Untitled Document

The Bloodcross Key: Arc 2: Reversals
By Lady Tempest

Part 13:

The moonlight fell from the windowed sky above, mingling silver with the imitation white of the Training Center lights and sparking off the rhythmic whirling of two shining gunblades. Past the large metal doors, croaks and chirps from crickets and birds and other, less docile, creatures set a steady harmony to the erratic melody of ringing steel.

Chestnut hair dampening with sweat, Squall was possessed by their song, consumed with every flex of muscle, every dodge, strike, parry, every beat of his heart, and of Seifer's, blood coursing through him like a fiery river, raging with energy.

Seifer danced before him in a breathtaking blur of smoke-gray, powder-blue, and gold. The fractions of moments when both of them would still, circle each other, blades twitching for the song to resume its whirlwind tempo, their eyes would meet. And each instance, Seifer's intense aqua stare shot through Squall like lightning, just as bright, and sizzling, tingling to every inch of him.

Squall let a smile creep along his lips. Although the duel was only a phantom of their past`s, Squall had never felt more alive, more impassioned... happier. Another streak of silver swished towards him to join his own blade with a clang. Seifer's attacks still lacked the full force of his usual fire, more like a candle's flame, but it was enough.

Silver rang, black and gray melded, and gold flickered against soft brown. The intricate dance twirled and parted and twirled again over a carpet of glistening green, the grass slick with humidity and sweat. Neither spoke, their bodies and blades all the lyric the song required.

Abruptly, against a steel wall, a note thudded, and the dance, the music flowed to a more subtle theme of panted breaths and pounding hearts. Cornered, Seifer's gorgeous blue eyes watched Squall warily, their flame fluttering, but still alight. Beautiful...

Squall lunged forward, his gunblade slipping from his gloved hand and dropping to the grass with a muted thump. The cool of sweat did nothing to the heat burning his flesh; Its source was deeper than the blush of exertion, far deeper and far more blazing.

Pressing his body against Seifer's, the warmth between them became one. One consuming fire. And a one as Squall longed for him and Seifer to truly be. Seifer didn't move, just let his own gunblade fall from his grip to their feet. Their breaths still panting, his gloved fingers trailed across Seifer's chest, and powder-blue knit. With a tenderness he had never realized he possessed, Squall's hands roamed to Seifer's broad shoulders, his eyes following each curve and dip, to trace along his bared throat.

With a sultry growl, Squall jerked back, tearing off his leather gloves and flung them to the ground. Freed, his hands returned to the warmth of Seifer's skin, the rapid beat of the gorgeous blond's heart pulsing through Squall's brushing fingertips. Eyes and hands savored the flesh beneath them, traveling further, along Seifer's tensed and trembling jaw, to his blushed cheeks, to part, fingers burying in soft, sweat-damp, golden hair and Squall's eyes buried in endless aqua.

Seifer stared at him, trembling, as he pressed closer, the warmth of Seifer's shallow breath caressing Squall's own trembling lips. Squall bit his lip nervously. It was a dream, or very like one. But to taste Seifer again, dream or real didn't matter.

Gazing through a sweaty fall of chestnut hair, Squall raised himself on his toes while gently urging the tall beauty downward. His chin lifted, bringing his mouth breaths from Seifer's, those breaths merging into one shared.

The white light glimmered off a crystal tear plummeting down Seifer's cheek to splash against Squall`s own. Like falling into a icy lake, Squall was jolted to cold reality. Pushing himself from Seifer, his mouth moved in an apology his voice couldn't find. The hurt and confusion in Seifer's beautiful eyes sealing his shame, Squall did what he did so well, having practiced it all his life: He turned and ran.

******

Seifer stared after him long past when Squall had vanished from sight. Another tear streaked down his cheek. What had just happened?

Sliding down against the wall, Seifer cradled his head in his hands. He should have known Squall wouldn't truly have wanted him. To kiss him. It had been like a dream, feeling Squall against him, so warm and strong. Squall's hands had been a heaven he didn't deserve. Not once had he felt used or violated, well, not until Squall left. He was a fool to think even for those few moments that he deserved anything good, anything his heart had craved for his entire life.

