Chibi: So sorry for the long wait, guys, but I have an excuse! I've been recovering from surgery and it has set the creative cogs of my mind turning so don't hate me please! I was thinking of all you lovely readers the entire time.
So, here is Eight. I hope you like it! It took me a few days to write it but it's been planned out for ages. It was originally going to be longer but as I was finishing it up like ten minutes ago this ending bounced into my head and threatened me so I simply had to put it in. As always, I love me some feedback so if you could review you would make me very happy. Please.
Anyway. Enjoy!
Eight
I was the first up the next morning, which in recent days was a big thing for me. In the last week or so, in my recovery, it had been hard for me to get up in the morning. Normally I awoke to Aerith gently shaking me awake, telling me breakfast was ready. But that morning, the sun was streaming through my window because I'd forgotten to close my curtains, and when I listened carefully I couldn't hear any sound coming from downstairs. I sat up, still somewhat shakily, and pulled Zack's jumper on again over my t-shirt and shorts. It neatly covered me up to the base of my shorts. I headed downstairs.
I did everything that I'd done before Aerith moved in - everything that belonged to me, all that was my job. I cooked the breakfast, I made the tea, I made my father's coffee just the way he liked it. Then I went and banged on everybody's doors, telling them to get up. As I stalked back down the stairs, I felt angry but it also felt good. This was myhouse. I'd looked after everybody since my mother had died, and that was the way it was going to stay. Zack and Aerith couldn't live here forever. They might not last forever as a couple, either. I knew, sooner or later, things would be back to normal. Me, Dad and Zack. Dad as the breadwinner. Me as the mother. Zack as ... Zack. She didn't have a place here. She wasn't even from here, she was from Midgar. She didn't have dark hair and the surname Fair, so in my mind, that meant that she didn't belong here.
Everyone sat themselves down for breakfast – bacon and fried egg sandwiches – and I bustled about, pouring tea and coffee, turning on the radio so we could listen to the news. My father hadn't seemed to really notice anything was different, but Zack kept shooting me strange looks. Aerith looked strange wrapped in her dressing gown, her hair pulled back in its usual braid but messier than usual. She was always so neat and tidy when we saw her each morning, and here she was looking vulnerable. Well, that was fine by me. I may have been in my pyjamas and my brother's jumper, but I'd been up before her, and I'd made sure everyone was fed and watered.
My father finished first, and he grunted his thanks, shuffling out of the kitchen with his mug of coffee still clasped in his hand. Then Zack finished the last bite of his, and was stretching his arms out above his head and yawning. I wished that he'd put more clothes on, I had always found it disconcerting how he thought it was okay to sit at the table and eat his breakfast with us in just a pair of boxers. He gave me another strange look, and then got up, nodding his thanks, and disappeared upstairs. Aerith and I were sat together in the kitchen, both in our pyjamas, both sipping tea. I stared at her warily, watching as she drank deeply. She looked tired, very tired, and I wondered why. I noticed with a painful tug on my heart that the dressing gown she was wrapped in had belonged to my mother. It had hung on the back of the bathroom door since she had died, and now Aerith was wearing it. I could only assume that Zack had given it to her to borrow. Well, fine. If he thought that was okay then I guessed it was. I held myself tightly, feeling something that could have been smugness at the thought that I was the one wearing Zack's jumper, not Aerith.
As soon as she had finished her tea and declined more, I started gathering up all the plates and loading the dishwasher. I watched as Aerith got up, rubbing her eyes.
"Thank you for breakfast, Tifa," I nodded, my back turned, but I knew that she'd seen it. I heard her leave the room. I started washing up the pans, aggressively, water slopping out over the sides of the sink and onto my bare feet. I ignored it, scrubbing hard at pans that didn't really need much scrubbing. Before Aerith had come here, the pans had all been caked in a layer of black that was burnt on through excessive use, which wouldn't come off no matter how hard I tried. But she'd washed them in something weird that I'd never heard of before, and suddenly they were as clean as when we'd first bought them all those years ago. I angrily dumped the too-clean pan on the draining board, shaking my head. Why did all these thoughts keep messing with my mind? Why did I care so much? She was just a girl, just a nice girl trying to help but I felt as though every kind word, from the moment she'd stepped in the house and made breakfast before me that first morning and through my week in bed, as she'd cared for me and given me my tablets when I needed them, was suffocating me. I felt as though I was drowning in this sweet, floral light that rushed in through my mouth and nose and hurt my eyes and choked the life out of me. I gripped the draining board hard, my head hanging down, my face fierce and angry.
"Tifa?" Her voice, soft and gentle, hurt my ears. Again, I felt her kindness flooding my lungs and gripped the counter even harder. "Are you alright? Do you feel sick again?"
I had always thought that the worst way to die was by drowning.
"I'm fine. Just a little dizzy."
"Well, maybe you should go sit down."
"I'm fine, Aerith. Really." I pushed myself upright, and saw that she had a laundry basket under her arm. She saw my eyes drift towards it and hitched it up higher, so that it was nestled beneath her armpit.
