- Chapter I -
Ellone rose early the following morning. She showered, threw her sleepwear in the wash, and set about doing Squall's load too. After this she went to her room, dried and dressed herself. Choosing to dress simply, she wore a midnight blue set of underwear, over which she chose black jeans and a simple top. The weather report had informed her that today was going to be mild, with some sunshine, but with heavy showers later in the evening. She had started on breakfast when Squall slowly lumbered into the kitchen and sat, rubbing his head.
"Hang over? You deserve it," she remarked, cracking eggs and dropping them into a frying pan. The hiss and crackle of the oil leapt up at her.
"Don't start," he mumbled, rubbing a hand from his eyes over his face. He'd not shaved in weeks, and the stubble grew thicker each morning. His hair was also unkempt, long and greasy.
In silence, Ellone prepared bacon and eggs for the two of them, and placed the plate down in front of Squall. He half-heartedly began to eat.
"How does it taste?" she asked, quietly.
"Good," he replied, not looking up.
"I did your washing for you," she continued.
"Thanks."
Ellone sighed. It was always like this. She couldn't get anything more out of him than a one worded answer. It was all too apparent, the apathy that he portrayed, but Rinoa was gone. He had to move on. He had to.
"Squall, you should-"
"I should what?" he snapped, looking up.
She lost it. "You should get your fucking act together. Every day you day in bed until the bar opens, then you throw your money away as easily as you throw that drink down your neck. Don't you care? Is that what this is? Some kind of righteous personal vendetta towards yourself because you're still alive?"
Squall moved, swiping his hand across the table, sending the plate of food across the room and into the wall. It shattered. Rising, he moved around the table and shoved Ellone hard against the wall, gripping her shoulders, forcing her back, his face inches from hers.
"Say it again," he snarled.
He'd never acted this way before. Was he still drunk? Ellone fearfully realised as the smell of liquor wafted over her.
"Squall, let me go, you're hurting me."
"Say it again," he repeated, locking her gaze.
"You're still alive," she said flatly.
To her relief, he let her go, and sank back against the counter. "Sorry."
"Squall… you're…" she tried.
He waved a hand at her and looked away. You're going to be late. You got the job at the art gallery, didn't you?"
It was more in one sentence than he'd said the whole week. She nodded.
"I finish late, will you… meet me? We can walk home together."
He didn't want to. He didn't want to do anything, just sleep until the bar was open, and go and get a drink. His head pounded and his throat was dry.
"Yeah, sure," he muttered.
Squall watched as she smiled, and kissed his cheek, before turning to gather her things and leave. It was so hard, someone like Ellone could never understand what he was going through. It wasn't a cry for help, or some despairing act of righteousness. He missed her. He missed her so much.
Ignoring the smashed plate, he moved back into his bedroom, and sat on the crib. Gently, he picked up the framed photo on the stand and looked at it. The picture was one of happiness. Himself and Rinoa, taken at their wedding. She looked so beautiful. The reflection of the glass betrayed the tears that fell from his aching eyes and rolled down his cheeks. It was his fault.
If only he hadn't been late. If only he'd have left on time, she'd still be there, waiting for him. But he had been late. Stopping off to buy flowers in an attempt to diffuse the situation caused by his lateness. Only Rinoa wasn't waiting for him when he arrived. Her dead body was.
Squall could still picture her face when he found her. Pale, cold and lifeless. Her lips were tinged with blue, and red raw marks around her neck gave away the cause of death. She'd been strangled. Her bag, and jewellery had been stolen, the event was written off as a mugging.
It wasn't fair, he knew. He couldn't help feel cheated though, especially after all that he'd gone through. He'd travelled the world, not for his sake, for everyone's sake. And this was the repayment. It made him sick.
Leaning back on the bunk, Squall closed his eyes and dreamed of happier times.
It was getting late when Ellone finished her shift. New imports of art had come in from all over the continent, and it had to be carefully handled, prepared and sectioned before the week was out. When she started the job, she was already swamped with work, but three days later she had managed to climb on top of things, and had everything running smoothly. Her bosses were impressed, and promised her a small bonus in her wage packet at the end of the mother.
