Tugging…
Okay, well, I know I have a strange sense of humour. It's probably not even a funny one. But I really had no intention to post the wrong chapter for the wrong story last night. For those of you that read last night's posting, you know what I'm talking about. For those of you that didn't, I'll just sweep it under the rug and pretend that it never happened.
Well, on that note, I deeply apologise for being retarded, and I think I know the reason I felt really weird last night now. Anyway, hopefully this chapter will make up for that incredibly embarrassing mistake, and maybe one day, I'll even learn how to spell embarrassing without needing to use the spell checker.
One would think I'd be all too familiar with that word by now.
Right to the bitter end, he does everything to stay bitter. He even waits patiently while I second guess myself and wonder if that was his intention all along—to make me doubt.
"What are you doing and why are you doing it?" I ask, accuse, and say as I ease the pressure of the gun against his head and tilt it so I can stare at the small tattoo of the dot between and above his solid brows, and I suddenly wonder what it stands for.
"Breathing," he dryly answers, suggesting that I'm an idiot for asking and causing me to tighten my grip on his tie as a warning. He ignores it though, and he intrepidly tells me why he's doing it, "Because it's a necessity for me."
And at that, I wind up fighting the urge to beat him with the gun instead—to hell with shooting him. It would probably be doing him a favour anyway, and I'm not entirely convinced that he deserves the easy way out. I'm also not entirely convinced that he even cares or is surprised that I've changed my mind as his eyes slowly turn to me and he sighs, and I wind up scoffing at the soft look in them. He's probably been practicing for years for such occasions since I almost believe it's genuine.
"I left you the money because I felt that you needed it," he evenly says.
Though his lips are slightly tense and I don't recall that being the answer I was last demanding from him.
"I knew you'd be upset. But I also knew that you had none."
Then he sighs again and squirms for comfort while gratingly adding, "Actually, I hoped you'd be upset."
After that, he jumps a little when my knee falls near his groin, suggesting that his attempt to squirm away may not be in his best interest or even that I'm impressed with the fact that he has the audacity to say half the things he says. Then he continues, almost like he wants to explain if not to needle further.
"But having you hunt me down wasn't exactly the effect I was going for… I was actually hoping for the opposite."
"You'd like nothing more than to never see me again," I conclude, wondering what the night before was all about and feeling used before I show my uncertainty over my lack of conviction, or worse, my hope, "Then why did you invite me in?"
I can't help but suddenly think it was a setup from the moment he opened his window so he could use Chaos like he did in Gongaga. Only he planned it that time. He probably knew he was going to have visitors and he probably even lied about everything else as well, knowing that he can act when he wants to. And I feel even sicker over the money than I did when I first looked at it in Nibelheim.
The bastard paid me for getting the job done.
"Leviathan… You're not right in the head," he mutters, taking me away from my thoughts and almost making me want to shoot him again while he stares at me like a scolding parent and quirks his brow, "It's not what you're thinking."
"How would you know what I'm thinking?"
"I don't," he tells me before he pulls his tie loose when I finally let go and he rubs at his forehead where the barrel of my gun was pressing, "but I know what I would think if I were in your shoes and I can only assume that you're thoughts are similar."
"You're not capable of putting yourself in other people's shoes," I tell him before he sneers at me and rolls his eyes back. Then he lightly pushes his palm against my chest as a subtle request for me to let him up.
"Fine, Vince. You want to believe that I'm some kind of heartless and cruel abomination…" he starts, feigning insult as he tries to squirm upward since I won't get off of him, "Then so be it… You're half right anyway."
And when I grab him by the shoulders to stop him from getting away, he knits his brows in irritation and glares at me.
"But just keep in mind that I'm not the one taking advantage of someone this time around, or making a mockery out of them just because I can."
"You're unbelievable," I mutter while thinking that it's exactly what he's been doing all along, and all he does is disbelievingly laugh about it.
"Unbelievable?" he dryly repeats, chastising in tone before he starts to accuse me of things I never thought of and probably never would have. At least, not from his point of view.