"I was going to do some laundry. Is there anything you want washing?"
The smugness I had felt that morning, as I gathered everyone round to eat my breakfast, was ebbing away quickly, but I was determined to hold on to it. I pulled the basket out from under her arm and she gave me a startled look, and I briefly wondered (somewhat guiltily) if I had hurt her as I'd done that. But I held the basket close.
"I'll do it."
"Tifa, please. It's really no trouble, I'm more than happy to do it. Why don't you just go and sit down, and relax?" One of her hands reached out and rested on the basket.
"Let me do it, Aerith. You're a guest, I can't let you." I pulled it away, out of her reach. I couldn't really read her face – I doubted she was angry with me, for behaving the way I was. There seemed to be some annoyance there, though. I wondered if she really did want to do the laundry (perhaps she really enjoyed doing it?) or if she was just annoyed with me for taking this chance to impress Zack away from her. Because that was what this all boiled down to, really: who Zack was impressed with. For me, anyway.
"Come on, Tifa. You can go relax. You did breakfast." I saw her hand again reaching out towards the basket.
"Just let me do it, Aerith!" I pulled it away one final time, and it wasn't till I saw the scared, confused look on her face that I realised that I'd shouted at her. It was then that I also realised that she really just wanted to help me out, and that she really was worried about me, but in that moment I didn't care a bit. In that moment, I despised her, and I had never felt so much anger towards one person. I hated her for taking my brother away from me. I hated her for charming my father in the way I never could. I hated the way people seemed to fall under some kind of spell when they were near her, simply because she was so kind, sweet, and graceful. I hated the fact that I knew no boy would ever try to touch her or hurt her, not only because they knew that Zack would rip them apart, but because she was almost too pure to want to sully. She was like some kind of angel that was gracing our village, and I seemed to be the only person who wanted her out. Or, rather, one of the only people. I could immediately think of one silver-haired boy, someone very close to Zack, who was none too fond of the girl he'd brought home from Midgar.
"Hey, what's going on here?"
I found myself breathing heavily, gripping the basket with an iron-like hold, and Aerith was pushed up with her back against the counter, her eyes scared and confused. Zack was stood in the doorway, in running shorts and a t-shirt, a pair of running shoes held loosely in his hands by the laces. His eyes burned with an emotion that looked like a mixture of confusion and anger.
"Nothing," I muttered. I thrust the basket at Aerith, and she took it with shaking hands. "You do it."
I pushed past Zack, and into the hall, moving quickly up the stairs. I heard him say a few words to Aerith, which I could – or chose – not to hear, and then I heard what I knew I would hear: his footsteps quickly following mine up the stairs.
"Tifa, what the hell?"
"Just leave me alone, Zack."
"What the hell was going on there?"
"Nothing, just stay out of it, Zack! It's nothing to do with you!" I reached the top of the stairs, with him close behind me, and as I tried to escape into my bedroom he grabbed my arm and whirled me around to face him.
"It has everything to do with me!"
"Let go!" His fingers dug painfully into my arm, digging deeper and holding tighter every time I tried to pull my arm back. "Just forget about it, nothing happened!"
"It didn't look that way to me!" I gave up trying to pull my arm back, and finally looked up into his face. He looked fierce; livid, even. I noticed then that he'd cut his hair, back into the way it always used to fall, shorter in the back with two sections of fringe falling forward either side of his face. He looked younger than when I had found him in the kitchen just a few weeks ago, fresh from dropping out of university with a beautiful girl in tow, with his hair long and feral, and one long strand falling down the side of his face. But his eyes burned with the same fierceness, and were built with the same experience and knowledge as they'd always been. It felt weird, like I only knew the tip of the iceberg about him. I got the feeling though that these days, that was how he felt about me.
"Just forget it, Zack. It really has nothing to do with you."
"Tifa, it's to do with you and Aerith. It has everything to do with me! She's my girlfriend, and you're-"
"I'm your sister, yes!" I yanked my arm back with a sense of finality and he let it go, his own arm falling to his side and his fists clenching. "Iam your sister; I am your own blood! But you don't care anymore! You run off every single day with her, and Kadaj, and Cloud, and you spare no thought for me!"
"Like you can talk!" He was shouting back now, his eyes furious. "You spend your life wrapped around Yuffie's finger! You are messing with the wrong crowd, Tifa!"
I started to reply with 'No more than you', but I was cut off. I managed to get out the words "No more-" when a sharp voice sliced through my angry response and forced my mouth shut.
"-Stop fighting, both of you!" Zack and I both whirled around, and found our father stood there, his brow furrowed and a notebook in his hand. He looked tired, cross and confused. "What's gotten into you two?"
I found myself lost for words, and I'm fairly certain that Zack was in a similar position. Our father may have shouted at us and reprimanded us in the past, but he had never really told us off. Not for something that was between the two of us as siblings. We had always felt that it was our territory. Even when our mother was alive, if Zack and I got into an argument our parents just left us to it, and allowed us to sort it out ourselves. And yet, here was our father, facing us on the landing and interfering in our argument and commanding us to stop. I didn't know what to say. I opened my mouth, about to say something, but nothing came out. A quick, side glance at Zack told me that he was experiencing the same kind of confusion about how to respond and behave.
