* * * Chapter 4 * * *
The surrealistic ride back to Vincent's apartment nearly blew over my head unnoticed. Vincent had taken back the gun. Perhaps he was a little sad, because I saw that he did not seem as... dare I say, friendly as usual. His lips were set in a grim line, and I wished desperately just once to see them smile.
As he climbed out of the car in the parking lot, he paused once, frowning as he saw that I didn't move a muscle.
"Thank you," he said. "For saving my life." It didn't help.
He waited, leaning against the hood of the car until I dragged myself out of my seat, and stood beside him. We, together, the two of us, didn't say anything at all for a long, long while. I wanted to ask him why he'd brought me out there...but I figured, hell... the man'll tell me in his own time.
Touching my arm, he brought me out of my quirky daze. I turned myself around so he could look at me. "Are you going to be alright?" he asked, a frown of concern touching the corners of his mouth.
"Yeah, I'm fine!" I snapped, hugging my jacket tighter around me as though it would hide the strange pain in my chest. "Just a little hungry, that's all." But in all reality, the last thing I wanted in front of me was an oozing burger and a plate of frenchfries, gushing ketchup.
Vincent gave me a steady stare. I shrank slightly underneath it, and looked around. Then he spoke. "Alright... if you want, we'll go out and have some salad or something. But you look a bit sick... so if you don't want to eat, then just take it easy..."
God bless Vincent. He always knows what to say.
I think I loved him even more after that. And more when he took hold of my arm, squeezing it reassuringly. My body warmed instantly and for a few seconds, I smiled back at him. "Don't worry. Just forget about it. I just... I just need a drink, I think. Yeah. Do you have anything remotely alcoholic?"
"Yes, of course. Only the best."
All the way up the stairs, I thought of the poem in the book. I remembered it, and tears came to my eyes.
* * *
The pub was almost empty. I knew, I knew so surely at that time that there was a human being underneath that coldness, a human being that needed love, that needed me. Through his subtle exhibitions of kindness, I saw the man beneath, aching to have that kindness returned. But still I wasn't sure. I tried hard for the next couple of days to let him know I was trying to be his friend...
I wasn't so sure yet if I wanted to kill myself. All I could do now is doze off the buzz and dream...
* * *
"Luke," Vincent said.
We were in the men's room of a dance club, and I was washing my hands. Vincent didn't seem to mind being in the same bathroom with me (it was a public bathroom, so I don't think it counted). But I turned, glancing over, only seeing the wall of his back, shrouded in the crisp black and white suit he wore. Music throbbed beyond the walls, and I was reluctant to go back out and brave the maelstrom of noise and flashy lights and people.
"Yes?"
"What did you think of that man that was sitting in the corner across the room?"
"...what?"
Vincent finished his business, came to the sink and washed and rinsed his hands as he spoke. "I think now's a good time to get to know each other..."
"Vincent," I smirked. "Are you coming on to me?"
He cast me a look, and I flinched, expecting him to give me that freaky stare again. Finally, he chose wisely to ignore the remark and spoke in a relatively calm and composed manner. "No. I merely wanted to know your background." He looked suddenly sad, and he bowed his head, drying his hands off with a paper towel from the dispenser. "I've been... somewhat rude to you for the past couple of days and I wanted to talk to you. Not as a personal guard to the refugee but... you know, person to person."
"What?" I stopped, dropping my soapy wet hands to my sides from the think. I couldn't help but smile. "What do you want to talk about then?"
"Let's go outside," the man responded as he tossed the towel into the garbage pail as though he were delivering a snowflake into the air. Then he motioned to the door that led to the alley beyond. We exited through it.
It was pretty chilly, considering it was nearly the end of November. I shuddered, teeth chattering, looking to Vincent expectantly. The cold did not seem to bother him. Once again I envied his ability to become impervious to the outside world.
We walked side-by-side, toward his car where he climbed in and turned the engine on merely to get it warm inside. I sat in my usual spot next to him, and I put my hands against the heater vents.
"You're warm?"
"Yeah, in a little bit," I answered softly, closing my eyes, and curling up.
"Tell me about you."
"Well... I don't have any parents. They were gone before I could really know them. I grew up with people... I hated them. So I left. I couldn't get a job... So I worked for this guy for awhile. I was a ... a prostitute... for awhile... only way I could get payed but it was okay..." I began to trail off toward the end. "It's okay if you think that's disgusting..."
