Flirting with Death, Chapter 16:
A Reminder
By Darknightdestiny
Tifa tried her best to get to sleep that night, but she couldn't. There were too many things weighing on her mind, and no matter how hard she concentrated on falling asleep, her mind kept wandering back to dinner, and her conversation with Vincent. And she knew that as long as she was actually trying, it would never work, because the only way to get to sleep was to relax and just let go.
It had been an interesting conversation…sort of. More or less, it was one-sided and with hidden intentions on her part, which were quickly recognized and shoved away on his part. She had ventured a few questions about why he always kept his face hidden, other than the fact that he was setting a wall around himself, which didn't even need to be said, and about why he was always so quiet. She felt he needed to open up more, and he had felt he'd already made enough change to appease her, but he hadn't said so.
He'd removed his cloak to eat his dinner, which they had taken from the restaurant and brought back to the inn on account of Vincent's uneasiness around large groups of people. Tifa had resolved not to stare this time and instead focused on eating, which also led to the sparseness of conversation. Her thoughts eventually led her to that certain uneasiness she was always able to recognize in him, and she wondered why it was so. Vincent never seemed the kind of person to fear much, and he hadn't seemed to be the kind of person who cared what other people thought of him. He seemed more uncomfortable with himself than with others.
They'd polished off the rest of the wine and he'd sat facing her, his arms crossed before him. She wasn't going to ask him any more questions about his mannerisms, and she certainly wasn't going to dare asking him anything about his past. He'd even begun to look uncomfortable under her own gaze, and she'd never seen Vincent become shifty so…naturally. She'd figured it was because of something she'd said earlier, and wasn't going to chance losing what trust she might have earned from him. After a while she'd come to see him not as the fearsome death-bringer she'd known before, but as some fragile creature that paraded in his shell…something that she could easily scare off.
She'd wanted to help him, but he was being so difficult! She knew he was a person just like herself and had feelings just like her own, but she couldn't help wondering if all that he'd done so far was just to appease her and not because he really cared. But if he hadn't cared at all, then why would he want to appease her? Her thoughts began leading her around in circles, and eventually, she drowned herself to sleep in them.
Tossing and turning…writhing in agony, the bed- no, the table- beneath him so hard and cold, like the surgical implements laying across his chest. Thick metal shackles were his restraining vices, and the crude tools laid out before him, his chest serving as their makeshift table, only served to mock him and clearly tell of what was coming. He had never known such a fear before in his life, but now everything was so uncertain. He couldn't remember…
One faint shot, the sound echoing over and over and growing louder each time.
…That's right…but then how? Glaring beams of light shone down into his eyes and blurred his already waning vision. His blood began to run hot with dizziness, and yet he did not come even close to passing out.
"…Because I want you awake for this…"
No voice left to scream with, he braced himself as he felt cold and icy knuckles dig into his ribs as they grasped the heavy tools. Things used to maim…things for butchering. His skin made sensitive to the lightest touch with chemicals and new plasmas- things he wasn't aware he even had yet- his eyes grew wide when the first cruel blade cut its way inside of his trembling body.
He'd have screamed, but his vocal chords had been temporarily severed, in a half-completed attempt to accommodate a newer range that had yet to be added. His head shot back and his mind did all the screaming his fiery throat could not; his skull felt like it was going to bust open with the escalating pressure. He felt blood bubbling beneath his skin, in the hollow of his neck. Each sound of metal hitting metal, the implements rising and falling to the table next to him, one after the other as they were discarded and retrieved, threatened to drive him insane.
His muscles tensed with each coming spasm as his exposed nerves were clipped and tweaked, disassembled and reconnected, and as they tensed, his bindings cut into his skin leaving bruises and scrapes, even breaking some of his skin. All of the pressure, building…rising…he thought he was going to burst, despite his chest cavity already being open. He could make out the blurs of red and white beneath him, but his head was so restrained that laying on his back, he could not see the events clearly. The only thing he could see, the only thing that lay ahead of him, was that bright and blinding surgical light that hung haplessly above his struggling form.