"You're brother and sister. I don't care what you're fighting about, but just stop it. I don't want to hear you two fight."
We hung our heads, like a pair of children. "Sorry, Dad," I heard Zack murmur.
"Yeah, sorry," I all but whispered. I glanced up, to see how my father had reacted to our stilted, confused apologies, when I noticed which room he'd come out of in the midst of our argument. "Um, Dad, why were you in my room?"
"What?"
"My room," I pointed at the doorway behind him. "You came out of it. What were you doing in there?"
"Oh..." He shrugged softly, and his eyes grew vacant and somewhat distant. His passionate hatred of mine and Zack's fighting seemed to have dissipated entirely. He was back in his own world. "I was doing some research. For my new book."
He moved between us and started to descend the stairs, his demeanour as cool as ever – when he wasn't drinking, that is. Again, for the second time that morning, I found myself lost for words. He was writing again? He had to be, right? He'd said that he was doing research for his new book. For the first time in a long time, maybe the first time that summer, I felt some sort of hope. Hope that we'd be happy again, that we were getting back on track. That he was getting back on track. If he was writing again, that meant that he was finally getting over her, right? Since my mother's death, my father had only written one book, and it was a sad, dark work that received mixed praise. That had been four years ago, though. So much promise hung in his words, for me at least. My new book. New. If he'd said my next book I wouldn't have viewed it in quite the same way, but the fact that he'd said new gave me promise, hope and a vision of a new life for me and my family. My ramshackle family, which had been barely living since my mother's death. We'd been moving and breathing but we were hardly living. We went through the motions, did what was expected. But now, if he was writing again ...
My memory suddenly whirled me up, and deposited me in the hallway earlier on in the week. A Tuesday, it had been. I'd been up and out of bed for a few days now, walking weakly and sparsely and in need of regular breaks in the living room but I was mobile at least. I'd been shakily pacing the hallway, eyeing the closed door of my father's study, wrapped in one of his old, scratchy cardigans over a pair of shorts and an old, oversized gym t-shirt that I couldn't remember buying. It felt like most of the time that I wore Zack and my father's clothes anyway. But as I'd been walking, my legs as weak as Bambi's and my ankles barely stable, I'd pulled the t-shirt out in front of me, eyeing the large motif on the front, and the words that I could make out in their upside down state made something in my brain jar. Hewley Academy for Girls. It had been the school my mother had attended – this was her t-shirt. I held the fabric tightly in my clammy hands, trying to work out how I'd got hold of it. My mother's clothes, since she'd died, had all remained in the place they'd always been, in her wardrobe and her chest of drawers in hers and my father's room. No one touched them. How did I have it? I thought back to that morning, when I was looking for a clean t-shirt in the airing cupboard. It had been right at the back, under a pile of towels. I didn't even think; just assumed it was Zack's or my father's and pulled it out and put it on.
But it was hers.
Standing there, feeling some sort of wave of change flooding through the hallway, licking at my ankles, then my knees, rising with every second that passed as I stood there in my mother's t-shirt, clutching its hem, I looked over to the stairs, to the piano that was still sat there, unused, unwanted. Without thinking, I was striding over, sitting down on the seat that had been worn out years ago, but was now hardly used, and my fingers were laid out on top of the lid. The wood was cool beneath my fingertips – I could feel it through the fine layer of dust that was sprinkled liberally across the surface. I massaged my fingers into the wood, into the dust, making splayed, brown passages through the grey that I then wiped clean away with the sleeve of the cardigan I was wearing.
I looked pointedly at the door of my father's study, still resolutely shut and unyielding, and pulled the lid up. The keys were cold and clean, having been protected from dust by the lid for five years. I laid my fingers on them, just as I had done on the lid, watching the fingers of my mother ghost out across the ebony and ivory as graceful as mist. Still the study door was shut – of course, he couldn't hear what I was doing. Without meaning to, one of my fingers dropped heavily down onto a key, and the note rang out, discordant, echoing in the quiet, empty hallway. Nothing moved. Then I pushed another finger down, and another note sounded. It sang loudly, and sounded wrong. I pushed a few more keys and my suspicions were confirmed – it was very out of tune. It was bound to be, after five years.
I stopped pushing at the keys and sat back, pulling Dad's cardigan closer around me, buttoning it together over the words Hewley Academy for Girls, and holding myself tightly. There was a sound, then – the door was opening. My father stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame, looking at me with no particular expression on his face except curiosity. I had expected him to be angry, but he didn't say a word, didn't make a sound. Simply leant there, against the wood, his arms folded, his eyes on me, sitting on the stool with my arms close around me. I pushed the lid gently down, and then I looked up at the book of sheet music that rested for five years on the stand, still open on Amazing Grace. Her namesake, she'd always said. I closed the book.
