I know what died that night.

It can never be brought back to life once again,

I know.

I know I died that night

And I'll never be brought back to life.

Once again, I know.

-Bleed Black by AFI

On Her Hands and Knees

It was just like the Speed trip that had sent her to Hell a few years back. Periodically, every hour, on the hour, she woke sweating, her heart palpitating to an unhealthy rhythm, sending her scrambling out of bed towards the bathroom in a fit of nausea where she would vomit bile, as she hadn't eaten at all the previous day.

As she splashed another cupful of ice tap water on her face, she happened to glance up at the mirror where she saw something unfamiliar. It was worst than Trepe. The reflection was like an undefeatable arch-nemesis. Dark semi-circles had slipped under her eyes ... her eyes ... bloodshot enough as they were, now had an empty, vacant stare.

It had been an overnight transformation, or had it? No, obviously not. This was a monster than had been waiting to surface ever since Squall Leonhart had been left to die. What did they call this monster? Guilt? No, this was beyond guilt. This was pathetic, that's what it was.

Morning was a blessing, when it finally did come after an eternally tormenting night that never seemed to relent with nightmares that had been haunting her for months, and others that were freshly plucked from Morpheus' wicked garden for her viewing pleasure only. There was usually blood. A lot of blood. Her own. What irked her was that she was holding the knife. Or sometimes it was Squall who held it.

And other times she saw Arielle. Rather what would have been Arielle. Arielle was always beautiful, with jet black, sleek hair and azure eyes that would make angels envious. Yes, Arielle was always beautiful the few seconds before an invisible force ripped her tiny body apart, and once again the blood. In these past nights, Rinoa had seen so much blood that when she closed her eyes, the imprint of crimson remained.

The first thing she did when she 'woke' from her 'sleep' was call Irvine. She told him she wasn't feeling well. Told him it was a cold. She knew he didn't buy it but his uncertainty wasn't her problem. He attempted to question her but she replied that she was extremely tired, much too tired to talk to him and so she hung up without even biding him a friendly good-bye.

Swallowing four Advils (two over the permitted six hour consumption rate) she prayed to the God above to help her with this headache. Advils weren't miracle workers but He was, she reasoned, and she had been a somewhat good Christian for the past months. No sexual relations, sometimes fasting for days, the swallowing of her pride. She had no Gods other than Him, she hadn't used His name in vain. Ok, that last one was a lie but shush ... how many eyes could He have? He couldn't possibly have been watching her all the time. Like when she dropped the bottle of shampoo on her toes in the shower. God wasn't a peeping Tom, was He?

She didn't even bother to look in her fridge for something to eat. She wasn't hungry; it was as simple as that. Rinoa had barely eaten in the past two weeks ... ever since Squall had been out of jail. It wasn't usually healthy to not be hungry, her mother had told her that many times when she refused to eat her vegetables and meat claiming she was full until dessert but mommy wasn't there to check on her anymore so she fasted guiltlessly.

If Julia were alive, things would have been much more different. Rinoa would have been a successful, renowned, high profile lawyer like her mother had wanted her to be. She would be married to a handsome, rich young fellow with no scars to show ... a CEO of a big company, maybe. Hell, throw in a kid and a dog. A comely home in the suburbs and no Porsche ... more like a four-door Mercedes with a baby seat in the back. Probably a champagne-colored one.

Squall Leonhart wouldn't ring a bell. Neither would the Devil's Playground.

Every Sunday, they'd happily prance over to the Caraway's to have lunch. They'd talk about the stock market, about the child ... either a Lily or a Richard, about how lucky they'd all be. Unlike now. Where there was no husband, no child, no dogs, no luck.

But Julia could never have reproached her daughter for failing to attempt at a good life. Her father had been successful at what he did, and she was equally equipped to lead the very same lifestyle he did. Rinoa had tried. With a man opposite of what her mother would have suggested. Rinoa had tried for the Lily or the Richard ... or rather, the Arielle. And she had failed.