"No," Vincent said abrubtly. "I don't think that about people. You had to do what you needed to do. It wasn't your fault. It's ShinRa that keeps people from having any decent jobs. There's no shame in what you did. If the weak cannot become strong, they do what they must."
"So you're saying I'm ... weak?"
"No. It's just a ... a figure of speech."
He was right. I shouldn't really be that ashamed. I just... really wanted him to like me. But I told the truth, and that made me feel pretty good. I took a breath and grinned to myself. We gazed out the windshield at the theatre. Then my breath caught in my throat and I took a steadying sigh. My play was there... "Loveless" stood broadly over the entrance of the old-fashioned theatre. It's flashing name burned into my eyes and I looked down. Swallowed. "You ever watch plays, Vincent?"
"Yes... sometimes. I've read a few, also."
"Have you ever seen Loveless?"
"I've heard of it. It's right on the next block in front of us, isn't it?"
"Yeah," I responded, relaxing slightly, though I still felt sickened by the familiarity of the theatre. It seemed millions of years ago. I both hated and hungered for the spotlight again. "That was my play... before, you know--"
"Yes." Vincent arched a brow at me. "Tell me, what was it about? Who did you play?"
I took a breath, and recalled the general story of the play. It came back to me slowly, the calm deep voice of my fellow actor breathing through my memory like a calm warm breeze. I recalled it, and I repeated it to Vincent. He seemed to look at me as though I were dazed, but he listened attentively.
"There's only a handful of characters. There's Leesil, the main character. He's a hero type of unknown origins. He is destined to pursue an ancient artifact from the gods, said to be protected by a dragon called Fagner... but what Leesil doesn't know is the dragon can only be controlled by a beautiful woman. She's Ariel, the spirit of the Dead who dwells in the realm between the land of the living and the land of the dead.
"Anyway, he's sort of like... has a few small adventures that lead up to him finding the cave to Fagner's lair. Blah, blah, blah... they fall in love... but she's bound in the end by her obligation to the god of the underworld, Heschel."
I paused, wetting my lips. I was pretty much done. There wasn't much to the story except it was a cute little fairy-tale. The kind of story kids would have read about, after being 'screened' and having the teeth pulled out of the story for appopriate learning.
By the end of my explanation, Vincent's eyes had changed very imperceptibly. I noticed that he gripped the steering wheel for dear life though we weren't going anywhere. Afraid, I looked over at him, and blinked the bleariness out of my eyes. He looked back at me. Then I said quietly, "I was supposed to play Leesil... but we never got to do the play anyway. The one you saw was a different play." It was tear-jerking retarded, but hey, they payed me. I was willing to act like a jackass in front of people. Ones who are humble get paid more, they say.
Vincent nodded, his hands slowly letting go of the steering wheel. Impulsively, I reached out, and very gently took one of his hands. He did not resist - he allowed me to touch him. I wanted desperately to know why he had such a terribly pained look on his face. I pulled on his hand, and slid over the seat a bit, pressing my cheek against his collar. At this point, I was nearly sitting in his lap now. My heart had started pounding, but I was sure he couldn't hear it. I grasped his hand in both of mine, and closed my eyes.
Vincent stiffened. I could tell he was uncomfortable, but I felt he needed to just stop with the emotional constipation and speak up. I whispered harshly. "Come on...you've got to tell me. I swear to you, I wouldn't do anything wrong to you."
"Not purposefully."
I shook myself, and quieted as he held still. I proceeded to gently massage his arm, as he had massaged mine in the parking lot. Fear. I was afraid to look at his face, but kept my eyes solidly locked onto my hand, kneading his arm very lightly.
His voice was just above my hear when he spoke after a long pause. "Thank you...Luciel."
* * * *
Sad, how I could bring myself inches from the truth, yet murmur my silent lie with a friendly pat and a subtle sliding away again once I was sure he was alright.
That night we'd returned to our -- his -- apartment, where he sat down in his couch to read as was customary. But instead of taking his book, he turned to look at me as I slipped my shoes off and left them beside the door next to his.
"Luciel," he said quietly.
"Yes...Vincent?" My heart was hammering away like a drug addict on a serious upper. I watched carefully, but all I saw was the back of his head again.
"Come sit by me. I think I should like to talk to you."
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(Darker Angel): Alright. This is the last chapter of total make-over. From chapter 5 on will be on-the-gun, off-my-scalp writing. I'll be scraping my brain for good writing material but it probably won't happen until weekend-time returns... so... tell me what you think? And thank you for your review, Losselen!!!