Chapter IX
"Val, are you not yet sleepy?"
There is no answer from the figure seated on the window ledge. Chrollo stands at the threshold from the kitchen, two steaming cups in his hands. With a weary sigh, he settles himself on his side of the bed and discards the cups on the bedside table, beside the books they stole that afternoon. Instead of going back to his usual reading, he opts to lean back against his pillow and study the Kurta, still sulking and sniffing ever since the fateful incident in the museum. Glancing at the clock makes him frown. 3:08 A.M−it says.
He continues studying her, wondering why she should ignore him so. Is it because of the fight, the way her life had been put into danger? Or did she mourn for the bald man, or feel badly for the brother? Chrollo could not decide which one should upset her like this, and he is determined to find out. Even as a child, he loved mysteries and challenges. This one should be no different.
Still, there is something he does not understand: why is she ignoring him? What does she hope in accomplishing for ignoring him? In the Troupe, should the members have any problem with each other, they would always talk about it until the problem is resolved. Chrollo is used to that, and if he is, then Valtiel should too.
"Val?" he tries again, in the hopes she would glance at him. Just once.
The figure on the window ledge shifts, not toward him, but farther from him. She presses herself against the cool glass as if hoping she could pass through and leave him here in the gloomy darkness of their room.
Chrollo figures she would not budge until he has given her a good reason to do so. He peeks at the cups on the table, but his subconscious already knows that the Kurta would not take the bait. Not this time, at least. And so he sighs, weary from the previous fight and tired from this quiet treatment, that he gives one look at his injured right wrist. He finally comes up with a better excuse to manipulate her and draw her attention.
"My wound started bleeding again," he murmurs under his breath. He notices her perk up from her seat, removes her eyes away from the window, and turns toward him. He lifts his wrist, the slash deep and runny with blood. "Would you help me with this, Val?"
To his triumph, she stands and crosses the room to reach him. She rounds the bed and proceeds to his side, seating herself before him. Her golden eyes widen at the extent of the injury.
Valtiel's touch is careful and hesitant. "Does it hurt so much?"
He shakes his head, observing her as closely as he could. "No, but I would rather that you help me with it."
A small first-aid box sits beside them on the mattress. Valtiel takes her quiet time washing off the blood with a damp washcloth first, gentle as the fabric comes contact with the abrasions around the corner, which turn into a deep slash going to the center. The blood is profuse there, pooling around the edges. She lets her hand move in gentle sweeping motions, careful so as not to hurt him more.
Chrollo is content in watching her. She looks beautiful like this−her eyes still bloodshot from crying and her tears dried across pale cheeks. She had changed her white gown to a light blue nightdress.
"Why do you ignore me?" he whispers at length.
The question surprises her that she looks at him straight in the eyes−golden meeting grey. Then she looks down again, continues attending to the wound he could really care less.
His eyes narrow at her. If she wants to play this game with him, then he would. A guessing game at three in the morning should be entertaining. "Is it because I had him killed?"
She stiffens at the blunt question. Coming from him, spoken in his soft voice, it sounds like a question laced with vehemence behind it. She shakes her head and puts the washcloth down.
"No, it wasn't because you killed him," she corrects him, implying that the conjured fish did not kill Saikhan, but Chrollo himself did. She heaves a deep breath, shaking her head. "It is because of the screams, those two brothers."
"Their… screams?" His brows furrow, him unable to comprehend her meaning.
She resumes cleaning his wound, now coating it with an ointment from the box.
"It happened when I first heard them scream. The elder brother, screaming in pain," she whispers, her voice low and filled with resentment. She bows her head until Chrollo could not see her face or eyes. "Then the younger brother screams next, so filled with hatred and anguish and−" She shudders, closing her eyes, feeling the first drop of tear race down her cheek.
Chrollo's open palm catches the tear, and his fingers twitch at the strange sensation.
