This chapter is short too. Sorry. I seem to have gotten into a habit of writing short little chapters while I was writing Redemption. I'm almost to the point where I wonder if I should try to pretend that that fic never happened. –points to people clamoring for a sequel- But I suppose it gave me a huge boost in ego and helped my writing become a hell of a lot better than it was. –sighs-

Also! I know there are people out there who're not reviewing. –pokes them- I told you, you can't hide. I spent $5 on being able to see you people. I don't know your names, but I know you've been here. –creepy stalking music comes on-

Hm. Anyway, this is indeed my favorite chapter. It has no real… erm, purpose, I guess. I mean, it doesn't really do anything for the progression of the plot, you see? (The next one will, I promise)

But… I love this chapter because I think it's one of my best as far as writing goes. I think it shows how much my writing has matured from… well, the first chapter. :P That was almost 2 years ago. Damn.

Anyway, you know me. I can't help but every once in awhile make something that delves into the slightly-insane. Hell, that's what Redemption was about! And that's what its sequel (if I ever make one) will be about too. But this chapter somehow takes my rather cynical views on right and wrong and takes other things and kind of smashes them together into a swirly goo of pointlessness and near-insanity. After all, I can't very well have Kris be all better after only a couple of chapters, now can I? Plus, I seriously enjoy what I consider the artistic side of my writing. Ah, how I love the duality of people…

Saint And Sinner

'Don't look at me.'

Kris curled up in the corner between the wall and her bed and stared straight ahead.

It was too much.

She didn't know how they could stand looking at her. How they could continue living with her when they knew now of just how weak she was. Just what she had done. She knew that they had been so shocked by the old security videos of her sickness that they had missed it. They had blocked it.

It was too much for them too.

She closed her eyes and drew her knees up to her chest. But what happened when they did remember? When they went back to the recording (she knew they would, their morbid curiosity wouldn't allow otherwise) what then? When the shock wore off and they began analyzing her again? Piecing together, bit by sickening bit, all of her brief past and discovering just how she was? It was enough that they knew, that they saw, how weak she was. Back then. Still.

But it was reassuring that they tried not to treat her differently now. It was almost kind of nice that they didn't hate her. That Bulma still gathered her up in a crushing hug and whispered in her ear that she loved her like her own flesh-and-blood, no matter what. That Trunks, despite all the hard looks he had given her, had eventually smiled at her and ruffled her hair affectionately. That Vegeta had silently told her that he knew all along, but he was still proud of her, that he still knew who she was and wouldn't change his behavior towards her. That Ranu cared enough to outright refuse to go back home, even after Chichi yelled for an hour but eventually gave up, that he was so gentle when he talked to her, when he held onto her after waking up screaming and howling.

It made her insides feel so sickeningly cold.

They didn't know now. But they would. And then what? What would they do? Her uncle had killed people before, yes, and they still loved him, didn't they? But hadn't he repented by dieing, by saving the planet, by fathering Trunks? What did she do to make up for her sins?

Nothing.

She had done nothing.

A low keening whine escaped her throat as she began to rock back and forth slowly. Comfortingly.

Well, she still had time, didn't she? She could still repent, couldn't she? It wasn't too late, was it? Would they come back after her now, because she hadn't repented yet? She hadn't been humble enough, hadn't cried enough, hadn't screamed out how sorry she was and begged forgiveness; that was it, wasn't it?

…Or would they come back because her sin hadn't been deep enough?

Saint and Sinner screamed at each other and slashed each other deep until both were ragged and dead, but they kept screaming. Repent, sin, cry, kill, die, live; nothing had made any sense to her, ever.

Dry heaving didn't seem to help, but she did it anyway. Perhaps her body was trying to expel something that it couldn't reach. Maybe it was trying to get rid of the cold insides that writhed so uncomfortably throughout her. But it was probably trying to force every urge to scream until lungs bled through her mouth without uttering a single sound.

She panted, sweat dripping down her face and arms wrapped around her midsection. The door opened, two feet thudded against the carpet towards her, and two knees dropped down forcefully to kneel beside her. Two hands tangled in her hair and pulled her towards a warm frightened body and the two arms held her there, attempting to squeeze the sickness, the badness, the uncertainty, out of her. She started laughing and tears rolled down her face. She couldn't stop laughing until she was panting for air, and broke down into a fit of giggles and mewling. The two arms clung more tightly, protectively, and helplessly. Despair seeped into the scent.

Sinner and Saint screamed their lungs bloody together.