Julia understood, didn't she? "He's good, mom, I swear he is. I love him. Isn't that what counts? I love him so much. And I want this baby. And we'll keep it and so isn't that what counts?" No, obviously it wasn't. No, God had other plans for her. That's why He took it all away. Wasn't that it? God had a plan.

It made Rinoa sick. Furious with a twisted, ill stomach. God had a fucking plan, did He? She couldn't see the plan ... it failed to strike her, "Yeah, great plan. I'm such a sweet little angel that He's decided to take me away from Hell early."

Maybe it was that morning that Rinoa stopped believing God was there. It may just have been that very morning when her faith, planted in her soul by her mother at a tender toddler age, just shattered ... disappeared ... the shards falling to her feet. There was nothing left. No one was listening anymore. No one had been listening for years.

Early that morning, as Rinoa fell onto her hands and knees, she stopped believing in God. And God stopped believing in her.

But God wasn't the only thing she stopped believing in. She dismissed Arielle as though her unborn daughter had never existed. Rinoa forgot she ever had a mother. She had a father, but he was a drunkard. An idiot. She hadn't seen him in years. And who was Squall Leonhart? She didn't need Squall Leonhart. He had been small time. He had been a nice toy. But she wasn't a child anymore.

No, toys get old and broken so fast. Now she needed something new. After a refreshing, cleansing shower she hid the broken pieces of her soul underneath a mask of make-up. She hadn't worn cover-up since she had been sixteen and even then, it was to hide the tiny pimples on her forehead.

The last glance at the mirror wasn't so threatening anymore. She liked this new façade. It was cool, impressive ... seductive even. Her lips were glossy ... like a magazine model. Squall wouldn't have liked that, "he liked his women natural", but why did he even matter anymore? He didn't. Her lashes were long and darker than usual. He might have like that though. But who cared? She certainly didn't.

She decided on a skirt and a blouse. She was feeling rebellious so the skirt happened to be the shortest in the wardrobe, but hell, she was trying to reel in a new toy ... so obviously there had to be some sort of bait involved, right? And that's how she ended up on Cain's doorstep. Well, she did havemore than one motive here. Seifer was being suspicious again and who better to rely on to spill some secrets than his own brother?

Cain, who obviously had thought it a holiday today, answered the door in boxers and a t-shirt. His hair was wet from the recently taken shower and he certainly had a look of bewilderment on his face as he stared at the newly transformed Rinoa Heartilly, "What in the Hell possessed you this morning?" He examined her from head to toe.

"Pardon me?"

"Nice legs." He remarked, his eyes traveling south of her face but not that down south.

"Hey, thanks, it'd be great if you were actually looking at my legs ... I would actually not even mind that much because then you wouldn't be staring at my-"

"Yeah, yeah ... ok ... someone might hear you, I've been trying to get this homosexual rumor about me going so keep it down, will you? What would the other's think if they heard I was staring at some chick's chest?" He snapped back sarcastically and motioned for her to come inside. She grinned and casually accepted his invitation. "Ok, how may I help you?"

"So ... what's suddenly jumped up your brother's ass? He seems ... friendly. Too friendly. Almost not cocky. I mean ... last night he came to visit ... brought me a wonderful plant ... let me rape his dignity by crushing him at pool, not that it was evitable in the first place ... and he didn't even try to get in my pants afterwards. Explain that." Rinoa glanced around the apartment with a quick eye and saw the awful mess that surrounded her. The regular bachelor pad, what else was new?

"Hah, nice try but I don't believe in the apocalypse." She remained silent and raised an eyebrow at him so he continued uncertainly, "Holy shit, don't tell me you're not joking."

Rinoa smirked and declared the three words with an overly dramatic staccato tone, "I'm ... not ... joking."

Cain mimicked a child covering his mouth with his hand as though he had uncovered something so amazing and world-shattering. It made Rinoa smile. He continued on in a whispering tone as if there was a spell he could break if he spoke any louder, "Is that a bad thing?"

"Yes ... it worries me. What is he up to?"

"I wish I could tell you." Cain answered, pushing past her into the heart of the apartment, "Want anything to drink? I've got coffee, scotch and other varieties of liquor."