"Who was it that followed who and found out that I was… that I might have found you… some aspects about you… attractive and decided to take advantage of it by forcing yourself on me at the first opportune moment? And you want to talk about playing with someone's head…? You won't leave me alone. You follow me everywhere and then you tell me to go away, and to top it off, you're either trying to kill me because of your own inability to control yourself or ram your tongue down my throat, and I never know what the hell to expect from one moment to the next."
I almost recoil inside, fearing that he's right even though I don't want to admit to the fact that I might be hating him for all the same reasons that I hate myself. Or worse, wanting him for those reasons. I'm sure I could find a way to withdraw at this moment and stop listening. But part of me almost thinks I need to hear it like an addict needs a drug.
"And every time I think I'm finally free of you, you come back angrier, more obsessive, and more dominating—each time. And why should it matter to you? You're not the one that has anything, or everything to lose over it…"
And for a moment, he falters, realizing he's saying more than he wants to even though he can't seem to stop while I continue to recoil over the fact that he might be right.
"It's not your feelings that will get hurt, Vince. You're not capable of feeling on a human level anymore, and I'm not something you would have gone after if you were. You'll eventually grow tired of it when the novelty of screwing something you're not even attracted to wears off. Then you'll move on and you'll find yourself something you were more suited for.
"Either that, or you'll wind up turning into one of your monsters and you'll try to dominate the world or destroy it. Or probably more accurately, you'll wind up realizing that nothing is better than something and you'll forget all about the void that you tried to fill your pathetic life with for whatever purpose it served."
Snakes can't spit as much venom as he can, I think to myself, oblivious to his words and listening at the same time. But it's not the insults that are digging under my skin. I think I know where they stem from. No, it's something else that's needling at me and I think it's the fact that I think he's degrading himself without even realizing it.
Or maybe he does.
"Void," I repeat, and I wonder how deep of a subconscious level he's at when I wonder if he's even aware that he was referring to himself as 'it' and 'something', and if he's even aware that he feels that way about himself and if he's always felt that way. And for some unknown reason, it makes me think and ask what might be the most off-topic question I can come up with.
But it feels relevant for some unknown reason.
"Where's your father?"
And all the sudden, he stops trying to get away and disbelievingly stares at me for a moment, blinking but expressionless.
Then his eyes suddenly appear darker—if it's even possible—before a fire literally burns in them when he spits out under his breath, "What the hell does that have to do with anything?"
Maybe everything or maybe nothing, I think, while I remain silent and wait for him to quit behaving like everything I do and say somehow diminishes every thread of dignity that he never had to begin with. But he's not easily intimidated by silence, or anything else for that matter, and instead of answering, he pushes me up, roughly and too quick for me to see it coming, and he somehow manages to get his leg far enough up to knee me in the gut, forcing me back.
Then he quickly turns so he can push himself up and grunts like he's in pain before his hand covers his stomach and the fingers of his other hand dig into the floor.
"What's wrong?" I ask, suddenly forgetting about everything that's transpired and rubbing at my eyes as I rush over to him to make sure he's all right.
"You're a harebrained menace," he mutters while clenching his teeth and sarcastically adding, "that's what's wrong."
Then he pushes me back and stands like there is nothing wrong with him and he tells me in the bitterest of tones, "I don't see how you can expect me to believe that you're actually concerned when you were just trying to kill me a second ago."
After that, he walks out of his room and hides the fact that he's physically hurt. But I can tell by the way his hand is slightly tense and the fact that the other one is still over his gut and gripping inward. I also can't help but notice he hasn't told me, or even asked me to leave yet. If I didn't know any better, I'd go so far as to say that he waved his hand at me to follow him—as subtle as it is before he stops between his small kitchen and the modest living room with an afterthought and a heavy sigh.
"It's a hybrid," he says, making me wonder what the hell he's talking about while he takes a moment to look over at his cupboards and then walks toward them to find a replacement for his teacup. And I mindlessly follow him as far as the door to his room, holding my own gut from his well-aimed kick and leaning against the frame to keep my distance from him.
"What?"
"The dream powder… It's been used on patients for surgery for over a decade now," he tells me with his back to me as he fills his new cup and I suddenly wonder if he changes topics on purpose for the same reasons I do—as a manner of avoidance.
"So you needn't worry. It's harmless and will wear off in due time."