Dad had nodded, and then the study door was closing and I was alone in the hall once more. I remembered pulling at the t-shirt, trying to find a label, and then I'd found it at the nape of the neck. Sure enough, a nametag was sewn in, no doubt by my grandmother, who had died ten or so years ago. I was touching where the ghosts of two sets of fingers had. I twisted the t-shirt round and brought the label close up to my eyes. Sure enough, in red stitching, there was her name. Grace M. Lockhart.
I pulled myself back to the present, as my brother and I stood on the landing staring at my father as he descended the stairs.
"You're writing again?" I heard myself asking. My father didn't speak, simply nodded, and then he was walking to his study and the door was closing. I could only wonder if this hadn't been a long time coming, if it had in fact been a gradual build up that was due to happen any day now. I could only wonder if what had happened with me, him and the piano was anything to do with it.
"Tifa ... I'm going for a run. But this discussion isn't by any means over." Zack pushed past me, and followed my father down the stairs, the running shoes bouncing with his steps. "I'll see you later." I watched as he sat down at the foot of the stairs, lacing up the shoes, and then listened to him leave. As the front door closed I felt a huge sigh escape my body. It seemed to drag my energy out with it, and I found that I had to lean on the doorframe of my bedroom for support. Why couldn't the two of us get along anymore?
An hour or so later, I was looking for the garage key. It was a slippery key and no one ever seemed to know where it was. I wanted to get inside to get my bike out, to go for a ride, but the key wasn't anywhere downstairs. Dad was shut up in his study, but as I'd taken him a cup of tea earlier I knew that he was working, was writing, rather than sitting reading old detective novels with a glass of whiskey as he'd seemed to be doing for the last four years. Aerith was pottering, hanging out washing and reading a book in the living room. When I'd passed her by earlier, I'd snuck a look at the cover and realised with surprise that she was reading Wide Sargasso Sea – it had been her book left on the floor the night before that I'd been reading. I guess I was surprised because I didn't really think she was into books in the same way my father, brother and I were. But I decided not to disturb her, and we didn't discuss the laundry again.
My search for the garage key took me upstairs, and I wondered whether it could have ended up in Zack's room. He was still out, running presumably, and so I furtively slipped into his room, leaving the door half open beside me. I couldn't remember the last time I had been in my brother's room. It was generally tidy – he'd never been a messy person, not even as a child – but the desk was buried under a heap of papers, books and magazines. Whilst he'd been at university, I rarely came in here; only to change the bedding when he came home for the holidays. Zack hoarded books just like my father did, and so the first thing that was noticeable as I entered the room were the stacks and stacks of books that littered the floor – a mixture of his own, borrowed from my dad's bookshelf, borrowed from the communal living room bookshelf, and borrowed from my own bookshelf. I guided my feet around them, and started sifting through the paper on his desk, trying to locate the key. I happened to glance up, at the shelf that hung above the desk, and found myself staring at the pictures he had up there. There was a copy of the family picture we'd had done, just months before she'd died, with me at ten years old sat on Dad's lap with my hair falling over my shoulder in a French plait, Zack at fourteen with his arm around our mother as she sat beside our father, a huge grin spread across his young face. There was a picture of Dad holding a baby I recognised as myself, as I reached a soft, dimpled hand up to push against his face. Me and Zack aged five and nine, sat on the washing machine in our pyjamas, me with my arms in the air and my smile shy, and Zack with his trademark, carefree grin with his arms wrapped around me. Our mother aged about fifteen or sixteen, in her school uniform, her hair just like mine but with Zack's eyes ... there was another photo, a newer edition to the collection that I didn't recognise. It was of Aerith, in an empty, seemingly abandoned church, knelt down before an enormous bed of flowers with a ribbon in her hair. Something in my heart moved, looking at this collection of photos that was as mismatching and ramshackle as our family. Something was different, something had been altered, but I didn't know what. All I knew was that I felt different. I still felt anger towards him, for getting involved and telling me off, but I became so much more aware that he was my brother, that we had grown up together. It wasn't as if I'd never noticed it, but I guess I'd never really stopped to think about it. He was always there, in nearly every memory, except for those from the last year since he'd left home.
I shook my head, and carried on searching for the key. He had a lot of litter on his desk, and as I found myself triumphant, locating the key beneath a heavy booklet, I managed to knock the booklet to the floor. I sighed, and knelt down on the floor to pick it up. I turned it over in my hands, and suddenly, as I saw the cover, my hands didn't work anymore. I found myself settling down onto the floor, leaning up against the bed with my legs crossed, and opening the booklet to read. It was a prospectus for Midgar University. It was a couple of years old, from when Zack was applying to university as he prepared to finish school. I flicked through it, taking in the pictures of smiling, happy students, all dressed in bright colours and of varying ethnicities, the background of urban, industrial Midgar that somehow attracted me, despite the overwhelming colour of grey that seemed to swallow up these bright, happy students that were no doubt picked specifically by the photographer. Why had Zack run from this? I knew at heart he would always be a country boy – knew that all his friends in Midgar had called him that – but I just couldn't understand why he'd want to come back here, to Gongaga, the smallest and most stifling village out there besides Nibelheim. Why would he give up that freedom, that independence, to come back and live with me and Dad?
