Ignite Me extra

Warner's POV

"The Two Most Important People"

We had always expected for the worse, but we never knew that the thing we tried to hide from was already right in front of us. The thing that she spent her whole life fighting against was already there, and it was already undefeatable.

She died three days ago.

It wasn't difficult and chaotic like what happens to my soldiers whenever they break the law. It wasn't like theirs, wherein they would panic and try to attack meeven though they knew their chances of living were slim. Hers was peaceful. I'll never find out if it was painful, though.

She died in her sleep.

She told me, while Juliette was still here, that she was going to my father's to settle something with him. I found out, seconds after the announcement of her death, that she had never visited him in the first place. I could never ask her why and where she went to at that time anymore, of course.

I found her inside her room.

I was surprised to find her there; she never told me when she would return. Then I thought, of course, this is my mother. She's learned how to keep secrets and hide herself from others. She knows how to create a lie that could convince everyone, including herself.

When I approached her I still saw the life in her eyes—fading. She lived through small, quiet breaths and the slow rise and fall of her chest. She lived through wrapping her hand around mine when I reached for her.

She never said anything before she died. No last breathy words, no "I'm sorry" or "Aaron" or any words or phrases that people who are seconds from dying say.

Instead, she smiled.

It's amazing how I am able to cry twice this month. After 10 years. It is, probably, the most humane thing that I have ever done in my entire life.

I watched her hand go limp, her chest stop moving, her face grow pale. I watched her slowly drift further and further away from me, from this nearly-ruined world. I watched her die with my hand gripping hers tight enough to give her a small ounce of pain if she still could have felt it then. I watched her with my eyes blinking rappidly, fighting back the tears that I knew would fall soon. I watched her as my body began to shake and my breaths turned into gasps, struggling for the oxygen I so desperately need. I tried shalimg her, wishing that this was all just a bitter dream, trying to ignore the reality that's right beside me, ready to hit me once I give up.

I stopped trying 27 minutes later.

I thought that maybe this was best for her. That she never deserved to live in this hellhole in the first place.

She deserves to be in a better place.

I would have laughed if I had the voice to do so. This is what every other person thinks when they lose someone important; they'll think that maybe that person died for a reason. That maybe drying was better than living.

They did is so they would try to act tough in front of others.

They would say that this was a wake-up call for them. That you will never know how important someone was until you've lost them forever.

But I'm not like them.

Leila's important. She's the person who's given me hope in a world so hopeless. I didn't need to watch her die in order to know how much she means to me.

I haven't lost her. Not yet. And, hopefully, never.

But I'm not trying to act tough. And no one is watching me.

My father would have spat at me in disgust if he saw me now. My soldiers would have smiled viciously at me if they saw me. Juliette—

Juliette would have grieve for me. For Leila. She would have cried for her though she never met her. Because she knows how it feels to lose someone. She knew more things that I ever did in my entire life.

I couldn't care less about what people would think of me besides her. She's what I want right now and she's not here. I don't know when she will be.

I need this. I need her.

I need someone who could find a way to help me breathe.

I need someone who would tell me that it's okay to do this, that everyone has to do this once in a while.

I need someone to tell me that it's okay for a monster like me to do such a human thing like this.

~oOo~

My knees give in. My heart collapses. My grief takes control over my body.

I crumble to the floor.

And cry.

~oOo~

It did not take hours for my father to find out. Nor did it take days for her casket to be prepared and the date of her funeral to be set.

All of my soldiers came—due to curiosity or if they actually felt sad for my loss; I wll never find out—and so did her former ones. We had the usual ceremony for the people in The Reestablishment who are or were of high ranks. Some of the people she knew had prepared eulogies, Delalieu included. I wasn't one of them. Nor was my father.

He didn't attend her wake and funeral after all.

