DISCLAIMER/TRIGGER WARNING:

This story contains content of a highly disturbing nature that may be offensive to some readers: including (but definitely not limited to): domestic abuse, rape, blood & gore, general violence, and torture. Please DO NOT read if you are likely to be offended! Vega's life is not a pretty picture!

Vega & other Street Fighter characters owned by CAPCOM. Victoria de Cerna, Miguel de Cerna, & Marc Antoní Gauldera belong to me.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a continuation of the last story, The Adventures Spanish Ninja in Japan. Please read it first if you haven't!
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A few days later was her funeral—a day that even now I do not entirely remember. What I can remember were little parts here and there, fragmented into a million pieces. Most of that day in fact, Marc Antoní had to tell me, even though I was there—but I was not. I was in a place so distant, reality itself ceased to exist.

I remember Marc Antoní dressing me in my slate gray suit; my long hair hung down in a tangled fray around me. I would not brush it, I did not even see myself in the mirror. Marc Antoní attempted to help me, but I pushed him away.

He gave me a sigh of resignation and that was the state he left me in as we left for her funeral.

We had a private service with the family priest, just me and Marc Antoní.

I approached carefully, cautiously, afraid to look into the casket.

The sun streamed through the stained glass onto my mother as she lay there, serenely in her casket, the colors washing across her waxy, pale skin. Her tarnished golden hair was done up in usual fashion, no longer sparkling and bright, and she wore a beautiful blue dress, something I recalled seeing her in before.

I looked over my shoulder to see Marc Antoní standing in the back of the room with the priest; they seemed to be talking quietly amongst themselves—about what I did not know—but probably me. The thought made me uneasy, and I turned back to her, despite my fears.

I stroked her hair, caressed her cool forehead.

My hands trembled to touch her, disbelieving that she lay there like that; wishing instead she was simply asleep, but her cold skin tangibly reminded me.

My warm tears fell down upon her and I leaned forward to kiss her forehead, to smell her scent for the last time—but there was nothing left, nothing but the putrid scent of death, the scent I had come to know very well, lingering around her.

The mortician had applied her makeup very carefully and precisely; it was almost done as she would have, but the fake rouge of her cheeks and the red of her lips almost seemed too garish for me to stand. It colored her as one would color a delicate porcelain doll.

I shook my head, mourning her vibrant beauty now so cold and colorless.

'You should not be in here…' I whispered, continuing to stroke her hair. 'You should be by my side forever! I am sorry, Victoria. I failed you. There is nothing left for me now.'

I leaned forward and ever so carefully pressed a light kiss to her lips.

It sent a shiver down my spine, no longer as warm and soft as I remembered. She had become smooth, cold, and hard, like a statue. Her flesh turned to stone, cold and gray.

'I will be the last to see you, the last to touch you—me—no one else. I will never leave you.' I whispered into her ear.

The priest cleared his throat and I looked at them standing beside each other.

'It's time, Vega.' Marc Antoní said somberly.

I clutched the edge of her casket, clenching my jaw as I glared at them.

I ignored the priest and his woeful expression and looked at Marc Antoní. His hands clasped in front of him, Marc Antoní stared at me, an urgency in his eyes. I knitted my brows and he pursed his lips.

I swore in this last moment she was mine and as if he could read my thoughts, Marc Antoní responded,

'I know. It's all right.'

My chest tightened as we held each other's gaze and I felt tears welling up in my eyes once again. I refused to relent—not to him, not to anyone and I wondered just how long this stalemate could last.

'Come,' he finally said, a flash in his eyes told me to obey, just this once.

He walked over to me, putting his hand on my back and ushered me out the door.

I had to undergo the continued torture of watching her be put into her grave and there was nothing, absolutely nothing I could do to stop it...

We arrived back at our family cemetery, the day warm and sunny as usual. It seemed to be far too bright to be burying someone.