He fought with every breath- fought against the pain, fought against his restraints, fought against each and every sharp prick and tearing. His eyes burned with tears and fury- and something else that he didn't quite yet recognize- but he could not hear his own screams, only the sharp intake and release of air coming from an open mouth, ripping through a half-open throat. He arched his back against the pain, the pain made so purposefully unbearable by the hands that made his poisons, until a hand reached out and forced its way inside his hollows…and broke something.
There was a snap, and his body went limp.
As time went on, each procedure became worse and worse. After the initial operation, even more chemicals were added, and the cuttings became fiercer as the wounds started to heal over. Loss of his life no longer a problem, his tormenter could break him…reshape him…in any way he wished.
But those first scars would never leave him, forever there.
Forever…a reminder.
Tifa awoke, feeling rested. Once she finally had forgotten all about Vincent and his unvoiced troubles, she had been able to get some sleep, and now she was ready to face the day. She jumped out of bed and headed for the shower again, needing the hot of the water against her skin to combat the cold weather outside. Now that she was out from under the covers, the heater just wasn't enough.
Vincent stood up from his bed and winced at the bright sunlight coming from the window. He strode quickly over to the pane and shut the blinds, blocking out the rays, be they ever so soft. He wasn't quite ready to face the daylight; too many bad memories had resurfaced earlier that morning.
He walked over towards the bathroom and stopped, catching his reflection in the mirror on his way. He slowly went towards it, as if being pulled by another force. His head bowed as his arms came forward and grasped the edges of the small table that sat beneath the glass, and then he raised his eyes to meet the vision.
He stared at himself for minutes in silence, not one expression crossing his visage. He was in deep concentration, perhaps trying to trick himself into believing that he was staring at someone else on the other side. He couldn't help wondering at the sense of unfamiliarity this practice had always given him; it was probably because he rarely looked at himself more than was absolutely necessary, but still…it made him feel detached from himself.
One thought crossed his mind, summing up his feeling on the whole matter. Looking back on his dark past and his thirty years as a sleeper, he came to a conclusion: he had never really led any kind of life. Everything seemed so…surreal. Like a dream, or in his case, a nightmare. He had never been normal even when he had been fully human, executing jobs that no one would have ever dreamed existed in real life, and all the while shutting his conscience away and waltzing blissfully through it, purposefully ignorant of the consequences.
Punishment, it seemed, was a means for bringing about cruel realization. Blissfully, dreamily unaware. He looked himself in the eyes, black beads swimming in pools of red…red like blood which shimmered with the reflection of light from the glass, the small light that still made its way through the cracks of the vertical blinds. Shimmered like thick, dark red stickiness with bits of glass in it.
Unreal.
He'd never been a real person, never led a real life. No wonder he had never known a shred of happiness, not since…her. But even then, good things came to an end and more so, were revealed to not be everything he had thought they were. What a waste…
He lifted the mirror off of its hooks and set it by the door, facing the wall.
Tifa checked herself in the mirror after exiting the shower. Her skin had grown pink from the hot water and she had overheated herself in her attempt to make it that way. However, she had a new problem, and that was the sudden cold that once again surrounded her! She grabbed the signature robe from the door and went towards the heater, reaching out for the turn-dial. Once the room was fairly heated again, she set to the long and arduous task of combing out her never-ending strands.
She pulled her hoodie over her head and pulled her hair out from underneath it, bending over and flipping it over the front of her head so she could place a towel on her back. She then flung it back over her head to where the towel clung to the fleece at her back and ran a brush through her hair a few times, making sure to catch any tangles she might have just made. She walked over to her bed, where she had laid her things out previously, and slipped her pants on, and her boots.
Vincent had just rid himself of his clothes and was ready to enter the shower when he heard a soft knock at the door. He pulled the navy robe from the bathroom door and wrapped it about himself on his way to the door. He unlocked it, but strung the chain from the door to the wall and fastened it before he opened the door a crack. It was Tifa.