Maybe he's thinking about how he regrets killing her with those liquids he had injected in her. Maybe he's thinking why it took her this long to die. Maybe he's rejoicing because he doesn't have anyone to take care of anymore and that he can finally disown or kill me. That another woman of his is now gone and he could cut all ties with his son, just like what he did with Kent.

Or maybe he's thinking that he too will have his fall in the future, if not soon. Maybe he's thinking that he's going to be burried just like Leila was, only this time no one will grieve for him. Maybe he's thinking that he doesn't want his funeral to be like this.

Because this is not how I want mine.

I do not want people who never knew me and never cared to grieve over my lifeless body. I don't want to have a thousand men saluting as my casket gets burried. I don't want anyone to talk about how great of a man I was and that I had left a good impression in the world. All of those would be lies.

I'd rather have only 5 people or none to attend my wake. I'd rather have my children and grandchildren cry over my lifeless body than my own men. I'd rather have people who actually knew who I was or deeply cared to speak.

That is, if I live long enough to have one.

~oOo~

It was never my intention to fall in love with books. Love to read them, yes—I found it impossible not to. But to fall in love with them? It seemed ridiculous.

I had told Juliette about it before. When I was captured and taken to Omega Point and she was forced to cooperate with me just because of my stubborness to talk with others. I felt sorry for her back then, for being forced to do something she hated. But when she told me that she never hated me... Everything took a big turn after that.

It's not that I wanted to torture her or let myself be fooled by Castle and his stupid plan of making me tell my father's secrets by using Juliette. I never even knew my father's plan because 1.) It's not part of my job to know it and 2.) I do not care about him or his plans. Just saying his real name makes me want to kill myself with my bare hands.

No one had ever seen me half-naked before. Nor had they ever seen my tattoos. Showing my back and waist to others is not something I would love to do, especially with my reputation. But I suppose I did when I showed them to her. And when she looked at me as if I was going to strip naked and do something horrible to her. How it made me laugh.

I had seen those two lines while I was scanning the books which could and could not be of any use to the Reestablishment and must therefore be destroyed. It was from The Tempest, by William Shakespeare. The man who also wrote Romeo and Juliet.

The story of two people who had caused the death of many, including themselves, all because of love.

For a second I thought it was ridiculous.

It wasn't until I met her that I realized I would do the same thing those two had done, no matter how idiotic it seemed. I would be willing to risk my life, and my name, for her.

She was my Juliet. My Juliette.

And I'm hoping that this story doesn't go down with any one of us dying though.

I started reading Romeo and Juliet after Juliette had returned to Omega Point with Kent. In fact, I have a lot of other books hidden.

They are the ones which are not necessary for the Reestablishment. They are all hidden underneath my bed, inside my closet, tucked in my drawers.

My father never found out. He never knew how to search.

Books will always be there, I think, whenever you're alone. They will always be by your side, in your head, in your heart. They'll find ways, with their words, to make you fall in love with them. When you die, the words and memories do not. When your body decays, the stories never will. It will remain forever, like your soul. It may never be in it's body, but it's still there.

But books are just things that will temporarily take you out of your loneliness.

When the time comes we will meet people who are like books to us, filled with layers and layers of stories and secrets, dreams and realities. We will never get tired of them no matter how many times we read them. They will grow old with you, die with you, stay forever with you.

They will love you more than books ever did and ever will.

Which is why I spend my free time reading books while she's gone.

I remember how it felt to read her story, to memorize every letter, every word that she says. I remember how she lights up when she laughs and how, sometimes, she gets too lost inside herself that I am left with no choice but to hold her, hating the fact that I can't do anything to bring her back until she returns to the present. I can remember so many things about her.

Which is why I'll keep on reading until she returns. I'll try to find something that could temporarily relieve me of this emptiness.

I will wait until I can finally read my favorite book again.

~oOo~

Inserting the bookmark into the page I had not yet read, I close the book and place it on the night stand. This has already been the sixth book I've read since Juliette's departure. It's become a very dangerous hobby.