"Do you have anything people normally drink in the morning? Like orange juice ... or milk?" Rinoa asked, almost in a drawl.

Cain raised his right eyebrow and cleared his throat, "How old are you? Five?"

"Tchh, forget it then." She replied indifferently, "Anyway, don't you need milk to cook stuff once in a while?" Rinoa placed her hands on her hips giving her the appearance of a scolding girlfriend.

"I cook?"

"Good point." She accorded him this battle shamelessly and pounced on bigger topics, "So, you seriously have no idea what your brother's scheming in that insane little mind of his? Because I really am suspicious. Rather ... curious. And worried, can't forget the worried part."

"I swear, cross my heart and hope to die ..." He drew a cross over his heart to accompany his promise, "If I knew, I'd tell you. The bastard hasn't been telling me jack shit lately. It's all, 'Hey, Cain ... go fetch me a cup of coffee.' Or 'Hey, want to mail these envelopes for me?' ... I'm under the impression of being a six year-old and helping my father out in the office." He was this close to mentioning the tape Seifer had ordered but decided against it.

Rinoa pinched his cheek, hard, "Aw, poor baby doesn't feel important."

"Ow, ow, ow!" Cain scowled and pried her hand off his cheek, "Hate to have you as an aunt."

"Suck it up, I used to have those two-hundred pounders that crushed my spine with their hugs and my lungs with their perfume." Rinoa informed in a haughty tone.

"Speaking of being crushed ... remember when we went to that concert way back, we must have been seventeen, before you started this Syndicate garbage?" Cain asked, sporting a genuine smile. Rinoa grinned and he continued, knowing she remembered perfectly well, "Man, that bruise lasted for weeks, didn't it?"

"Months, actually ... it turned five different colors too." She declared resentfully, "And it was gross, and it hurt. Mosh pits shouldn't even exist. They're just retarded orgies with a bunch of freaks."

"You liked it."

She rolled her eyes, "Yeah, until I got socked in the ribs. Want me to show you the pain I felt?" She balled her hand into a strong fist.

"No!" Cain took a few steps back, clutched his stomach as if to shield himself from the blow he thought she would have the guts to deliver, "It's fine, ok, I get you. Where was the bruise again?" He cautiously approached her and she glared at him, "Huh, I really don't remember ... like was it-?"

"Don't touch me." She snapped mischievously and pushed his wandering hand away, "I'll scream rape." Rinoa stuck her tongue out like the five-year old Cain had accused her of being.

How playful lovers can be, no matter their age. "I can give you something to scream about." He smirked, ever so much like his brother. Cain prowled forward like a lion hunting an antelope, slowing pawing the soft ground beneath him as if to test its solidity. Rinoa backed two steps for his every one, a malicious smile teasing the corners of her lips. Second thoughts? Plenty. But no time to plan escape, there was a wall behind her.

Trapped. She was afraid. How could she not be? Here was her old 'college' boyfriend with a recognizable look on his face. Yeah, she knew that look all too well. It used to turn her on ... it was pure ecstasy when she could pry that look from him but ideas change. People change. Feelings change. Rinoa closed her eyes. Cain leaped at the opportune moment.

It had been too long. Just too long. His lips were familiar to hers, recognizable. She liked that. They weren't soft lips ... they never had been. Cain's lips were rough, as were his kisses ... like Squall's. God, how he kissed like Squall. But he wasn't the man she was thinking of. So when his tongue forced its way into her mouth, an instant reflex was to push him away.

Cain reluctantly acquiesced her request and murmured, "What?"

Their faces stood inches apart as he waited for his answer. His emerald eyes, his damp blond hair that stuck up as if he had stuck his finger in an electrical socket ... Rinoa imagined hard. His green-hued eyes were slowly made out as sapphire blue ... and his hair ... she slipped her hands behind his neck and reached up to the back of his scalp and ruffled his hair till it got that messy look, "Nothing."