The small bonus made her smile beneath the thick material of her coat, yet the cold wind still found ways of invading her warmth and chilling her.
"Where is he?" she muttered out loud, her annoyance evident in the tone.
She waited thirty more minutes and decided to give up and head home. The streets were quiet, almost eerie, and it scared her a little. Thankfully, no one would want to be out in this weather. The idea of a taxi sprung to mind, but it was quickly dismissed, after all, it would be wasting the extra money she had earned. Extra money she'd already allocated for a new wardrobe. The voice made her jump.
"Excuse me, miss?"
She spun on her heel towards the sound. It came from a man a few meters away. He'd walked out from one of the house alleys that lead to the rear.
"Yes?" she replied.
"Sorry to trouble you, it being late and all, but I was wondering if you have any spare coin on you?" he moved towards her casually.
"No, I'm sorry. I don't get paid until the end of the month. If you'll excuse me, I must be getting back." Ellone fought the fear that had caused her pulse to speed up and her breathing to quicken. Calm down, she told herself.
"Oh, thank you for your time anyway, miss." the stranger spoke, and shuffled away.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Ellone turned to be on her way, and took the full force of the fist that punched her in the face. Without a sound, her eyes rolled up towards the back of her head, and she sunk forward, landing face down on the pavement.
Ellone woke up slowly. Her face ached and the familiar taste of copper in her mouth helped bring her back to the present. What had happened? One moment she had turned, the next… nothing. As her senses returned to her, she realised she was not alone.
"Oh God, this feels fantastic!" she heard a voice say.
"Hey, she's waking up," a second followed.
Laughter came after. "That's good, would be unfair if we kept all the fun to ourselves now, wouldn't it?"
"What's going on?" she heard herself groan, moving her hand beneath her to try and push herself up. Her face was forced back down into the mattress.
"Nothing, love. Just you lay there and relax. We'll be done soon."
"What are you..," then she felt it. She was being raped.
A sudden slap stuck her face, causing tears to well up in her eyes and spill down to her pale cheeks. The sudden blow also re-ignited the pain from the earlier punch, and she sobbed quietly.
"We're real lucky, bro," said one of the men as he grabbed hold of Ellone's left breast, squeezing it roughly, and pinching the nipple with his forefinger and thumb.
"Very lucky," his brother agreed, as he continued to thrust into the defenceless girl.
"Don't cum inside her, not until I've had some," the first warned.
"Please… let me go," sobbed Ellone, who was weakly struggling against her captors.
The second man slapped her once again, which only intensified her sobbing. "If you keep that up, I really will give you something to cry about, do you understand?" As if to add weight to his words, Ellone felt the sharp point of a knife against her breast.
"Here, gag her," offered the first, taking Ellone's midnight blue knickers from her ankle and tossing them over.
Happy to oblige, the first forced her mouth open and pushed them inside, before taking a strip of tape and binding her lips shut.
Ellone had never been more humiliated in her life. It was enough to wake up and realise she was naked and being raped by men she'd never met before, but to be silenced by her own underwear… it was all too much. She fought her gag reflex, not wanting to choke herself to death.
A sudden surge of fear gave rise to adrenaline, and she kicked out at her attackers. The quick movement caused the first man to slide out of her, and she pressed her legs together and rolled off the bed. Running for the door, she got two steps towards it before her stomach exploded in pain, and the air escaped her lungs. Screaming into her gag, she reached out in a last ditch attempt for freedom. Her fingers came close to the door handle. But not close enough. Collapsing to her knees she bent over, struggling to control the pain that rippled through her body.
Another explosion of pain arrived when the first man, annoyed at having been stopped, kicked her brutally in the ribs.
"You fucking bitch. You think you have a choice? Do you?"
The words were spat out in hatred, and Ellone could only lay on the floor in agony as the tears fell from her cheeks, her muffled screams heard by none.