I look at the cover of the book, at the slightly undeciferable letters, smudged and worn away from years and years of being untouched and unloved. I look at the words that say JU I S CEA R. From the way it was written, like poems or lyrics from a peculiar song, this might be another one of William Shakespeare's writings. The third Shakespeare book I've read this week.

I rake a hand through my hair and heave myself from the bed, staring at the digital clock and its glowing red numbers on my nightstand. It's 5:34 pm. An hour and a half since I've started reading the book.

My feet guide me to the bathroom because my brain and the rest of me is too tired. Reading can sometimes drain the life out of me.

Or probably because there's still a sort of emptiness inside of me. A gaping hole in the middle of my heart.

But then I think that maybe it's been there long before I met her. I didn't even know if I have a heart. If I am only a machine programmed to think that I am human and am capable of emotion. Hopefully I am not.

I turn on the water and strip off my clothes, looking at myself at the mirror.

Despite the now-visible dark spots under my eyes and a certain, undefiniable emotion plastered on my face, I still look and feel like the same person I was.

When I was a little child my mother's soldiers—who used to visit us regularly; they stopped coming when I turned 10—would tell me that I'd be the best soldier in this Sector, that I'd be the Supreme Commander in the future and that it was all thanks to my mother and father, the assistant and the leader.

They never knew that I hated the thought of being that.

But sometimes the things that we hate the most are the things we have to live with for the rest of our lives. Like how I ended up like this.

They also told me that I'd grow up to be a handsome man, with blonde hair and sharp emerald eyes, as my mother calls—called it. One who'd be able to make girls swoon but careful enough not to break any hearts. I always knew that I had a handsome face. It wasn't a secret I could keep nor a truth I could hide.

Sometimes those who have the most beautiful faces have the most ugliest personalities. It was true.

Looks never mattered to me. Their just faces. An extra wall that hides you from who you really are deep inside. That's what I always did; act like an emotionless robot in front of my soldiers, fake a smile at the citizens. Only two people have seen me smile sincerely before—and one is dead while the other is still gone.

As I enter the shower I welcome the cold and painful water that touches every part of my skin. I've had an addiction to showering under cold water the past week, despite my ironic dislike for cold things. It keeps me awake the rest of the day because I've been sleeping for less than six hours lately.

It's not the amount of work I receive. It's that once I lie down and close my eyes, the darkness that put me to sleep doesn't come until I have planned almost everything inside my head: plans, laws, proposals, scenarios. What frustrates me the most is whenever I wake up, and all those things I have mentally written down in my mind had already been erased.

Surprisingly, it takes me less than fifteen minutes to finish showering.

I pull down the towel from the rack and tightly wrap the towel around my waist. It's unusual for me not to dry my hair, but I am in no mood of doing it right now. My eyes roll skyward, watching the small drops that cling to my hair, afraid to let go but have no choice but to do just that. I mentally remind myself that I need to get a haircut.

Sighing, I rub my hand on my face and close my eyes for a moment. I open the curtain—

And someone tackles me, wrapping their arms around my neck, making me lose my footing and the both of us fall to the cold, wet floor. I was about to push that person away until my senses take over. Her familiar smell and the softness of her body against mine says everything I need to know who this girl is.

She's here.

Juliette is back.

The sight of her here sends a massive shock to my brain that I couldn't help but stare at her in disbelief, my last thought already forgotten. I try to say something, but no words come out.

"Juliette?" I whisper against her ear, my voice hoarse and barely audible. "Is it really you?"

She nods again and again without even uttering a single word. Her hands move down to my waist, sliding down my back and making me shiver. I could feel the hotness of her breath and the tears that have gotten out of her eyes against my skin. Her shoulders shake as a sob escapes her throat, a cry so loud it makes my heart break into pieces. Again. Like it always does.