I squinted my eyes as the priest droned on over her casket. I could not hear his words, I only stared at the smooth dark casket, thinking of her lying alone in her satin bed, so cold and dark.

A warm breeze blew through my tangled hair, pushing it back and floating around me like silk. The air smelled of the red roses that we threw onto her casket, now scattered upon the ground beside it like drops of blood.

There was a hint of cool, damp earth rising from below, both assailing my nose and refreshing me.

As sure as I knew the blood coursed through my veins, I knew hers had long since ceased, and I could feel her lying there in that cool darkness.

It beckoned me like an unheard voice and I knew I could not leave her alone. There was nothing left for me without her but an unending pain tearing my heart open and turning it to stone. I wanted to lie in that cool darkness with her, not living, not breathing, not feeling.

I spread my arms out and closed my eyes, the warm rose scented air swirling around me and the coolness of the grave rising to meet me as I fell face down into it.

I fell haphazardly beside the casket, my shoulder and arm hitting it hard. Pain radiated through me for a moment, and then nothing. I inhaled the scent of the fresh earth, a vague recollection of voices yelling at me from above.

The pain, the blood from my injury did not matter; I slowly pulled myself up, realizing I was right beside her, and mustering every ounce of strength I had, I began to dig. My slender fingers began working at the lid, pushing and prying.

Tears streamed down my face as I reassured her we would be together soon, but alas, it was not to be.

Once again, I felt a strong grip on my injured arm and I screamed, the pain shooting through it.

'No!' I screamed with all I had left in me, 'No! Let me die!' I screamed. 'Let me die!'

I thrashed in their grip, fighting to get free again.

'I won't let her be alone! Let me die!'

I recall being lifted from the grave as I continued to scream, being restrained and then, darkness took me.

It was from this point, my memories are hazy. So much of the pain of that day I blocked out, my mind unable to cope with the agony.

I have no idea how long I was out but when I next opened my eyes, I was laying in her room, the sunlight streaming in.

I began to panic, realizing that once again, I was restrained—I was in a straightjacket, of all things!

Dazed and confused, I struggled against my confinement, screaming.

'Shut up, Vega!' a sharp voice exclaimed.

I looked over to see Remy rising from a chair next to my bed.

'Calme-toi, enculé!'

'Remy! What—how?'

He sighed, shaking his head.

'You don't remember yesterday, do you?'

He was right—I did not remember anything.

Tears streamed from the corners of my eyes as I shook my head.

Remy pushed back his long turquoise hair from his face and looked at me.

'You dug into her grave like a mad rabbit! You were trying to open her casket.'

I squeezed my eyes shut against the cruel memory and I strained against the straightjacket.

'Do you promise not to kill me, you crazy Spaniard? I'll let you out.'

I was a lot weaker than I realized, so I simply nodded.

Carefully he undid each of the straps until I was free. I realized I was in my pajama bottoms and shirtless, but most horrifying of all, I realized my hands were bandaged.

I looked at them and he sighed, rubbing the back of his head.

'Remy…'

'Are you sure you want to see?'

I nodded again.

He did as I asked and slowly unwrapped them.

To my utter horror, I saw that my long graceful fingers were bloodied and scabbed. My nails were ripped off down to the quick, dried blood on my fingertips.

I screamed, unable to cope with the sight before me and I continued to scream.

Remy clamped his hand over my mouth.

'Mon Dieu!' he cried. After it was quiet, he removed it.

Remy closed his eyes and his hands began to glow blue; my eyes widened.

'Remy! What are you—?'

'Shut up.'

He placed his hands on mine and I could feel his warm energy surging through me. I felt the pain and the scarring disappear suddenly. I looked down to see my hands were as beautiful as ever. The long cut I made on my right arm even vanished.

I sat up with a blink.

'Remy?'

He opened his eyes and looked at me.

'Say thank you, asshole.'

I blinked again.

'Thank you…Remy, I remember...someone pulled me from her grave...and then, I blacked out.'

He grimaced.