Squall would never want him; That much had been proved all too clearly. And holding his breath and his disbelief hadn't prevented the inevitable. Squall still left. And he still felt empty. It was all as he deserved. All he would ever deserve.

~"Whore! It's your punishment! It's what you deserve! You owe us! You owe us! You..."~

He wrapped his arms tightly around himself and wept.

*****

"Hey, it's the Sorceress' Whore," a vaguely familiar voice startled Seifer from his misery.

Peering over the nest of his arms, Seifer froze, dread twisting his stomach into tighter knots than it already was. Jake. And his `New Disciplinary Committee'. The last thing he needed was to deal with them. But since when did he ever get or deserve what he needed.

Seifer just ignored the group of boys and hoped they would just go away and leave him alone. It was all he wanted. To be left alone. Alone.

But the crunch of footsteps proved, as usual, any hopes he had were meant to be crushed, like the grass under their feet. Seifer sighed and rose, careful to avoid their hateful faces.

"Just leave me alone!" Seifer snapped with none of his usual fire, the twisting in his stomach strangling his throat as well. He tried to stagger past them, but Jake stepped in his way.

"What's the matter, Almasy? You think you're too good for us?" the black-haired boy sneered, folding his arms over his chest. "We heard you'd spread your legs for anyone."

A chorus of vicious chuckles joined Jake's as Seifer's startled reddened eyes darted to the boy's menacing face.

"N...no..." Seifer stammered, looking away to the grass at his feet, his fists clenching weakly at his side.

"Well, we have a little somethin' that says otherwise, Slut-boy." Jake laughed as he reached into his uniform jacket and removed a thick envelope. With a mocking chuckle, he tossed it to Seifer. "See for yourself."

Even in his distress, instinct acted, and fumbling, Seifer caught the envelope. Although he could feel their malicious satisfaction and smiles, the three boys remained silent while he opened it with shaky hands.

Photographs. More than his frantic mind could count. But just one was enough to prove their point and send him reeling. They crumpled in his clenched fists as he crumpled to his knees.

No! No! No!

"I have a feelin' you understand me loud and clear now, Knight-whore. Am I right?" Jake smirked viciously. "Now, what should I do with somethin' like that? Certainly isn't behavior appropriate for a SeeD cadet. And as President of the Disciplinary Committee it's my job to make sure students are behavin' appropriately."

"No...Please, no." Seifer begged. For what, he wasn't sure, except that he wanted his torment to end.

Jake and his two friends snickered. "Ah, but it is. So what am I going to do with you? It would be such a scandal if it came out that the Sorceress' Knight, a SeeD cadet, was a filthy faggot whore."

"Please don't... I...." The photos crinkled in his fists.

"After what you've done! You think you don`t deserve it?" The red-headed boy shoved Seifer's shoulder, knocking him into a ungraceful sprawl.

"Please, just leave me alone," Seifer whimpered. His own pathetic voice would have disgusted him a month ago. But everything was different now. His pride beyond gone along with everything else that had mattered to him. Squall hated him and would hate him more if he saw what Seifer had done. Had to do because it was what he deserved, what he owed them, everyone.

Laughing, Jake shook his head. "Sorry, no-can-do. You see, we have some scores to settle with you, Almasy, Sorceress' Knight."

"I... I'm not..."

Jake ignored him. "My cousin was a student at Trabia Garden. Was. He died when you destroyed it!"

Oh, god. "I..." Seifer buried his face in his hands. Oh, god, another death because of him. Because of his foolish dream.

"Don't attempt some bullshit apology, I'm not buyin' it. You're just lucky I don't kill you. But, you see, that would be too quick and easy..." Jake's smirk turned feral and sly. "... and you don't deserve quick and easy."

Rough hands jerked him to his knees. He glanced with glazed, wide eyes to the three boys.

"W..wha..."