I give her time to gather her thoughts, letting her cry her heart out while I slowly run my hand through her hair. After a few minutes, that seemed only like seconds to me, she stops crying. She wipes her eyes with the back of her arm and tells me something that eases any of my doubts on whether she's really here or not.

"I'm here. And you're not dreaming."

She adds the last one as if the words I have once told her had already been marked on her brain. I wince at the thought. I don't like relieving old and painful memories, no matter how much I loved kissing her that time. It was a mistake—and I do not even know which one it is I am referring to. Kissing her or walking away from her. How I told her not to shoot me for what I did or how she called my brother's name instead of mine.

Or maybe loving her. Loving her was my greatest mistake.

But I don't care about it—about what transpired that night—anymore.

She's here. She's safe. There's nothing else that I could ask for right now.

She's peppering me with kisses that it makes me laugh for the first time this week. She moves to kiss my shoulder, going up to my neck and jaw. I hold onto her as she moves her way to my cheek and, finally, to my lips.

It doesn't take us forever to completely lose ourselves in the kiss. My hands have already slipped inside her shirt, rubbing the small of her back. She shudders, and I could feel her heart beating faster against mine. Her hands are playing with my hair, gently tugging it as I deepen the kiss, and I can't help but think that I want this. I want her, all of her, right now.

But I am also thinking that this isn't the best place and time to do it.

"Juliette, I—"

"Shhh." She manages to whisper before bringing her lips to mine again. I feel her hands sliding down my back and to the towel that's wrapped around my waist. My mind rings like an alarm clock, reminding me that I'm on very dangerous property right now.

I place my hands on hers and we both part, albeit hesitantly, as we try to control our breathing. She seems slightly disappointed and heart-broken when she looks at me, and I couldn't say that I'm not so angry at myself for stopping that either. But it was the best thing to do.

She looks extremely tired. Thinner since I last saw her. She looks like hell—a beautiful, disastrous hell—and good God, I wouldn't mind if I'm dragged into hell right now.

Neither of us talk for what seems like hours, looking at each other as if we've never met before yet it seemed like we've known each other forever. Looking at her made me believe in love at first sight, knowing that she's mine reminds me that there's someone, too, I'm willing to risk my life for. Loving her made me remember what it feels like to be human again.

I'm falling in love with her again, and I can't seem to stop.

We accept the company of silence as I reach my hand out to her. She accepts it and I pull both of us up. Juliette rests her head on my chest, watching me as I trace lazy patternless circles on her shoulder.

"I missed you." She says softly, almost quiet enough to seem like she never said anything at all. Almost.

"I know." I tell her, kissing the top of her head. I know that I'm not dreaming. I am, for the first time in a long while, very much wide awake. "I missed you too."

[Exhales]

Well... That was very...emotional. Like I say in every chapter as a lame excuse for this horrible fanfiction, I never intended the story to go like this. And it's actually try this time.

I wrote this at a very dark and emotional period. My...former batchmate died while I was writing this. So if you guys could feel the sadness then that's...uh...me.

2 other people I knew died too.

Also, the whole thing with grief was the topic we're taking up in Homeroom—Homeroom is supposed to be the period when we have free time. I do not understand why we have to do this. This is injustice—due to the death of my batchmate. Grief is a really touchy subject for everyone in class that day for obvious reasons. Everyone was extremely tired after that class.

Leila's death... It seems too fast and surreal for me. I wanted to develop her character. She seemed like the type of mother who would love her son despite who he is and what he has done. But...the story needs to be shortened.

This story will be over in a few chapters. Just saying.

I just wanted to add: I published the extra story first because 1. My writing style is better here and 2. I finished this first. I mean, reading the extra before reading Chaper 6 doesn't actually make a difference. It's the same storyline only from different POVs.

So...wow...58 reviews...and I keep on getting fanmails about it through aaron-warner on tumblr. Thank you so much guys. Love you all~

Chapter 6 will be up in a few. It's already done, just need to try to proofread.

Thanks for reading.