"So you're not going to tell me," I conclude, falling back to the question about his father, pushing his buttons slightly and asking, "Was he abusive?"
He snickers at that though, ruling out that thought or simply masking it by doing so as he turns around while steeping his tea bag.
"Firstly, I never knew the man, nor did my mother. And secondly, I don't see why I owe you any kind of explanation."
His entire mannerism is stoic when he says that, and it takes a moment for the oddness of his comment to sink in while he turns around and starts pouring his sugar into his cup, making me wonder why he even bothers with the tea.
"One night stand?" I ask, thinking that it happens to the best of us while he taps his spoon on the edge of his cup with a low clank and turns around while taking a sip.
Then he licks his lips and walks past me to sit on his sofa, doing his best to hide another grimace before he coolly says as he sets his cup on the coffee table beside a pile of papers that he proceeds to flip through, "I thought I made it clear that I didn't care to discuss it."
"You don't care to discuss anything," I retort while I continue to drone over the topic and feel frustrated again when he snorts as if I said something amusing.
"Neither do you."
The temptation to respond and start an argument is swallowed by my better senses, even though I can't help but point out with a held back tone of agitation that, "You're uptight," as I walk around his sofa and sit on the opposite side to him. Then to push it, I decide I'll stretch out and lay on it, testing his nerves and my own sense of welcome.
All he does is give a sideways glance though, as if it doesn't bother him in the least before he sighs and moves forward to accommodate my legs by giving them some room, and I have to admit that I wasn't expecting that.
"Would it bother you if I told you that Sephiroth used to do that?" he distantly says, almost breathing it out and wryly smirking, confirming that he didn't make that part of the story up despite my own convictions on the topic.
"Do what?"
"Lie on the couch like that?"
"Are you saying that to get me to sit back up?"
"I'm saying it to find out exactly how insane you are," he answers before he leans forward to take another sip of his tea and places it back down, exactly as it was, "That way, maybe I'll be able to figure out a better way of getting you to leave by using the rules of deduction."
Then almost under his breath, he mutters while reaching for his tea again, "Leviathan knows I tried nearly all I could think of with Seph."
Seph… I think, finding it odd to hear someone call him that and finding myself more curious about their relationship by the fact that I'm gathering Tseng might have been trying to get him to leave him alone as well. But I don't ask about it. Mostly because I don't really want to know the details about his relationship with something as volatile as Sephiroth.
"You could always try asking."
"Vince… I believe I've already done that."
With another sigh, he looks away when I sit up and put my arms around his waist, and I watch his mouth that is his most expressive feature to find out exactly where he's hurting by watching how tense his lips grow when I move my hands—non-obtrusively—across his stomach and stop over the wound from Sephiroth's blade when he flinches and whispers, "Why can't you just leave me alone?"
"Why can't you just relax?" I ask him in retaliation and in the hopes of lightening him up, even though it comes out in a purr and causes him to cautiously turn his head to look at me while quirking his brow.
All I can do is hope that I didn't sound like a reminder to him, and I'm almost relieved when he wryly retaliates in form.
"Why don't you ever smile?"
Then he lifts his hand as if he's about to touch the corner of my mouth and changes his mind and turns away just as quickly. His reluctance makes it sink in that it's not me that he's been fighting with all this time, and I'm suddenly feeling guilty like I always do.
But I still can't bring myself to leave him, telling myself that he needs me and telling myself that he doesn't really want me to leave either, and I ignore the nagging comments inside that tell me I could be wrong. It's just another reason not to smile, I suppose, as the weight I carry becomes heavier and I give in to defeat before I wrap my arms below his ribs and pull him closer to me.
And naturally, he protests by telling me he was in the middle of something and points at his papers and his tea while I ignore him and hold him with one arm, firmly enough to hold him still without him feeling suffocated, and loosely enough so that I can massage his shoulders and back with the other.
He relaxes for a short while, seemingly appreciative before he starts to get anxious again, behaving like he doesn't want to admit that he likes it and he tries to get back up. But I continue to hold him back while asking with an unintended seduction to my tone, "What's so important that it can't wait?"
"Research," he answers, before he adds, "And I don't see why I need to wait."
Then he turns his head as far as he can toward me and playfully quirks his brow. Though it's not in a way that makes me feel comfortable.
