Chapter 16: Moving Forward
It felt like this had been all he had ever wanted.
…Such a slender body, her skin so smooth beneath wandering fingertips. Her breath was hot against his neck, the gentle sound of her moans slowly intoxicating his mind…
And all it had taken was one word to make him decide he could never see her again.
One slip, and she had uttered it; a foul word, poison to his weakened mind.
Maybe it was the alcohol, the night, the sex... Whatever it was-he didn't care.
She had cried out, he had groaned into her neck, and they had lay still, time lapsing by. She was beautiful; curved neck, round breasts, slender waist, and toned thighs, still trembling around him.
Then, she whispered his name.
Cloud.
If she was aware of her mistake, she didn't show any sign. He froze, mind and body suddenly as cold and hard as ice. Of course, he could not hope to replace him. He could not hope to steal his position in Tifa's heart.
Jaw set and hands trembling, he had lifted his weight from her dozing form, covered her with a blanket, before dressing and leaving silently. his mind was both reeling, and terrifyingly blank.
What had he done? It had all happened so fast; the dance, the walk, the kiss…
He was lost in the Wutai plains when all of a sudden the cacophony of the fireworks could be heard, their booming and exploding ricocheting in the mountains.
It made his think of the tale of an angry ghost, who would wail and scream in the mountains to keep people from disturbing the final resting place of her lover, who had perished there. He dismissed the notion with a shiver, though the screams of the rockets, and the screeching of the cartwheels kept it alive.
He thought of Tifa, too, despite trying not to; he had promised to wake her before the fireworks. If she hadn't woken earlier, she would be awake now; angry and confused. He shook his head bitterly.
She wasn't the only one.
-0-
The cottage was nestled into a slate-grey, rocky hillside, projecting from the heather-covered cliff face. Ivy had begun to creep up the side of the house, entwining around the window frames, and the chimney. It was quaint, a place that embodied the word 'home'.
She sighed.
Here she was making a new start, again, on her own. Vincent had remained elusive and distant since they had spent New Year's Eve together. His unfounded rejection had cut her deep; she didn't bother to try calling him up, to find answers to the burning questions she harboured in her breast. She was so angry; she didn't even want to dwell on him for any amount of time.
But she still had dreams; he was always there, speechless and cold, the memory of the culmination of their passions a thorn twisting in her side. She would wake with hot tears fresh on her cheeks, unable to prevent the weight of betrayal and anger from settling in her gut.
She had wanted to say so much, but instead, they had both tumbled into the deep end blindly, fallen in before they could set themselves right. Vincent was doing what he had always done; hiding away from reality as though what it presented was too ugly to want.
She had had enough. She couldn't- Wouldn't- spend her life chasing after someone who didn't want to be chased. It was in Wutai, a few days into the new year with no sign of Vincent, she had decided to turn her back on him. Jaw clenched, fist wrapped tightly around the gift he had bestowed upon her not a week earlier, she had ridden an airship with her few belongings to Hartstow.
Strands of hair were plucked at by the blustery sea breeze, curling around her face, entwining in her fingers as she raised them to pull her hair aside. She gritted her teeth as she hoisted her pack higher on her shoulder, taking resolute steps up to the front door. The key she had been entrusted with at the local authority office was of the old fashioned metal type. It scraped and screeched into the lock, the heavy door swinging open with creaking hinges, stiff from disuse, to reveal the interior of her new house to her for the first time.
Newly plastered walls at least, and the floors had been previously stripped and stained anew. She could smell white spirit and paint still. She allowed her burdens to fall to the floor where she stood, closing the door behind her slowly, gazing at the large open space of her empty house. The stairs were directly facing her, and then the living room and kitchen sprawled to the left and right respectively. She liked the symmetrical layout of the ground floor, its open feeling, the spaciousness.
On further inspection she found several boxes set upon the scrubbed wooden table, where she had specified they be left. With a sigh, she began to tear open the cardboard flaps, emptying her things from the box labelled 'Kitchen stuff.'
She remembered Barrett had been furious. She'd tried to make her excuses for him, not wholly believing them herself.
"Goddamn it Tifa, he's turnin' into the very person he was try'n ta save you from!"
She hadn't understood what he had meant at first; but as the days went by, her devastation shifted to bitterness.
Then she became angry.