They dragged him through the steel doors and through the Training Center to the `secret area'. Seifer didn't struggle, the fight in him crushed once more. Oddly they didn't encounter any of the Center's inhabitants. Perhaps even the creatures sensed he deserved how ever the Disciplinary Committee chose to discipline him.

Jake shoved him forward into the small alcove and he landed with a painful jolt.

"You know what to do. Do it!" Jake snapped as he unzipped his uniform pants. "And don't go thinkin' you can go to the headmaster and tell him. He don't care. No one cares about you, Almasy. After all you've done to Garden, they'd probably sell tickets for an encore. You're a pathetic slut, and you know the only thing you're good for, so get to it."

"Yeah, Slut Knight," the red-head laughed, kicking him.

Seifer bowed his head, his shoulders slumped and quivering. They were right. No one cared. Least of all, Squall. He nodded his head slowly, shivering with the cold that had replaced his soul and his pride. They were right. And he owed them.

*****

Seifer limped back to his room in a lifeless shuffle, his disheveled hair tarnished to a straw-yellow, instead of gold, with dirt and sweat. His deadened eyes never rose higher than the floor until he reached his door. As they lifted to absently glance the door controls, they caught an envelope taped underneath his room number, with `Sorceress' Knight' scrawled in red marker.

He snatched the envelope from the door and opened it as he stumbled into his room. Half a dozen photographs slid into his hands and then fluttered to the floor as he froze.

It would never end. None of it! Not the nightmares. Not the voices. Not the hate-filled eyes and slithering hands. Not the shame. Not the guilt. None of it. Nothing! It would always haunt him, always follow him, where ever he went and whatever he did, until he went mad. There had to be another way. Any other way. Any...

**********

Water battered his skin in a scalding spray, streaming down his pinking flesh in rivulets carrying away the filth and grime and sweat and `other' residue of all he deserved. But never could it wash away the filth clinging to his soul, or wash away the horrors in his mind, no matter how much he scrubbed or how much he cried. Seifer dropped his head and pressed his long body against the wall of his shower in a desolate sprawl, forehead, chest, arms, and fists to the slick, cool tile. Closing his eyes, water dripping off his long golden lashes, he wept.

He would never escape, never atone for his past. Even the three weeks he had suffered... served under his punishment had come to haunt him beyond his nightmares and terrible memories. All of Garden would know what a worthless, wretched thing he really was. They would know how low and vile he was. The photos were the end of anything he could have hoped to build, the end of a redemption he should have known was too dignified for someone as horrible and defiled as him. But then, the humiliations shown in the photos were probably too dignified for him.

The water slicked ice-cold down his back, a reflexive shudder sending goose-bumps across his skin and rousing his mind from his thoughts. Clasping his arms over his head, his fingers tugged into a painful tangle in his dripping wet hair. He shivered. How much from the icy water drenching his skin or from the anguish screaming to break free into soul-retching sobs, he was too numbed to tell.

He stood motionless, trying not to think, trying not to feel. The cold helped numb his body, to dull the ache in his muscles, the bruises, to take the sting from the cuts and tears on and in his flesh; Even a portion of his mind had shut down, drifting in the frozen mock embrace pelting his skin. He chuckled bitterly, a mistake as the barrier to his tears broke, his heart, soul, untouched by the chill water. It still felt every ache, every bruise, every tear and cut and sting. It still wept that the only touch to his skin he could ever know or deserve was either vile, shattering him anew with each invasion, or the indifferent cold of his dorm shower.

The humid warmth filling his lungs with each erratic breath had become a icy burn as the steamy mist vanished into crisp cold air. He dropped his arms wearily to his side. A flash of motion caught his eye and Seifer turned, his deadened aqua gaze meeting itself in the mirror over his sink.

He stared. His blond brows slowly wrinkled in disgust at the pathetic excuse for an existence staring back. He had nothing. Nothing. And nothing was what he deserved. How could he have ever thought a fuck-up like him could ever atone for his crimes? How could he have ever thought that it even mattered? That he ever mattered? He was weak and pathetic and he couldn't take anymore, making him even more weak and pathetic.