I shook my head, still unable to understand, and flicked to the last page. There was an advert there, a picture of three smiling girls with their arms around each other, each holding hockey sticks and wearing the same t-shirt as I was now. Hewley Academy for Girls, the slogan read. Based in the heart of Midgar, the Hewley Academy for Girls resides in Sector 8 and allows young ladies to immerse themselves in all the educational attractions Midgar has to offer whilst providing an excellent education that sets each girl up for life. I stared at the picture, stared hard, looking into the happy, smiling faces of the three young girls with their matching t-shirts, hockey sticks and ponytails, willing them to tell me something, anything, about my mother, something about what she was like back then. Anything. I wanted to know more, wanted to press each girl further than their smiles and force them to give me solid information, tell me what it was like there, and tell me why my brother and his girlfriend had felt the need to leave. What could be so wrong about this place?
The sudden slamming of the doorway pulled me out of my thoughts, brought me back to the real world where I was sat on the floor of my brother's room, having rifled through his belongings and his footsteps were all too clear coming up the stairs. As I flung the prospectus back onto the desk and picked myself up, I realised he wasn't alone – I could hear him talking to someone, and as the person replied I realised with a feeling of sick horror in my stomach that Kadaj was with him. The closeness of their voices told me it was too late, I couldn't get out of the room now. Given the way Zack had left, and the unfinished status of our argument (a discussion, he'd called it), I knew that if he caught me coming out of his room now, he would not be happy. And so, as I heard them walking across the landing towards the door, which was still half-open as I'd left it, I did the only thing I knew I could do in those circumstances: I dropped quickly to the floor, and rolled under the bed. I lay there, amongst the dust and old pairs of shoes, trying to slow down my heightened, heavy breathing, clutching the garage key tightly in my hand like it was some kind of talisman, to ward them away from my hiding place, and listened to them come into the room, shut the door, and sit down.
"Is your sister home?" As they sat down on the bed, I felt the mattress sag considerably, and I pressed myself flat across the floor, hoping that it wouldn't bump into the top of my head.
"I dunno, man. Why?"
I heard Kadaj sniff, deeply, and I wondered why. He gave a soft chuckle that penetrated through the mattress and into my ears, making my entire body tense up. "Just wonderin'."
"I'd have thought you'd be too busy with Yuffie to think of other girls. Let alone my sister." Zack's voice was cold.
"Yuffie's quite the handful, let me tell you that," Kadaj muttered.
"What do you mean?"
"Let's just say that I know something's up. Can I smoke in here?"
"Sure," Zack mumbled, and I heard him kneeling on the bed and opening the window. There was the click of a lighter, a deep inhale, and then an equally deep exhale. "What do you mean? You think she's bored of you?"
"No..." I heard Kadaj inhaling again. There was a long pause before he exhaled. "Something's happened ... I think she's done something with some other guy. She's not the same. She doesn't wanna do anything these days. I think, that night when she had that party and I didn't go, she was doing something with some other guy behind my back."
"Really?" My palms were growing sweaty, and I clutched the garage key tighter in my hand, which felt even more like a talisman now. A mantra began in my head, chanting the same words over and over like a magic phrase. Please don't cotton on, please don't cotton on, please don't cotton on ...
"Really."
"Well, do you know who with?"
"I have my suspicions."
"And ... if you find out that you were right? Then what?" Another inhale, another pause, another exhale.
"First I'm going to kill the guy who dared to lay his hands on her, and then I'm going to make her pay. No one makes a fool of me."
"Christ, Kadaj!" Zack shifted above me, his feet in their running shoes settling more firmly on the carpet. I could only guess that he had bumped into Kadaj whilst he was out on his run, and had invited him back here. "What the hell is wrong with you?"
"What are you talking about, Fair?"
"She's fifteen! She's just a kid! I mean, I think it's weird enough that you've been fooling around with her, but give her some freedom for Christ's sake!"
"She's my girl; no one is allowed to touch her. Don't I make that clear enough in this shitty village?"
"Kadaj, you're not even dating her. You're just fooling around with her. She can do whatever the hell she likes!"
"Ah forget it." I heard the click of the lighter again – Kadaj must have lit up another cigarette. "You wouldn't understand anyway. You're completely wrapped up in that girl of yours."
"Come on, don't be mean about Aerith. You know how I feel about her."
Inhale. Pause. Exhale.
"You're too young to tie yourself down to one chick, Fair."
"Ah, whatever, Kadaj." There was a silence, and I held tighter to the key, willing them to argue further, to break friends, to end Kadaj's involvement in my life. But they seemed to have silently settled their differences. Things had changed, though. They never spoke like this before they'd each left home. They were the best of friends then, and rarely argued. Now, it was almost like they were strangers. I didn't know whether to be pleased about this, or to feel sad for Zack.
"So," Kadaj murmured. "Do you wanna go get a drink tonight?"
"Can't, sorry. I promised Cloud I'd see him tonight."