She shut her eyes tightly, pretending hard, convincing herself. There's nothing wrong with this. She told herself, It's just been too long. This time, when their lips met, it was Squall who kissed her. It was his tongue. Even as Cain's robust hands slipped onto her thigh, it was still Squall. She let off a whimper on the mouth that was pressed against hers. Squall's. Even Cain's slightly juvenile groans could be transformed to be similar to Squall's rugged growls.

And when they made love, it was Squall again. It felt nice to be caressed in his timber arms trying so lovingly to be gentle. With every soft gasp, her body inched towards a blissful satisfaction.

But when it was over, when her eyes opened to reality ... Squall wasn't there. What have I done? She shivered and Cain wrapped his arms around her waist. They had made it from the living room to the bedroom and she had been too busy 'pretending' to even notice. Rinoa felt Cain's lips on her neck, "No, don't." She pleaded.

"What is it?" Cain asked, slightly hurt at his rejected advances.

"Just stop, Cain." There, she had said his name. It got caught in her throat, but it had still made it out. Cain. Not Squall. Cain. Look what you've done, you fuck-up. "Oh shit." She touched her temples at the oncoming headache. Her breath got caught with her words, her lungs constricted with a sharp pang of pain.

Cain looked at her worried, "Rinoa, are you ok?"

No, you idiot, you're nothing but a jackass. "Yeah, I'm fine." She answered curtly, "Just ... everything's fine." He kissed her cheek uncertainly. You're a moron, Cain ... what are you doing? Are you blind?

"I want to take you away from all this." Cain whispered close to her ear, "You shouldn't be here at the moment." I know, I should be in someone else's arms. "Don't trust Seifer, don't trust Quistis ... they're planning to kill you, you know ..." If only they'd hurry up. "Come with me ..." No ...

"No, Cain ... I don't think that's a good idea at all." She whispered back hoarsely.

"What do you mean?" He gave her a confused look, and he looked so much like Nick while doing so that it made her squirm, "Rinoa, seriously, what's the ma-" Her index finger pressed on his lips to shush him.

"This was just the second biggest mistake of my life."

RINOA LEFT CAIN'S in a weaker state than she had driven there in. She drove straight home and locked herself in the bathroom, curling herself in a desolate corner to hug her knees tightly to her chest. What have I done? The only coherent thought that ran back and forth on her mind. She rocked herself like a mother would a baby, the cold tiles soothing her and didn't even try to hold back the tears that spilled forth onto her cheeks.

What have I done? She shakily got to her feet and walked to sink. Rinoa let the tap run until the water was as cold as it would get. Splashing the icy refreshment on her hot face, she did the worst thing possible. Rinoa stared into her reflection. That's when she saw it ... the demon, standing behind her ... breathing down her neck. Like a child, she shut her eyes and screamed.

When she opened them, hesitantly, the demon in the mirror was gone. Of course it was ... there had been no one behind her. The demon had been her. Something ticked. She picked up the glass on the corner of the sink but it slipped from her clammy hands onto the tiles, splitting with a sickening crash as shards of glass exploded in different directions.

Rinoa gasped breaths and looked at the mess, a nervous shock echoing through her body. She let herself fall to the floor on her knees, Why am I doing this? Why can't I be happy? Rinoa picked out the largest cut shard of the glass. It was curved in a long, slender arrow.

I tried to kill the pain

But only brought more, so much more ...

I lay dying

And I'm pouring crimson regret and betrayal

I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming

Am I too lost to be saved?

Am I too lost?

The edge of the shard traced the veins slithering down her forearm, teasingly scratching her soft skin. Had she really become this desperate? So desperate that she had to come to this? The taking away of her own life. It wasn't as if she had never considered it before however, it was the first time she had held a sharp object so firmly with these intentions. Rinoa's eyes brimmed with tears of dread. It felt like the only solution, life was empty and her soul could never again be mended.

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me, salvation

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me, salvation

I'm so screwed up ... She thought as a single tear leaked onto her cheek, to join the others unwillingly. Maybe slitting her wrists wasn't the best way to go. The pulling of a trigger seemed slightly more inviting, you couldn't mess it up. God knew how good she was at that, screwing things over. A general feeling of paranoia settled into the pit of her stomach, "I could fuck it up, go unconscious and wake up in a mental institution ... literally confined to four walls."