Seifer stumbled forward in a sudden lurch, nearly tripping over the lip of the shower floor. Tightly grasping the sides of the mirror, his knuckles flared as white as the tiled walls. He glared at himself, his shoulders heaving as rage filled him. Just the sight of himself made him sick. What use was he? What use was he to anyone? A whore was all he was. A filthy whore. A mere hole to punish and violate. And maybe that was all he ever was. A whore to a stupid dream, used and discarded for others' amusement and for his own weakness.

He clenched his eyes, something between a growl and a whimper falling from his lips. No more! He could take no more! No! No! No! No! Suddenly, his fists flew at the mirror, pounding against it as if attacking his image was somehow attacking himself. The glass buckled under his blows, silver cracks blooming across the once smooth surface. The fracturing glass nicked the sides of his hands, but he didn't notice or didn't care. Red smeared across the image he furiously smashed, yet the blood couldn't hide the object of his consuming hate.

Seifer raged more frenzied blows into the silver-red glass in frantic beat to the blood pounding in his ears.

"No more!" he yelled.

In a burst, the mirror shattered completely, raining blood and a glimmering shower of biting silver-red glass onto the white sink, and tiled floor, and himself.

Stunned and panting, he collapsed on the floor, shards of glass slicing and cutting and scraping his naked flesh where he landed. Yet, he didn't care. Seifer plummeted into a fit of hysterical laughter as he stared at his torn, bloodied hands. Warm red splashed onto his bare thighs, thin tendrils of blood threading along the pale skin as it slid down to the floor.

Red: so beautiful and warm and comforting like delicate flowers blooming on cream marble. Pretty. The only beautiful, pure thing left. Blood blossoms quivered with his maddened giggles, joining and growing and dripping along his skin in tickling streaks.

Well, no sense in not finishing what he started. At least once in his life he should follow through to the end, to do something right for a change. It was a shame the mess he would leave, but in the final balance anyone would be more than happy to clean up a little glass and blood in return for no more Sorceress' Knight.

What a joke! He had never been anything but a lapdog, a pathetic puppet who lived far longer than he should have. A cool wave a nausea rippled through him and his vision darkened for a moment. His trembling fingers clawed at a pile of glass on the floor next to him, too numb to feel more than the enflamed warmth of the new cuts slicing into his fingertips. Grasping a larger fragment of the shattered mirror, its sharp edges biting into his hand, he lifted it shakily, the moonlight from the high bathroom window reflecting a silver-white jagged patch onto his pale, bare skin.

He stared at it, as if mesmerized, the light glinting into his eyes and constricting his pupils to pin-pricks of faint black, like a tiny shadow of a man drowning in a vast, lonely sea of aqua. His gaze followed his hand as he lowered the shard to his bared wrist, blood splayed across his pale skin in a morbid star with spidery tendrils of dripping red. A silver tear slipped down his cheek and splattered his arm in a warm sting he was too numb to feel. With a deep aching breath, he pressed the glass to his already torn flesh.

"Squall, I love you... And... I always will... Forever," Seifer sobbed, tears streaming his anguished face like rain.

"I`m sorry... Everyone, I`m so... so sorry..."

He shut his eyes, floating on the pain and the growing lightness it brought. With as much strength as remained in his tingling fingers, the glass carved into his skin, liquid heat wrapping his flesh while he sliced a deep red trail up his arm.

A euphoric chill seeped through his fevered, aching body, clouding the stinging pain in a fog of darkening gray. Seifer slumped back, the corner of the wall jabbing painfully in his spine waking him for a moment from the descending haze. In his flash of coherence, he dragged his blood drenched hand to a mostly clean section of floor and shakily traced a dripping-red finger over the white tiles. Dizziness washed over him, but his task had been completed and he fell among the glass and blood; cream, and gold, and red, and red, and red reflected in the thousands of tiny jagged mirrors.

"Forever..." he whispered, his faint breath misting the glass scattered near his pale blue-pink lips; And blackness, so cold yet inviting, wrapped him in its hazy, soft shroud, and embraced him.

( End Part 13)