There was a sharp exhale from Kadaj, and I almost knew that the smoke he'd inhaled from the cigarette would be pouring stiffly from his nostrils, like an angry bull.
"What the hell is up with you and this Strife kid? You spend your days attached to his hip."
"Cloud's alright, man. He's just going through a rough time." That threw me. Cloud was going through a rough time? Why didn't I know about this? I felt the key digging sharply into my palm and I loosened my hold on it a bit. I mentally shook myself. Cloud was Zack's friend, after all. Not mine. It was highly unlikely that I'd know what was going on in his life. All we had shared together were a few awkward conversations, and my hand in his across the kitchen table.
"I don't like him. He's weird. Plus, he hit Loz that day."
"Loz kind of deserved it ... he was kind of groping my sister."
"Yeah, well, maybe she deserved it." There was a silence, and I prayed hard that it was because Zack was restraining himself from punching Kadaj, and punching him hard. He seemed to sense how dangerously thin their friendship currently was, and he kept silent. I bit my lip, trying not to stop myself from cursing at Kadaj's stupid, twisted logic.
"So, where will you two go, do you think?" Kadaj put the question forward so casually, you'd have thought that he didn't actually hold any grudge against Cloud.
"I'm not sure. Probably Seventh Heaven though."
Kadaj grunted a response, and then he was standing up, and heading towards the door.
"Well, I guess I'd better be off. Got some business to attend to. See you around, Fair."
"See you." Then, Kadaj was gone – I could hear his footsteps on the stairs. I didn't hear the front door but that didn't worry me, because he was gone. He was no longer in the same room as me, no longer making my skin crawl. I heard Zack sigh loudly, then get up and leave the room too. A door closed nearby, and then I heard the shower turn on and grasped that it was the bathroom door. I cautiously crawled out from under the bed, shaking the dust off of me. When I opened my hand, there was a deep imprint of the key in the skin. I left the room. It wasn't for a good few minutes, as I went into my bedroom to change into some clothes more suitable for cycling, that I heard the front door close, signalling Kadaj's exit.
That night there was a fire at Seventh Heaven.
Nobody was hurt, but it was a serious fire. I can remember every moment of that fire so clearly, which I find kind of odd – everything happened so quickly, so I would have thought that it would all be a blur in my memories. But no ... I was working that night, and I had noticed the Zack and Cloud weren't among that night's customers. I decided that they must have gone to another bar. I can remember being stood behind the bar, and the faint smell of smoke drifting up my nose ... no, wait – I can do better than that. I remember precisely where and how I was stood, and the way the smoke curled out from under the kitchen door like the fingers of an elderly woman. I was stood at the far end of the bar, so a fair distance away from the door, and I had one leg bent, my weight falling on the opposite hip. I was writing out a bill, one hand tapping buttons on the calculator and my wrist resting on the edge of the bar, and there was something sticky (a spilt drink, perhaps) staining the wood beside my other arm, which I was carefully keeping out of the sticky patch. I was writing the total of the bill – forty gil – when I smelt it. It was both faint and strong – weak by distance, but strong by recognition – the unmistakable smell of smoke.
Cid had been by the open front door on his break, talking to a friend. He smelt it the same moment I did, and we both looked up exactly the same time, catching each other's eyes. He ambled over to me, his brow furrowed.
"Do you smell that?" I nodded. He bit his lip with uncertainty, and then called Barret over. "Barret, you smell that?"
Barret breathed deeply, his nostrils flaring with the action. As the smoke entered his nose, and he registered what it was, his eyes widened.
"Smoke." He stated. Cid and I nodded. "Cid, check the kitchen. I'm gonna check outside."
Cid made his way to the kitchen, cautiously pushing the door, as Barret moved towards the front door, but he didn't have a chance to get there and check, as Cid suddenly swore and came dashing back out of the kitchen again.
"There's a goddamn fire!" Barret and I dashed towards the kitchen door, which Cid was holding open, and as my feet took me closer the smell of smoke was stronger and undeniable. Cid's words had set my heart thumping wildly, and as I looked through the open door and saw the gas cooker completely covered in flames, which had spread to the wooden frame of the back door and the window, and were licking at the old beams that held up the ceiling, it seemed to stop in shock. The three of us stood there, almost dumbfounded, watching the smoke pouring out of the open window and hearing the sharp crack of one of the beams, until Barret suddenly grabbed at Cid's shoulder.
"You left the gas on?"
"Course I didn't!" Cid shook his head, and advanced forward through the smoke, groping for the fire extinguisher that hung on the wall near the door.
"Tifa, I'm gonna get everybody out. You move all the alcohol as far away from this door as you can." I glanced upwards, knowing that above those creaking beams and the ceiling was Marlene in bed, where I'd tucked her up just an hour ago. Barret read my face and followed my eyes. "I'll sort Marlene. Just get going on this."