Vincent was becoming that which he had spoken so strongly against. Her relationship with Cloud had left her confidence shattered, had broken her down into a fragile, needy creature. It was being to look like she would turn back, after all the progress she had made- they had made together. He had been a better man, in her eyes. She still wanted to believe it too, though as they days went by, she began to lose faith.
"When I see him I'm gunna rip him a new a**hole! He can't treat you this way, Tif. The stubborn bastard doesn't know what he got." Barrett was resolute on that, in spite of her pleading. Hot headed to the last second, yet she could hardly fault him for his consistency.
Stubborn was indeed the best way to describe it, she mused as she filled the kettle and slammed it down onto the hob to boil, running her hands through her hair in frustration. If she saw him now, she would be sorely tempted to hurt him herself.
The kitchen was beginning to feel a little more like home; the novelty clock was in place, the mugs set on their hooks lining the wall, her decorative knick knacks arranged on the work surfaces.
She moved on to the living room.
The previous owners had left an antique-looking leather studded sofa, which she was actually quite pleased with. She began to unpack boxes containing her ornaments and picture frames, a hammer and some nails at hand to mount them. She came across a photograph of the whole Avalanche group; Cloud and herself in the centre, surrounded by the group, Vincent's imposing form in the background. Looking at it now, she could almost imagine his eyes boring into her back.
She placed the photograph face down on the table, her throat constricting. She massaged her neck with her fingertips fruitlessly, moving to the window to gaze out over the landscape. The sea of purple heather rippled in the breeze, waves crashing against the rocky cliff face below. She exhaled slowly, hot tears pulsing down her cheeks.
She recalled how happy she had been, when Vincent had presented her with the deed for this place. She had allowed herself to think that maybe he would come and stay, maybe help out with decorating. Being the gentleman that he was, he would have offered. And she would have been making two cups of tea instead of one, and smiling instead of gazing angrily out of the window, and maybe laughing instead of crying. She wiped away her tears furiously.
"Fuck you, Vincent." She whispered, turning away from the view, and throwing herself back into unpacking.
-0-
Tifa sank deeper into the water, watching the shadows flicker on the walls in the candlelight. The water was a little hotter than she was used to, her skin turning pink instantly as she submerged her body, limbs that ached from the toils of unpacking screaming with relief.
She took a mouthful of wine, swilling it around her tongue before swallowing. Submerging herself totally, the unfamiliar song of her house morphed into a distorted murmur. The ceiling rippled above her as she held her breath. Everything stood still, though her thudding heartbeat resounded in her ears. She released her breath, and then resurfaced. Her forearms, amber in the light from the candle, now bore white marks, traces of her scars. Her abdomen had healed again fully, though she had noticed in examinations of her reflection that the scar was a lot more distinct than before.
The sea sounded rough tonight; it battered relentlessly against the cliffs, the sound serving to soothe her. She stepped out of the bath, stepping lightly across her landing and into her bedroom, leaving a trail of water droplets behind. She gazed at her reflection, her features illuminated dimly in the unfamiliar looking glass.
Why had Vincent left? She couldn't think of anything she had done. But then again she was past blaming herself, past saying sorry for every little thing she did. She regretted nothing; she was old enough now, strong enough, to accept the consequences of her actions. Perhaps he was the one with regrets. She knew he carried with him the shouldered blame of many men, when she fell for him. Hell, that was probably what made her feel that she could rely on him in the first place. But perhaps she had been wrong to think that.
She pulled on her robe, seating herself before the mirror to begin the task of combing out her almost waist-length hair. Behind her in the mirror, she could see the hazy outline of the grey dress, draped across the foot of her yet unmade bed. She remembered Vincent's face, when he had seen her that night. It had been lying on the floor, the fabric the colour of moonlight, when she had woken to find him gone.
She had tried so hard to pretend that nothing had happened, that she knew no reasons for his disappearance. She had thought it was perhaps more sinister; had he hurt himself, was he safe? But she realised she knew him better than she thought.
She'd shown her friends too much, left herself vulnerable before them that night. They had to know that something had been said, that something had happened, to warrant his sudden departure. She dared not speak of it out loud, for fear of their reaction. Part of her wanted to believe he would come back, to tell her it had been a misunderstanding, that he loved her...
But it had never come.