"Unless… there's something new you'd like to try?"
I ignore him though, assuming and even half-hoping that he's not really serious, and I take a discomforting comfort in the conniving snicker that follows his comment as if it was only an attempt to get me to push him away.
But there's a part of me that knows he wasn't joking, and again, I catch myself contemplating it and finding myself going nowhere with the thought, despite what I ask.
"Would it put your mind at ease if I said yes?"
Not really meaning to say it, the question surprises us both and he manages to turn since I allow him enough room to completely face me and study me with those dark and alluring eyes of his. And after a questioning silence, he's says with a complete lack of expression, almost suggesting that it's advice I should take to heart, "Never offer to do something you're not willing to do, Vince—It's tasteless."
Then his look turns to one of disapproval, to show that he's not impressed in the least and he pushes himself away. I let him though, since I'm slightly stunned by my own words. But it doesn't stop me from indulging in my curious nature and I tell myself it's harmless since it's only words, nothing more, "I never said I wasn't willing."
"I'm not in the mood to play games with you right now," he lazily warns, and he picks up his cup to take another sip before moving one of his papers to the top of the pile and adding more marks to it with a slim black pen. They're sloppy marks, uncharacteristic of him, and it leaves the sheet looking like nothing more than a haphazard game plan.
"I believe I've had more than my fill from you already."
"Have you?" I ask as I prop myself in the opposite corner and sneer at him, not knowing how his tone manages to successfully irritate me at times, and he shakes his head and closes his eyes like he's getting a headache.
"Don't start."
"Start what?"
"You're trying to pick a fight again," he mutters as he pulls another sheet from the pile. It has scientists names on it and the words 'missing', or 'deceased', beside them, and he appears to focus on the locations of their labs written in the farthest column. Then he lifts his teacup and holds it near his mouth.
"For no apparent reason except to prove that you don't like it when I'm right."
"You're not always right," I tell him, agitated by the fact that he's arrogant enough to think that he is and ignoring the way that he's suddenly looking at me, as blankly as it is.
All he does is shake his head and finish off the rest of his tea, holding his baby finger in the air as he does it before he gets up and mutters to himself as if he wants me to hear it, "I have no idea why you're here when you obviously don't want to be."
After that, he rinses out his cup and places it by the sink. Then he walks toward his bedroom and waves his hand at me to encourage me to follow.
"I'm going to bed," he tells me before turning and seriously looking at me while sarcastically stating with a quirked brow for emphasis, "and since I'm always right, I doubt I'll need to ask if you'll be joining me."
By the way he says it, it would be enough for me to normally say to hell with him. But as it is, I know the reason he doesn't want me on the couch and since I'm making it obvious that I'm not going anywhere, I figure I might as well sneer at him and answer to his beckon call, and he rolls his eyes before walking into his bathroom to take his bath.
Then he stops at the door and hides another grimace before he tells me, "This door may be broken, no thanks to you. So I feel I should make it dead clear that I do not want you barging in on me."
Then he mutters as he leans the broken door against the broken frame and gives me a frustrated look through the cracks that he can't do anything about and warns me, "I don't care how hormonal you are. I will not accept any excuse."
For the first time since I've met Tseng, I finally get a glimpse of the things he does when he thinks he's not being watched through the cracks of his broken door. And I can't help but wonder if what he does is specific to this night or if it's something that's been ongoing. And I catch myself frowning as I watch him drink three potions in a row and then squeeze his eyes shut while grimacing with his hand over his gut again.
Then he looks up as if silently praying for something—mercy, maybe—before he turns his attention away from the mirror and starts to remove his tie and his clothes. I can't help but notice two things about everything he does.
Although I suppose the first should be expected, and that is the fact that he tries to keep everything he's doing concealed from me. Whether he's aware that my sight is more enhanced than an ordinary person's is unknown to me. Though I suspect there isn't much that he doesn't know, especially now that I know he's had access to records that I probably haven't even seen myself.
And the second is that he avoids his own reflection once his clothes are off as if he can't bear to look at himself, or maybe he simply wants to continue living in denial over the fact that he's not the same man he was before the incidents with Sephiroth and the remnants. It's not as simple as being self-conscious though. He simply doesn't want to face it, and as a result, my hand unconsciously finds its way to the keepsake Lucrecia gave to me and I suddenly lose myself in the reminder that it wasn't just me that had to pay for both her and Hojo's sins.