I nodded, and he closed the door and quickly moved towards the tables of people scattered about the bar. I didn't hear what he was saying, but soon the customers were all standing up, gathering jackets and bags, and heading towards the front door with a sense of determined urgency painted across their faces. I just did what Barret had told me to do, pulling the large bottles of spirits off the wall and piling them up in my arms. There were three doors to Seventh Heaven – the front door, the kitchen door, and a third one at the far end of the bar that led into a beer garden. I headed out of that door, carefully placing the bottles on the ground and heading back inside for more. The bar was empty, now, and I could hear Barret and Cid swearing in the kitchen. It seemed that more smoke was pouring out from beneath the door, filling the bar, and it made my chest spasm convulsively. I leant against the bar for a moment, coughing, and then started dragging bottles off the shelves behind the bar, my arms screaming in protest as I tried and failed to lift a large barrel off the floor. I settled for rolling it before me, nudging it with my foot. I deposited my load outside again, and as I came back inside a third time, the front door swung open, and my brother and Cloud suddenly appeared through the smoke.
"Tifa! What the hell's going on?" Zack rushed over towards me, Cloud following closely, their faces set with determination. I started gathering more bottles up in my arms.
"There's a fire in the kitchen, Cid and Barret have it under control." As I spoke, Barret flung the kitchen door open.
"Yo, Zack, thought I heard your voice! We could really use your help!" Zack nodded silently, and I took the bottles outside, as he and Cloud headed for the kitchen. When I got back in the bar, I realised that there wasn't any more alcohol left in the bar, so I headed towards the kitchen to see if I could help. The smoke was thicker and stronger now, and when I pushed open it caught me right in the back of my throat and it was a struggle to breathe. Barret and Cid both had small extinguishers, blasting foam at the oven, and Zack and Cloud were filling buckets up with water at the sink. Zack turned, and saw me stood in the doorway. His eyes were as ablaze as the fire he was trying to put out.
"Tifa, go! Get out!"
Cloud's head whipped around, and the thing that stood out the most was that his eyes looked ... scared. His brow was furrowed and his eyes were crinkled into something that looked an awful lot like fear.
There was a small, girlish scream from above us, and I could hear Marlene's voice, calling fearfully for Barret.
"I'll get Marlene!" I called over to Barret, whose face was a mixture of fear and exhaustion.
"No, Tifa!" He yelled. I was heading towards the stairs at the back of the kitchen, when suddenly cool fingers were wrapped around my wrist and sharply pulled me back, just as there was a loud crack and a section of ceiling peeled away from between two beams and crashed down to the floor, right where I had been stood. I felt myself stumble back in shock, and two hands held my shoulders tight, keeping me upright. When I glanced over my shoulder, to see who had stopped me from being crushed beneath the rubble that had fallen, I found that it was Cloud.
Then Zack had come over, his face shining with sweat, and he was pushing me towards the kitchen door.
"Tifa, you need to get out of here, it's not safe!"
"I can help, I'm not a child! Marlene's still up there!"
"We'll get her, Tifa, just go, please!" I adamantly shook my head. He sighed heavily, and turned to Cloud. "Please ... just get her out of here." Cloud nodded firmly.
"You heard the man, Spiky!" Barret yelled over the loud roar of the fire, and then Zack was heading back towards the flames, and Cloud's fingers were laced around my wrist again and I was letting him pull me behind him, letting him drag me quickly through the bar and out of the front door. He pulled me some distance away, and we both stopped to cough loudly, breath hitching and throats rattling. When I looked up and took in my surroundings, I saw that there were lots of people crowded around the bar, stood almost in a perfect semi-circle, staring at the smoke that was still rising steadily. It looked like most of the village was there. In the crowd, near the front, I could see my father, and Aerith was stood beside him, her hand firmly on his arm. She looked like she was holding him back.
I straightened up, wheeling back around to look at the burning bar, and Cloud did the same. I could feel his warmth seeping through my side, could feel his fear and nervousness, and his steady but somewhat ragged breathing echoed loudly in my ear. As we stood watching, and I could feel myself growing colder and colder despite the great heat that radiated out from the fire, the front door to the bar crashed open quite suddenly, and Barret staggered out, carrying Marlene. I felt the cold that was steadily encasing me in an icy armour draw back slightly at this, seeing that the two of them were both alive and well. He stumbled forward, and Aerith was suddenly at his side, gently taking Marlene from him. He caught his breath, and then turned, making to go back inside, but my father held his arm tightly, shaking his head with purpose.
There was a loud bang from inside, and a crashing sound, and quite suddenly my hand shot out, clutching at Cloud's wrist. He grunted lightly in surprise, but didn't move away. I held on tightly, my fingers digging deep into his flesh as flames suddenly erupted upwards. There was another loud crash, and my voice escaped my lips.
"Zack!" I released Cloud's wrist and suddenly ran forward. All my anger at Zack from earlier that day had swiftly dissipated in the last ten minutes, and now all I could think about was him trapped, him burning, him dying ...
"Tifa, no!" Arms shot out from behind me, looping around my shoulders and tightly restraining me. I didn't have to turn and look to know that it was Cloud, holding me in place and breathing deeply.
"Cloud, let me go! Zack could be in trouble!"
