FINAL FANTASY VIII:

Something Final.

I loved you. I really did. I lived for the day I could put the smile in your eyes, the oh-too-rare smile that made my knees go watery-weak and my lips ache for yours. The day you held my hand and kissed me, the handsome groom in black and the bride in resplendent white, I thought I would die of happiness.

The first days were the most magical, and I still remember them today, ghost-pale echoes of a past that was filled with such wonderful bliss they seem more the stuff of fairy-tales to me now. My face is white as the roses you first bought for me the day I fell ill and you rushed about all in a flurry, and how gently you told me then that I would be all right, how hard you clutched my hand until the imprints of your fingernails were left—

We were all happy then. Saviors all, heroes and heroines of the world. It was the corniest ending ever dreamed, the usual fare of sappy poets and bards who spun stories for the crowds. Rinoa-Squall, Irvine-Selphie, Zell and his girl, Quistis—we had done it, defeated evil, and put the world right, wrapped in the bubbles and roses of young, blossoming love. My god, I still think of the look on your face the night we came back, how your eyes were brilliant with starlight and the wind messed your hair up, and somewhere deep inside there is a bitter ache that not even your kisses can soothe anymore.

How did this happen? (How could I have let this happen?)

I love you. I loved you (wild, bleeding cry. Please listen. Oh god, please listen.)

I wanted to believe in what we had together. I wanted what you wanted, breathed the air that you exhaled. In the nights I listened, breathless, as we lay together in our bed and counted the times your chest rose and fell. I loved you so much I never wanted to let you go, and I went through hell and back when I lost you in the Compression. I thought that I would love you forever and ever.

(memories of the beach at Balamb, Selphie's idiotic giggling, sweet sticky chocolate ice-cream on your lips and on mine, Zell being his usual endearing self, Quistis, self-controlled Quistis, laughing so hard her face turned red,)

(turning to dust and bitter ashes that lie on my tongue like poison)

But slowly and surely, the romance began to die. It was a wild, bucking thing at first, a young stallion barely controlled, leaping over the meadows and silver streams with youthful passion. Then you began to come home late, and when you spoke it was no longer with teasing tenderness. You became cold, withdrawn, and when you kissed me the fire that had been ours had dwindled into black, greasy ashes. We had our first argument, and I walked out. It was then, I think, I first made my decision, though like most important decisions it did not surface until much later.

There are tears in my eyes now. There are always tears in my eyes. Quistis tells me that I am no longer myself. They all look at me with pity, my friends, pitying, sorry looks that makes me want to scream and slash their eyes to bloody bits, scream out, You don't understand, damnit, you don't understand so stop looking at me that way—

You understand least of all, and you are always oblivious. The hatred tastes like bile in the back of my throat. The love with which I had always beheld you—sweet, blazing, beautiful love—twisted into rage and frustration. When you hold me, I recoil from your touch. When you make love to me, I shut my eyes so I don't have to see your face, fake a few moans and pretend that I can't feel you moving inside me. Your touch is like that of marble—cold and dead and distant, and when I think of that perfect moment so long ago after the celebration, one part of me wants to weep, and another wants to shred you into ribbons for the pain that you have made me feel—and the irony is that you don't even know that you are causing me this much pain.

I loved you, Squall. I truly did. But I can't take it anymore.

I'm sorry. I know it isn't enough. One word is barely adequate to express to you the anguish and pain I've gone through to muster up the courage to leave you.

Perhaps I've caused you pain by leaving. Or maybe you'll be relieved, you'll be happy not to have me bogging down your life anymore. I'm not making your life any better by staying, though. I hope you find happiness with someone else.

Maybe, one day, years later, I'll walk down the streets of Balamb and then there you are, fully sprung to life from my thoughts, and we'll go and have a drink together and talk of old times, and you'll smile at me, that precious smile just for me, and my Squall Leonhart will have come back.

Goodbye.

end.

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A Word From the Author: It's been a couple of years since I've written my last FFVIII fic, and after reading Guardian1's slew of FFVIII fics, I was suddenly inspired to write one too. I don't know why I did this, seeing as I'm a rabid Squinoa fan, but anyway, I hope you've enjoyed this.

T. Axile.

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