And again, I'm burdening myself over the fact that I never tried hard enough to stop them, and I'm blaming myself for everyone else's suffering over it.
But what good does it do?
It doesn't fix anything that's been broken, and all I'm left with is nothing more than a desire to pick up the pieces as best as I can with little knowledge over how to do it or where to start. And I can't help but wonder if that's all my attraction is to Tseng, which only deepens the burden over the fact that he may be right about me using him if not for the simple fact that he reminds me of a life I once used to live and never really wanted to let go of.
"It's no wonder you never smile," Tseng comments as he steps out with his robe on and holds it closed at the collar, making me wonder when I lost track of time and how long he's been standing there and watching me. It seemed like only a moment ago that he was tending to his evening ritual.
Then he lets out a sigh and stares at me with a strange mixture of disapproval and something that could possibly pass for compassion. Though I doubt that's what it is.
"I'm beginning to think that dwelling over things that can't be changed is more than just a hobby for you."
Ignoring his comment and the fact that it still annoys me that he can pick up on my thoughts like that, I move over slightly and pat my hand on the spot beside me as a silent request for him to sit down while I change the subject to one of more interest to me.
"How long have you been in that pain?" I ask, before I point out the fact that I don't think what's bothering him is related to the remnants, "It's not from the remnants, Is it?"
He only bows in mild contemplation as if he's almost tired of constantly avoiding my questions before he reluctantly answers and stares at the floor, "It never went away."
Then he quirks his brow and tends to my request to sit beside me.
"It's not constant," he tells me, and he nods to add emphasis to it like he wants me to believe him. Then I move closer and attempt to get him to relax by massaging his shoulders again for him, "It just… doesn't go away."
"Have you told anyone?"
"No," he says before he stares at the floor and defensively stiffens when I attempt to move the shoulders of his robe out of the way.
"Why?"
"I don't see the point."
"It could be something serious."
"There's nothing anyone can do about it," he answers, unable to hide his annoyance as he squirms his shoulders and moves away from me like I'm hitting a nerve.
Then he attempts to get up and I pull him back down and hold him in place, agitating him even more.
"Tell me why you're so stubborn," I demand, lowly growling but almost persuasive, "Tell me how you can be so certain that there's nothing and no one that can help you."
"Let go of me, Vince."
"No," I tell him, before I pull him closer to me and tighten my grip, convincing myself that this is more for him than for anything else as I whisper with a husky weight and rub my cheek against his in a strange semblance of affection, "Not until you tell me."
"There's nothing to tell you," he angrily states as he continues to try to pull away while I lose myself in his lavender scent and light cologne, and I close my eyes, almost forgetting that I'm forcefully hanging onto him.
"You're lying."
"According to you, I always lie."
"That's because you do."
"I don't see how not saying anything is the same as making up stories about it."
"So what aren't you telling me then?" I ask before he gives up and lets his head fall back, "Or anyone else for that matter."
"Why are you doing this?" he asks, attempting to change the subject and unable to hide the pained undertone as he feebly tests my grip and mindlessly expresses his irrelevant thoughts, "All I wanted to do was thank you… give you a cheque… money… something to express my gratitude…"
"Stop changing the subject."
"It was never my intention to turn you into an obsessive, lovesick, lunatic… I never even intended for you to find out… I just thought…"
"Stop it."
"I thought … that maybe I could offer you something… something I thought you might need… Some way for me to make a small amendment…"
"For Kjata's sake, Tseng," I finally growl with a threatening undertone before I forcefully flip him onto his back and hold him down so I can peer down at him, into his eyes.
"How dare you handle me like that," he spits back, with burning eyes and a tightening jaw before he adds, "This is what I'm talking about when I say I don't know what you're going to do from one moment to the next."
"That makes two of us," I tell him, suddenly realizing that he'll probably interpret it as me agreeing with him when I'm referring to him, and I'm right.
"Well it's about time you finally admit to it."