'I pulled you out. You nearly took me with you! If Marc Antoní hadn't held onto me, we would have both been in there, asshole!'

My eyes widened and tears streamed down my cheeks as I looked at him.

'You-you were there?'

Remy nodded.

'But, I never saw you…'

'No, you didn't. Marc Antoní wanted it that way. He knew you might go crazy and do something stupid...and he was right. So, I stayed back until it looked like you might need me. You were so out of it standing there, you would not even have noticed if I stood right by you—and I stood behind you. I didn't think you'd actually do a swan dive right into her grave, though!'

I chewed my lip, searching for my foggy memory of the day's events.

'You-you saved me!' I cried.

'Yeah,'

'I never thought I'd see you again…'

'Somebody had to…'

I rose off the bed, struggling to stand, overwhelmed by my joy of seeing Remy and the crushing weight of grief.

'It would have been better if I were in there beside her...'

'So, you would have liked it when the maggots crawled over you?'

His tone was slightly flippant.

'Anything is better than this...torture!' I exclaimed, glaring daggers at him. 'I belong beside her. There is no place for me in this world without her.'

Remy sighed and his face softened.

'Yes, I know…'

'Do you know what to do? How am I supposed to live like this?'

I clutched at his jacket, staring into his eyes, desperately searching for an answer.

He only shook his head.

'Non.'

'Remy, please. I beg of you!' The tears streamed freely down my cheeks as I clung to him, my tall blue haired angel of mercy that he was.

Remy pushed me back and I stood agape, just staring at him.

'I can't.' he replied, but his tone was somber.

I collapsed on the floor, lost and confused.

'I-I can't breathe without her! I can't! I'll never smell her scent, or feel her warm embrace or hear her voice ever again!'

'I know how you feel, Vega. The first few days are maddening...you think of everything you lost and everything you will lose...but it will lessen in time. The pain will be there, always, but you will know her sweet memories again.'

I looked up at my blue haired savior again, processing his words.

'I lost my heart, my soul. Everything I am, died with her…'

'And you will find yourself again, Vega. I know you will.'

'No, I need her. I need her, damn it!' I exclaimed.

'Calm yourself, Vega. You're getting agitated again.'

I rose shakily to my feet.

'Or what? Am I to get another shot?'

'No, but I will kick your ass!'

'Promise? Will you knock me out for a week? A month?'

Remy's lips curved into a mischievous smile.

'You'd like that, wouldn't you?'

'Fight me, Remy. Come on, I need it.'

'You don't, actually…'

I moved in close to his face.

'I do. You'll give this to me. You will.' I raised my arms and moved into my fighting stance.

'Non.' he moved away from me.

I threw a kick as hard as I could, my foot inches from his chest.

Remy scoffed.

'I'm not going to fight you, crazy asshole Spaniard!'

'I want it. I need it. I am already dead.'

He shook his head, elegantly dodging my continued strikes.

'And I am not going to kill you...fuck! That makes no sense! Goddamnit! I'm starting to sound like you, asshole!'

I chuckled.

'I know you understand, Remy. I know you do.'

I moved in close to him again.

'If you won't fight me, then fuck me.' I grabbed his jacket, pulling him close.

'Get off!' he hissed, pushing me back once more. I could see anger flashing like lightning in his mysterious blue eyes.

'Not if you were the last human on earth! Vega, you're so fucking messed up, you couldn't even get it up!'

I chuckled.

'Oh, so you know, do you?'

He scoffed.

'I'm not her, damn it! I am not your fucking Victoria!'

'I-I don't care! I want you!' I cried, tears streaming down the corners of my eyes.

Remy shook his head, his lips curling into a malicious smile.

'No, no you don't. You want me to punish you, that's what you really want.'

'How could you know...how…' I stood shakily on my feet, feeling like I might collapse again.

'When I lost Émilie, I wanted to be punished, Vega. I begged for it. I would not allow myself to live knowing that I failed her.'

