. After a moment's thought, I had placed Lionheart in the passenger seat. It wasn't paranoia - my blade was a comfort item. It was the only thing in my life that stayed constant. No changes, no surprises, and best of all, no emotions. I could not hurt the weapon, and as long as I did not turn it upon myself, it would never bring harm to me.
I could understand my blade. Unlike everything else in my life, now or at any other time.
The streets were empty as I twisted through the countryside. I didn't bother to look at the road signs. Didn't care where I was. I had no plans, no destination. No schedule, and no one else to worry about.
This was my time. Me and the shit fucking up my mind.
It was between us now. Me vs. the shit.
Hyne, I hope I come out on top.
Nobody on the beach.
I feel it in the air -
The sun was out of reach.
Empty lake, empty streets,
The sun goes down alone.
I'm drivin' by your house,
Though I know, you're not home.
Leaving it All Behind
I locked myself in my office for the next week, distracting this new pit in my soul with the mundane business of running Garden.
It was the only way to ... I don't even know.
I just knew that I needed to keep my hands busy.
And my fucking traitorous mind.
Somewhere deep back there, I knew that breaking up with Irvine was the right thing. Not having his body wrapped warmly against mine as I stumbled into sleep, not waking up to his violet eyes brimming with tenderness.
Who would have thought that our world-class flirt would be so damn emotional.
The bile in the back of my throat when he held me close was not there anymore. I could almost think of eating without dry heaves.
Almost.
Because as the back of my mind was relieved to not have the stress of ... Irvine ... the rest of my mind was kicking my ass. Really hard.
I felt empty.
Hollow.
I found myself wondering if the constant fucking sickness was better than the empty pit consuming me.
No.
No way abso-fucking-lutely not.
I was a killer.
What was I supposed to feel? Joy? Relief? Was I allowed to find comfort with another soul, even for a moment?
I was right to break up with the cowboy. Yah, I felt like crap, but what was I to expect, huh?
Crap is all I should be allowed to feel. Ever.
I'm a killer.
Alone.
Forever.
"Fuck!"
I tossed the stack of papers I was shuffling through across the room. They scattered in a furious flurry -- a squall of paper. A squall of my metaphysical anger.
I wonder if my name was a foreshadowing of what I became over the years.
A fury deep inside my body, a storm of my soul.
If I ever find out who cursed me with my name, I'll wring their necks. Or show them the business end of Lionheart.
I'll give 'em a Squall, damn it.
"Fuck!" I yelled again, louder, as the papers settled on the floor in little piles of responsibility. I should clean them up, but I just don't have it in me. Not now.
I crossed the room in a storm of rage, having enough sense to walk around the papers. I'd probably slip on them and fall; with my blade permanently fixed to my hand, that was an unsuggested activity.
Though a good stabbing sounded pretty good right about now.
Just to make all this shit piling in my head go away. Maybe the metal would fill the void inside.
Maybe.
I heard the papers rustle, little eddies in the squall that was me as I slammed my office door behind me.
Over the past week, people have really gotten the hint to leave me the fuck alone.
They did today, quite nicely.
Hand wrapping (nervously?) around the familiar handle on my blade as it swung bodily at my side, I stalked the halls of Garden. The fountains everywhere where the only solid thing I concentrated on. I passed by people without notice or recognition, past classrooms, faculty, friends.
I just wasn't in the mood.
The constant pouring of water on water was almost a mantra, a soundtrack for my turmoil. Constant, steady and monotonous, the spatter of water was grinding on my last nerves.
I had to leave.
Pronto.
Decision made - without consulting the logical part of brain, but hey, who am I to argue with a ratified decision - I turned back to my room. I made a quick job of packing, throwing a few loose shirts and another pair of plain leather pants in the old duffle bag I've had since forever. Bag swing over my shoulder, hand still curled around my blade's handle, I left my room.
I started down to my left, back toward the nucleus of Garden. Even with my feet moving forward, something was holding me back. I slowed and eventually stopped, allowing my subconscious tug-of-war the chance to play out.
I was compelled to turn back.
So back I went.
Deep inside me in that little place where my emotions actually play out, I knew where I was going.
Still, I allowed myself the comfort of surprise when I stopped in front of room A-203.
Irvine's room.
I stared at the pattern of light playing against its Plexiglas surface. I reached one hand out to touch it, feeling the smooth material under my fingers. It had a slight electric shock to it, sending a miniscule jolt through my hand.
I pulled my hand back to my body, wrapping it in a fist over my chest. It hadn't hurt, not physically, but .
I was still a slave to the hold Irvine had over me.
Fuck, he wasn't even in the room. It was mid morning - he had class now. His last week of class before he too took the SeeD test.
His last week before he would need to choose to stay on the Balamb team as a soldier, or an instructor, or to simply take his graduation and leave.
Say his goodbyes and move back to Galbadia, or to find his own path in the world.
I wish his path will have me in the equation somewhere.
I think.
I don't know.
Don't know much anymore. I need to know, and that is the problem. I am the leader of this joint, and if I can't even sort out my personal life, or hell, even my head, how am I to run Garden?
The whole operation will fail if I cannot figure myself out.
Damn it, Irvine!
I beat the door once with my fist, hard enough for the side of my hand to ache.
With that, I turned and left, determined to leave what was behind behind. I was determined to get my shit straight. Maybe then . I can figure out what it is that nags at me constantly. Maybe then .
I turned of my thinking before I went places I did not want to go right then and walked through the hallways back to my office, where I left a note for Quistis about what I was doing. She'd understand.
She was always telling me that I needed to go out on vacation. She'd be happy I had finally left.
And honestly, I didn't care if she wasn't.
Note written, excuses made, I practically ran through Garden to get out to the city. I took the long way because the direct route would have taken me past Irvine's Battle Strategy class. I'd had enough reminiscing for one day, thank you.
Balamb was pleasantly deserted as I crossed town to the rental lot. Most people were doing their morning chores, or were in school, their jobs, or perhaps still tucked in bed.
I rented a simple car - I had never seen the need for extravagance. Though I could afford it now. Being headmaster of what was now the most famous Garden facility in the world did have its perks. I was just a believer in practicality.
So what if the car I got was ten years old, an ugly model, and primer white? It had a motor. It'll get me out of here just fine.
That's all that counts.
I took off unceremoniously after tossing my bag in the backseat. After a moment's thought, I had placed Lionheart in the passenger seat. It wasn't paranoia - my blade was a comfort item. It was the only thing in my life that stayed constant. No changes, no surprises, and best of all, no emotions. I could not hurt the weapon, and as long as I did not turn it upon myself, it would never bring harm to me.
I could understand my blade. Unlike everything else in my life, now or at any other time.
The streets were empty as I twisted through the countryside. I didn't bother to look at the road signs. Didn't care where I was. I had no plans, no destination. No schedule, and no one else to worry about.
This was my time. Me and the shit fucking up my mind.
It was between us now. Me vs. the shit.
Hyne, I hope I come out on top.