"Uhm…hi," she started. He just stood in his place, his shoulder facing the door and his head looking over it, down at her, waiting for her to continue. "I've been thinking," she said, "and I want to go back to Midgar. Only for a couple of days, but I need to see how the bar is doing…" She couldn't even let go of that one worry for a week. "I'm a bit worried about Jolene and Will taking care of it all by themselves." Always worried about other people, always looking out for their interests. "I would really like it if you'd come…" she offered, hope hiding behind uncertain eyes. Looking out for him and his interests.
He nodded, and didn't ask any questions.
"Okay, well…I'm going downstairs for a bit to see if they have anything interesting to do around here besides skiing. Maybe I'll pick up some pamphlets, or…I don't know. I just want something to do."
"…Alright."
"Meet me down there?"
"…Yes."
"Okay, I'll see you then." She walked away, her hair leaving a wet trail on the carpeted hallway.
Vincent stepped under the flow of water, his head down, not really worrying about whether or not the hot spray got into his eyes. He blindly grabbed for a washcloth from the rack and pulled it inside with him. Slowly, he began to clean the sweat from his forehead, giving special attention to the area that was usually covered with his bandana, before moving on to the rest of his body.
How long he had been standing there, he did not know; he'd zoned out for a bit just standing under the showerhead, lost in thought. It seemed to happen every morning, no matter how early or late he retired or no matter what he ate. Even if he didn't eat at all, which his new body could handle for certain periods of time, the nightmares still came.
He attributed this to the experiments Hojo had done on him; perhaps a block in natural chemical flow, or something else, like a hormone. Something to make him relive his fears when sleep claimed him, made his functions slow. But if that were true, then he should be having other problems with his emotions, right? He hadn't felt terribly different, save for the physical changes in his body, though there was a constant depression that followed him wherever he went.
But that, he decided, should be perfectly understandable.
He leaned his head back and turned the lever, letting the water turn cooler and run over his face and his hair. He reached his claw off to the side and brought back some shampoo, working the rich lather into his hair before turning around and letting the water wash it away. Let it wash everything away.
Tifa walked up the steps two at a time until she found herself back in the hallway. She'd become bored waiting for Vincent to show up, and she'd found out all she could about the place and any attractions it might have had. It turned out there was nothing, just skiing, snowboarding and snow. Lots and lots of snow.
Well, that was all right. She could just come up and get him herself. She made her way down the hallway where their rooms were located, and stopped outside his door. She noticed that a mirror had been placed outside his room since she'd left. Why, she didn't know, but she supposed it didn't matter. She lifted her hand to knock, when the door opened upon meeting her hand. She cautiously peered in, wondering why Vincent would have neglected to lock his door, being the type of person he was, so concerned with his privacy.
In fact, hadn't it been chained earlier? Then again, there had been that mirror outside his door, so whatever that had to do with anything might have been the cause of Vincent's needing to open his door. But still…she figured he would have noticed if it hadn't shut all the way, unless he was distracted. And knowing Vincent, he'd have to be quite distracted to let something like this slip.
Still watching the room closely, she stepped in, not wanting to walk in on him undressing or anything like that. If she had remembered to call his name when she'd first opened the door, she might have brought him out from wherever he was, but since she was already far enough into the room, she figured it best to be quiet, lest he jump out at her unexpectedly. 'Unless he can tell who I am by my scent…' she thought. To be truthful, she didn't really know the extent of his abilities.
A few seconds later, her eyes had scanned the room and found no sign of him. 'Maybe he's downstairs looking for me, and I just missed him?' she wondered. She turned to go when she heard the creaking of another door behind her.
Startled, she turned around just in time to see Vincent emerge from the bathroom, wearing nothing but his black uniform pants, and dragging a towel through his hair with one hand. He noticed her immediately and stopped and on reflex turned to face her, staring, paralyzed in fear. Her eyes met his, and a shocked and apologetic look came upon her face, knowing that she'd done something she shouldn't have, which had probably caused this unfamiliar expression to arise in her companion.
"Vincent! I'm so sorry, I didn't…mean to…oh…" she trailed off as her eyes left his and fell downwards, to his chest, which, though otherworldly in beauty in its own right, held a secret he had been keeping for a long time.