She awoke early the following morning. The sea had calmed, a gentle rushing as the water eased up the sands of the bay, then retreated. She dressed, wrapping herself up in multiple layers to keep out the harsh sea winds; scarf, coat, gloves, hat. She left the house and began to walk parallel with the cliffs, down the steep footpath towards the beach.
A small bay with silver-grey sands, littered with smooth, round pebbles. Her boots left sharp imprints in the wet sand as she walked along the shore, the sea breeze sending her hair wild about her face. Approaching the water's edge, she paused, the small waves engulfing the soles of her shoes, before receding, covering her shoes, receding...
"Good morning." A man addressed her from behind, startling her. She turned sharply to face him, conscious that she had in fact been unaware of him for quite some time.
"I'm sorry, good morning!" She laughed, tucking her stray hair behind her ears. The young man chuckled. He had a good natured face, with a little stubble, warm green eyes and olive skin. He wore a long jacket, and Tifa noticed he was quite tall, though he rested on one leg, a dog's lead swinging in his hand.
On spotting this, Tifa heard a bark in close proximity. A sodden grey-coloured creature loped across the sands, coming to an abrupt stop and shaking vigorously before them both. Its flopping ears slapped against its head. Tifa laughed, raising her hands in vain against the spray of sea water.
"C'mere Sasha, you stupid dog." He lunged for her collar, but she anticipated him, bounding off ahead of them. "Sorry about that..." Tifa noted he blushed, his hand finding the back of his head. A familiar habit, she noted, her smile faltering slightly.
"It's alright..." She gazed down at the sand where the dog's footprints remained, dotted around their static position.
"Are you ok?" He asked, gazing into her face. She admired the mixed hues in his eyes, which his proximity awarded her.
"Yes, I was just thinking."
"Sorry to have interrupted. But Sasha found this; I don't know whether it's yours..." He opened his palm; one of her earrings that Shera had given to her for Christmas glittered there. She gasped and took it from his palm, gazing at it in wonder.
"Thank you! It must have been loose when I... Thank you." She placed it in her pocket. Her saviour was currently panting at her masters' side, tongue lolling out; though Tifa thought she seemed rather pleased with herself. She raised her open palm, and the dog stepped forward, butting her snout against Tifa's fingers.
"I'm Greg." He laughed a little. "Um... I don't normally do this, but... Would you like to go somewhere and dry off? Maybe get a coffee..?"
"I..." She stared at him, young, shy, innocent, and awaiting her reply. She wasn't ready for this yet.
"I'm sorry, I can't..." His smile fell as she turned and hurriedly walked away from him, back towards her hilltop climb, back to her unforeseen home. She wiped her tears away.
She was still healing. Not yet quite ready to let go of something she desperately wanted to hold onto, to believe it could still happen. And every day, she woke with renewed hope; every letter, every ring of the phone, knock at her door, could be him. But as the weeks passed, it never was.
She felt grateful for Shera living so close by, in Rocket. They made the trip to each other's homes once a week at least, and Tifa found herself opening up. She blurted out one day that she wished she hadn't hoped for something to happen between them, if this was the ultimate conclusion. Shera had probed a little further in her questioning, and the whole story tumbled out; the awkwardness at first between them, the night they had spent together in Wutai… her regrets, spilled between bouts of tears.
She slumped on her bed, face buried in her pillow, her shoulders heaving with profound sobs. Why would you wish this on someone, Vincent, when you have spent so long mourning a woman who did the same to you? She didn't pretend to know the ins and outs of Vincent's past, yet it didn't take an expert to see that he had been hurt before.
She screamed in exasperation. She had loved, had been hurt just the same. She had been cautious too, for fear of getting her only just-healed heart broken again. She'd tried and tried to get him to open up; perhaps a little too prematurely at times. But she felt that they'd finally gotten somewhere, with Vincent admitting his feelings, by way of his actions. Perhaps she had been wrong to think that. All it had taken was a single lapse in self-control, and it had all been blown out into the open.
It was too late to wish things had turn out differently. It was too late to take back things she had said or done. She knew she would just have to get up, and get on, without Vincent in her life.
Vincent was gone.
-0-
Author's note: The opening exert was originally at the end of this story, but I felt that putting it at the start of this chapter would answer some questions as to Vincent's motivation for deserting Tifa earlier on.
Might re-write Flesh to the Bones next. Had a read-through the other day—it needs some work doing…