"I won't let you go back in there." He loosened his hold on me swiftly, but as I started forward, towards the bar, he surged past me and pushed me back. "Stay here. Don't follow me!"
He ran inside, just as there was another loud crash. There was no one to grab hold of now. All I could do was clench my fists and watch in the grim hope that I would see my brother and Cloud again. I glanced across the circle, and Aerith's eye caught mine. Her face was set, her green eyes shining with fervent hope, her hand firm upon Marlene's shoulder.
And then, just as the tell-tale siren of an approaching fire engine sounded, the heat died down, and there were no more crashes. The smoke hung hazily in the air, drifting sideways and upwards, but without the strength and thickness of before. I strained my eyes and listened hard, but I couldn't see or hear any of the roars of the fire. The front door was flung open, like when Barret had staggered out, and Cloud and I before him, and this time it fell forwards off its hinges, landing with a loud thump on the ground that sent clouds of dust and dirt spiralling upwards. My heart was thudding again, pounding against my ribcage and pressing urgently against the skin of my chest as a figure appeared through the dust and smoke. Cid stepped out into the night, his hair flattened with sweat and his face shining and grimy. He shook his head, and moved past the door towards the ambulance that had pulled up beside the fire engine that had just arrived, and as he moved I could see nasty burns cut into the skin on his arms. There was scattered applause from the people stood around.
Please, I found myself thinking. Please. Please. My dream, the one I'd had the first night I'd met Cloud, still haunted my memories. An image of Cloud, drenched in blood, being held up by my brother and Aerith. Please.
And then the two of them were coughing and staggering forward in the smoke and dust still floating in the air, Cloud's blond hair standing out like a beacon from the dark doorway. He had his arm around Zack, and seemed to be supporting him, but as Aerith ran forward, her face wet with happiness and left over fear, Cloud took his arm away, letting my brother be enveloped in Aerith's arms. I watched her holding him, and then my feet were driving me forwards, and I was stood beside them before I knew it, looking into Zack's grimy face. When he looked down into mine, I knew from the look in his eyes that all the animosity from before, and the remains of our heated argument, had been charred into oblivion the moment he'd seen the fire.
Aerith released him, standing back, her face shining with relief, and moved towards Cloud, her hand gently touching the side of his face which was streaked with a ribbon of blood. I looked at Zack, my body still hesitant, and then he had reached forward and swept me towards him, laying his cheek down upon the top of my head as I pushed my face down into his shoulder. His arms, still warm from the heat of the flames, circled round my back and pressed me to him.
"I'm sorry about this morning," I murmured, but he just held me tighter and made a shushing noise.
"I don't care about that." He muttered into my hair. My hands weakly moved up his back and my fingers dug into the material of his t-shirt, dragging the fabric down with the movement.
"I was so worried-"
"-It's over, Tifa. Relax." I nodded feebly, and then he gently let go of me, and he softly pushed me towards Cloud. Aerith had returned to Zack's side, her fingers lacing tightly with his, and Cloud was just stood there before me, his face hard but his eyes soft, the worry from before still etched across his forehead and sketched into the corners of his eyes.
My plan was just to stand before him and thank him, but suddenly my emotions took over and I was stumbling forwards and pressing myself against him. He tensed up immediately, like I knew he would, but it didn't bother me. I wound my arms around him, pressing my face into his shoulder like I had done with Zack, and his arms, slow but sure, were rising, and he gently placed his hands on my back, holding me loosely to him.
"Thank you," I whispered into his ear. He didn't reply but he didn't need to. It was all there, all the worry for Zack and maybe a small sliver for me, and the relief that no one was hurt, that we were all there alive and well. It was all there in his softened breathing and the way he closed his eyes. Right then I knew. I had probably known all along, deep down, but it had never really caught my eye. But it had been kindled that night just a few weeks ago, when Zack had taken me downstairs in the early hours of the morning and I had found him sat there at my kitchen table, his eyes sad and his face tired. It had been fanned when he had shouted in the van, trying to stop Loz from hurting me, and had steadily grown until it had been almost completely snuffed out at the party, when I had flicked on the light switch at Yuffie's party. It had been lying in the base of my heart as dying embers since then, the light of it growing dimmer when I had seen the two of them through the bar window as I stood, hurt, in the pouring rain outside. And last night ... the simple act of his thumb running over the back of my hand had sparked it back to life, and now I was stood with my head on his shoulder, the smell of smoke, wood and burnt hair filling my nostrils and I remembered how he had run back for Zack, to protect my brother ... now I knew for sure. I was also sure that what I felt wasn't reciprocated – the image of Yuffie in his lap, her top askew, her neck bruised and her lips swollen, was still very prominent in my mind – but that didn't matter to me in that moment. Because, in that moment, I understood what had been tugging at me for the last week or so.
In that moment, I knew.
Chibi: Well there you have it. I hope you enjoyed it! What I was going to end this chapter with will be at the start of the next chapter, which should be up soon. I hope you liked it, and please review as I like feedback! Constructive criticism makes my world go round.
Tara! x