They continued.
The banging on the door jolted Squall from his drunken stupor. Groaning as his stiff neck ached painfully from his position against the wall, he pushed himself to his feet. He felt terrible. The banging continued.
"Alright, I'm coming. Shut up, will you," he said in a raised voice towards the hall. "Who is it?,' he followed up.
"Police," came the gruff voice on the other side of the door.
Police? Why? He hadn't don't anything. Squall undid the latch on the door and opened it partially; it was just enough to see the two uniformed Dollet officers.
"Squall Leonhart?" one spoke.
"Yeah, what?"
"We have some bad news, can we come in?"
"Uh, sure. What's this about?" he relented, opening the door and moving back so the officers could enter. He saw the look one gave the other. He didn't like it one bit.
Leading the two men down the hall and into the small lounge, he sat on one end of the sofa, idly shaking an empty bottle of whiskey that had been left by the side. Ellone hadn't tidied up like she usually did.
"It's about-" he was cut off.
"Oh my God, Ellone!?" Squall bolted upright, turning his gaze to the wall. "Shit. I'm late," he muttered to himself, catching the time.
"Sir, it's… about Ellone. That's why we're here."
Squall glared so hard at the officer he backed up a step. "What's going on?"
The second sighed. "Perhaps you'd better sit down," he offered.
"I'm fine standing. Speak. Now."
The officers looked at one another. "Ellone was attacked three hours ago. She's currently at the hospital, being treated."
"Treated for what?" Squall's eyes blazed.
"She was badly hurt. She's suffered three broken ribs, cuts to her chest and face and severe bruising. The doctor couldn't complete a proper examination because the swelling hasn't subsided," he paused. "She was raped."
"She was what?" echoed Squall, the gravity of the situation sinking into him, sobering him like none other.
"You were listed as her next of kin, she's asked to see you. We can give you a lift, if you don't have your own transport."
A glazed expression had taken over Squall's face.
"Sir?"
"What? Oh. No, no thank you. You go on ahead. I need to shower and make myself presentable," he forced a smile. "I'll be there as soon as I can."
Both officers nodded, and after offering their condolences, Squall showed them to the door.
It was his fault. If he hadn't fallen asleep, if he had just did what she'd asked, Ellone wouldn't be laying in some hospital bed, broken and abused.
He punched the wall hard. The pain registered, but he didn't care.
Squall went into the kitchen and sat in the darkened room. The plate of food was still there, broken in a mess on the floor. Squall remembered his last moments with her. He'd got angry, he hurt her. He promised.
Unable to stop the tears from falling, Squall started to sob. It had happened again. Again. Twice to the same man. Why did he not learn? Why did he break that promise? Why?
She wanted to see him. He knew why. Ellone would forgive him, and blame herself. She only wanted what was best for him. She spent the last years with him, trying to help. And in the one moment when she needed his help, he wasn't there. It was all too much.
Wiping his eyes, Squall took a bucket from under the sink, and filled it to the brim with warm water. Carrying the bucket into his room, he set it down by the bed. His eyes fell to the stand in the corner. The gun blade that rested there was shining faintly. Taking it up, he placed it in the bucket, point down.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, and pushed his wrist down the blade and into the water. It exploded in a cloud of red.
Warm water mixed with warm blood, and the sting of cut skin faded away. Squall laid back on his bed, the bleeding arm trailing in the bucket. He didn't fight it. It was for the best.
Closing his eyes, he wondered if he'd see his wife again. If she'd forgive him for being late, like Ellone would. He just wanted to know everything was alright, and that she was fine.
"Squall?" the whispered name came to him suddenly. He opened his eyes.
On the bed in front of him lay a pure white angel feather. He focused on it, and reached up with his free hand. Just as he was about to touch it, it faded away.
Squall blinked. Then the realisation struck him. She wasn't there. She wouldn't be waiting. He was alone.
With a final, shallow breath, Squall Leonhart closed his eyes once more, never to open them again.