I blinked, my eyes still heavy with unfallen tears.

We were silent.

'I walked around aimlessly on the streets of Paris, picking fights with any men I found, silently begging them to bash my face in every time. I felt the impact to my face, my nose and the warmth of the blood running down and still, I silently begged for more. No amount of pain or blood was enough. I needed more...but I am not a sick fuck like you, you know! If you think I got off on this, you're wrong—dead wrong.'

'But-but, what happened? Did you get into more fights after that?'

Remy chuckled.

'Fuck yeah! Half the men of Paris wanted to kick my ass after a while, wanting to know who this weird blue haired kid was that kept kicking their friend's asses! So then I fought entire groups of men! Thugs, mostly. The street scum of Paris.'

'Really?'

He smirked and I caught a gleam in his eye that sent a shiver down my spine.

'Yeah.'

I swallowed, completely enthralled by him.

'Do you want to know why I did it? Because…' he leaned towards me and my chest tightened. 'I couldn't feel a fucking thing!' he yelled.

'I was fucking numb as hell and so are you!'

I gasped, instinctively stepping back.

'I nearly died many times because I couldn't forgive myself and I couldn't live without her.'

'Then, help me feel again, Remy!'

He scoffed, shaking his head.

'Don't you get it? I can't. I know you want to be with her again...but, you are going to have to find a way to feel again, forgive yourself. I can't help you.'

'No, I can't! I don't know how!'

'Don't you Catholics have Confession or something? Maybe you can find answers there.'

Now it was my turn to feel anger again.

'Don't you dare speak about the Church to me, Remy! Don't you dare! They have blood on their hands just as much as Miguel did! I will kill a thousand priests before I am through!'

Remy raised his eyebrows and his hands.

'I'm sorry, Vega! I am. I didn't mean anything, honestly.'

I glared at him.

'God has forsaken me! His church is poisoned by evil men who think of themselves before the lives of innocents...like my mother and I. We were innocent, Remy. We didn't deserve this hell we lived in! Do not think that just because I believe in God that I will ever speak to Him again! He forgives but I do not.'

'Forgive me, Vega.' Remy's eyes met mine again, equally fierce, but I could see a gentleness in them hidden beneath.

I sighed, relaxing my stance and I shook my head.

'You...you didn't know, Remy. It's ok...but do not ever, ever assume I am a man of God ever again. I am the only god she ever worshiped. I was her savior. We never needed God because He didn't need us—and I never will.'

Remy nodded solemnly, his lips curving up into a smile, and then he broke into a nervous laugh.

I cocked my head and looked at him.

'Sorry...it's just that the many times I was up close to you I realized...you need a bath!'

'What?' I shrieked.

'You heard me, asshole! You smell like grave dirt and I think you probably have a ton of dirt still on you from when you decided to go crazy.'

I scowled at him.

'You're the asshole! I don't want one.' I folded my arms and pouted, stamping my barefoot against the cold floor.

'Yeah, well too bad, asshole. Assholes like you who decide to dive into graves definitely need baths. And since when does prissy Vega not like being clean?'

I glared at him again.

'Since my heart was torn out and my soul sucked from my chest! Nothing else matters. I do not matter therefore, I do not need to be clean.'

He folded his arms, shifting his weight and put his finger to his lip thoughtfully.

'Nice try, asshole. Get in the bathroom.'

'No.'

I stood defiantly.

'Don't make me kick your ass! I don't want you to enjoy it!'

'Try me.' I smirked.

'Vega, if I kill you, I can't guarantee I'll send you back to Victoria! I'm an atheist! Do you want to take that chance? Get the fuck in there!'

I sighed heavily, dropping my arms.

'I hate you.' I murmured, turning towards my mother's bathroom.

'I know.' I could feel his grin at my back.

GLOSSARY:

'Calme-toi, enculé!' - Calm down, asshole! (French)

Mon Dieu! - My God (French)