And I'm also beyond frustration with him. So I get off of him and sit back on the edge of the bed and I try to contemplate why the hell I'm still here, or even why I came and why the hell he's just laying there and staring at the ceiling and not telling me to leave.
Then suddenly out of the dead silence, he takes a deep breath as if he was holding it and mutters out, "I don't know."
"What?" I mutter, still staring at the floor and slouching forward with my forearms over my knees for support before I let out a dead breath and clarify my question further in hopes of receiving better clarification for the effort, "What don't you know?"
"I'm not telling anyone anything…" he says, pausing, maybe for the right words or maybe to add effect to another lie to make it more convincing while the bed moves when he turns over and probably stares at my back, or more accurately, he's probably frowning at my hair again, "Because I don't know."
I can't detect any lie in his tone though, and the fact that he lets out a shaky breath as if he's relieved that he told someone the fact that he knows nothing, convinces me that he's telling the truth. I also can't help but wonder if my assumption about it scaring the hell out of him is correct either while I turn to see him staring back at me with that forlorn look he sometimes carries when he thinks no one's looking at him.
But he makes no attempt to hide it this time, and he awkwardly scrunches his shoulders while unconsciously grabbing at the neck of his robe to ensure it's still closed, "I don't even know how I wound up where I wound up."
"Where did you wind up?" I ask, more compassionately this time in hopes of encouraging him to talk while he shrugs and stares at the ceiling again, staring off into an imaginary distance.
"I don't know," he mutters before he rubs at his face with the palms of his hands and tells me, "All I know is that one moment I was being stabbed, and the next, someone was dragging me somewhere… Then I think I woke up in a lab… But I don't know if it was only a paranoid dream…"
"I don't understand," I tell him as he shakes his head and I wonder how he can't even know where he woke up.
"I know It doesn't make sense," he tells me. "All I know for sure is that I woke up in a room at a ski resort with… broken memories, I suppose."
"A ski resort?"
With a short nod, he lets out another sigh and brushes some loose strands of hair from his face.
"I have no idea how long I was there—how I got there… Or even if that's where I'd been the whole time."
"What about the people that ran the place?"
"No one saw anything," he says before he quirks his brow and looks at me with a paling uncertainty. "They didn't even know I was there."
Then he frowns at the corner of his mouth and looks to the side like he's recalling images of what he says next.
"The only thing I know for certain is that I was at the Temple of the Ancients, trying to make sense out of everything. The ancients…"
He pauses for a short moment in recollection. Then he nervously chuckles while quirking his brow again.
"I suppose you could say I was chasing a fool's dream… I never expected or even believed that Seph…"
And while he pauses to swallow a lump back, I catch myself frowning and even sneering at the thought before I try to stop myself from being too obvious and try to offer some kind of condolence. But I don't think it comes out the way I intended.
"He was out of his mind," I say, before I try to think of a way to save myself from the lack of thought that goes into my words unsuccessfully.
But he seems to understand and only nods before he turns his attention back to me and wryly smiles.
"I'm well-aware of that, Vince."
Then he stares at my headscarf and frowns.
"I ran all sorts of tests on myself," he tells me as the corner of his mouth turns and he pulls a loose strand of hair from the fringe of my bangs and daintily lets it fall to the floor, "I couldn't find anything that would suggest I was tampered with."
Then he sets his attention back to my eyes before quickly looking away.
"Nor could I find anything that would suggest how I survived."
"It's driving you crazy," I suddenly realize while he subtly nods and I silently conclude that the pain confuses him even more.
"It's almost like I'm being punished," he admits before he nervously smiles again and turns his attention back to me like he's having trouble looking me in the eye.
"I realize it could be for a number of things… I just… wish I knew for certain."
I wish I could have thought of something better to say than, "I know."
But as it is, it's the best I can come up with. It doesn't seem to matter though, and Tseng willingly lets me pull him closer when I lay down beside him, and he willingly lets me kiss him on the mouth, tenderly. But in order for him to still maintain the upper hand for the control I'm beginning to think we like fighting over, he simply says, "Goodnight."
Then he pulls me closer in invitation to sleep beside him and turns so his back is to me, and I'm left with mixed feelings before I fall asleep and enter a nightmare that almost seems real.
Although, I don't really know why I consider it a nightmare.