Her eyes widened in shock as they trailed over his form, silhouetted by the faint light coming from the window behind him, but his features clearly visible from the light shining in through the hallway. There, just below the shadow cast by his jaw, and in the place that was usually covered by his cloak or his high-collared shirt, was a thin white line, paler in contrast than the rest of his skin. It ran all the way from his throat down his chest and stomach, to a spot just below his navel that she could see peeking over his low-slung pants, no longer held up by metal clasps.
As the thin line traveled downward, it crossed a pair of horizontal lines that ran parallel to each other; one ran just below his collarbone from shoulder to shoulder, and the other was near the end of the vertical scar, running from one hip to the other, connecting the two. If Tifa had blurred her eyes on purpose, she would have realized that these thin white lines were barely visible in the light given off by the room, but as it was, her eyes were in clear focus.
Tifa gasped, a sharp intake of air, ready to say something, anything, but no words would have come even if she had gotten her chance. As soon as she opened her mouth, Vincent was already upon her, his human hand clasped over her mouth. Her eyes grew even wider than they had been before.
Vincent swallowed hard, a pained expression clearly written all over his face. "…Please…do not scream…" he said, trembling as he asked of her, afraid to let go of her mouth, lest she do just that.
Tears welled up in Tifa's eyes and spilled over her cheeks and onto his hand, Vincent assumed out of fear, but they were not. She shook her head slowly, her wide eyes concentrated on his, letting him know that she wouldn't scream. Reluctantly, Vincent's hand slowly slid away from its place, and she backed up a couple of steps.
"Vincent…" she said, her voice quivering as she went on, "I wasn't. I-I… I wasn't going to scream." She looked at his weary stance, his chest sunken back and resigned, though still on edge because of her presence, shaking as it rose and fell. His arms hung limply by his sides, and his head was slightly tilted downward, distraught eyes peeking through long dark strands. One of his legs made a move to step backwards. More tears formed in her eyes and she put her own hand to her mouth, taking in another breath that she hadn't meant to be as loud as it was.
"I…I'm so sorry, Vincent. I…" she began to whimper behind her cupped hand. "I'll go…I'm sorry…"
Tifa turned and walked as quickly as she could, mindful not to run, back to her room across the hallway. She slid inside the door and closed it quickly yet softly, and threw herself on her bed, burying her face in the pillow. She would cry for hours, and all she could think of was how badly she had hurt him. How she wished she hadn't gone back up those stairs…
She'd hurt him. That was the only thing that went through her mind as long as the tears kept coming. She had hurt him, scared him…broke something easily broken, something that hadn't quite mended from the last time it was broken. She cried even harder as the thought crossed her mind that there might be a possibility that it would never be healed again. And it was all her fault.
Vincent watched her go, knowing that she had run from him, that she couldn't bear the sight of him. He walked slowly over to the open door, cast a lowly glance at her door from across the hall, and shut his own. He leaned against the now-closed door, at a loss for a course of action, his mind racing with the inevitable fact that Tifa now knew one of his many dark secrets and the real reason why he was insecure without his coverings…
He brought his arms up around himself in an attempt to cover his shame, unable to hide it from himself, make the memory of it go away. He felt the familiar rise of blood in his throat and knew he was going to be sick.
(A/N): Domo sumimasen. Sumimasen! Nante imashta ka? I'm sorry! Please don't break my legs…I didn't mutilate him, honest! All I did was make him a bit vulnerable…and vulnerable…can be good for this story…oh, please. ::Falls down on knees with hands clasped in the air:: What! He's my favorite too! ::wails:: Don't hurt me!
On a more serious note: That was quite a chapter. Most serious. This characterization thing might be spiraling out of control, and I'm going to do my best to keep the beast known as OOCness locked up. I was very nervous about writing this chapter, and that last scene had my fingers shaking…probably took me so much longer to type it because of all the mistakes caused by my trembling! ^^; Sorry…I get excited. Also…
If I keep digging further into Vincent's psyche, well…I know this chapter was pretty dark. And it wasn't always such a pretty picture, so…let me know, everyone please, if I should change my rating. I might have to…and I don't want to get into any trouble.
Thank you for reading.