Do you remember me?

Lost for so long

Will you be on the other side?

Or will you forget me

I'm dying, praying, bleeding and screaming

Am I too lost to be saved?

Am I too lost?

Never happy, never satisfied. A spoilt little brat that received everything at the slightest lift of her finger. Rinoa reminisced about the last time she was starving, the last time she was dehydrated. "I've felt the pangs of hunger, my throat has itched in its dryness but when was the last time I skipped meals involuntarily ... skipped meals for days in a row without the choice? When's the last time I truly lacked something I needed? No, I require nothing more materialistic. But I'm parched ... I'm starving for something more and the worst part is that I don't know what it is ... rather I do but denial tastes so sweet."

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me, salvation

My God, my tourniquet

Return to me salvation

Two softly coursing rivers of salty tears dripped from her desperate cocoa eyes, onto her smooth cheeks to the corners of her mouth and off her chin. "I lust for something out of reach. The toys at my disposition have bored me and now I seek the glow of the stars and the silver of the moon." She wondered what it would feel like ... the sharpness of the glass shard slipping softly into her veins to release the little life that was left in her. Would she feel pain? Could she still feel at all?

I want to die

"I'm so sick of my life. I'm so sick of myself. When you're annoyed with someone, you can tell them to fuck off or you can just walk away. So, tell me, God, how do I walk away from myself?" What would it be like, to see her own blood seeping down her forearm like her soul that had died so long ago, what would it be like for the scalding hands of Hell stop pulling teasingly at her ankles and welcome her into the infernal underworld, "I see only one way."

And all she had to do was push a little harder on the makeshift blade.

My wounds cry for the grave

My soul cries for deliverance

Will I be denied, Christ?

Tourniquet My suicide


Author's Pointless Rambles: I'm so unoriginal. Part of this text was from something I had written from school a while back and I traced a connection between Rinoa and my improvised 'Desdemona'. So, this is the downfall of the great Rinoa Heartilly that you've come to love. She's one sick puppy, guys, I'm sorry. The way I tormented her life, you had to expect this, right? So, some might not be too keen on the suicide idea. Sorry for the controversy but I am the author here so we'll abide by my rules in my Devil's Playground. Anyway, when I was writing this chapter I wanted to scream and slam my face into the nearest wall. The part with Cain and her made me squirm and wonder why the hell I would write this in the first place. Is character depth THAT important?

Before you flame me and possibly not read this fic anymore because Rinoa 'made love' to Cain and then decided she might off herself, please, allow me to redeem myself in the 21st chapter and I assure you that you'll find it a bit happier than this one ... well, hopefully. So, that's the closing to Rinoa's slowly disintegrating sanity. I even named the different stages. If you noticed, chapter 17 was named 'Stagger', chapter 18 was 'Fall' and after the 'Devil's Dance Floor' intermission, we have 'On Her Hands And Knees' ... aren't I a brilliant author? Yeah, yeah ... whatever, I know.

I wonder how many people actually picked up on Rinoa's psyche ... in any case, I'm posting a LONG author's note after this fanfic to explain some things and possibly make you notice something about my writing style in this story (if you're interested, if not - go to hell XP).

So, that's it, that's all ... I hope you'll have the heart to review and not base it on the EVENTS of the chapter but of the STYLE ... because that is what we're looking at ... RIGHT PEOPLE? Riiiight ... By the way, don't try to SWAY my decisions in your reviews. It won't work. I already know EXACTLY what is going to happen and WHEN. So don't be all, "Squall should suddenly break into her apartment and save her and then they can have hot monkey sex on her bed and make babies and live happily ever after." (And no, that wasn't foreshadowing ... AT ALL- no one is coming to save her, get over it) ... I sincerely don't care what you think should happen; I care about what you THINK about the WRITING.

a. Excellent

b. Fair

c. Mediocre

d. Poor

And the song featured during the very angsty scene was 'My Tourniquet' by Evanescence. Does ANYONE read my author's notes to the very ... last ... word?