"I couldn't keep my mind from hearing those voices over and over again," Valtiel continues. She takes a clean bandage and starts wrapping it around the damaged area. "Those same anguished screams… It feels like I have heard them before… I don't remember where, in a dream perhaps, but they are the same sound, so desperate and angry and…"
More tears fall. Chrollo's palm catches them, his eyes focused on each falling tear. He now understands that she does not mourn their deaths, but she is haunted by the memories of them screaming. His breath hitches in his throat, the realization dawning.
When is the last time Valtiel heard people screaming, as if their lives depended on it? Since when did she encounter such hatred and desperation and abhorrence?
"I hear their voices," she says after minute of silence. "Theirs, and many more others… I don't remember who they are, I don't remember anything…" She glares at him, with eyes glassy from unshed tears. "Why, Danchou? Why did you have to do that? Why make them suffer, make them scream−when you would only kill them in the end?"
"Do you really want to know why?" His palm reaches out to her cheeks, wiping away the tears. Again, the gesture feels surreal. No one in the Troupe is as vulnerable as Valtiel. Not one of them needs comforting like this. It is strange for a hard-hearted killer like Chrollo Lucilfer, yet he still finds himself in this situation, comforting someone who is only a commodity in his eyes.
"It is because he wanted to hurt you," comes his answer. "He wanted to harm you when I only wanted the treasures. I never intended to hurt either of them, but they insisted on it. I would only be a fool if I would not defend you and myself. In the end, they got themselves killed for their foolishness."
"But to make them suffer−"
"Is only part of the process of defending us," he interrupts her, before her ardent curiosity comes between them. He strokes her hair, working on the tangles. "I did what I have to do to compromise."
"Compromise?"
Ah, there it is, he muses, fighting the urge to smile. "Yes," he says aloud, "compromise."
Her head tilts to the side, reminding him how he used to be when he was a child.
Allowing himself a small smile, Chrollo pats the space to his left and Valtiel crawls next to him. He slides across the mattress, covers themselves with the white blanket, and props his chin against his left hand. He looks down on the Kurta as she settles under the covers, snug and cozy like a little girl.
"When I was a boy, I used to be bullied by the other, much older children," he confides. He could not help but grin at her reaction, as if she could not believe that the leader of the Phantom Troupe used to be bullied like any other children in the world. "I was," he confirms, easing her misgivings. "I was very filthy and scrawny, like a size of a wet rat."
At his description of himself, Valtiel bursts out in laughter.
He chuckles with her. "And the older boys were much larger and stronger," he says. "Back in Meteor City, we used to fight for everything, even though the adults told us not to. We fought over spaces and blankets and clothes−whatever we could find that could still be useful. I shared what I found only to my friends, and the other children became jealous, resentful even. They hurt me until I told them where I found the goods."
She frowns then, scooting closer to him. "And what did you do? When they hurt you?"
"Uvogin always came to my rescue." He closes his eyes. For a brief moment, he could see the large junkyard city he grew up in, with all the other Troupe members. Uvogin with his afro. Feitan small and scrawny as Chrollo had been. Nobunaga forever boasting his sword. Machi tending to everyone's scratches and bruises after a long day of playing around.
"He did?" Valtiel asks wonderingly.
"Yes, Uvo and Nobunaga most often," he answers. "I remember a time when Feitan terrorized them for an entire week. The Elders were beside themselves, always red with temper." He faces her again, using his arm as a pillow. "It was when I learned that I had to compromise, especially when my friends are not around to help me. Uvogin taught me how to confront them, Nobunaga offered me his sword and−" He laughs at the next memory−"And Feitan suggested I stab them and peel off their nails one-by-one."
"And did you?" she asks, laughing with him.
"Absolutely not," he snorts, "but I did follow Uvo's advice."
"How did you compromise then?"
"I confronted them, drew myself taller and told them to stop. After that day, Machi had another bruise to fix."
She makes a face. He grins at her.
"But I never stopped going against them," Chrollo says. "After days, and then weeks, I learned how to stand up for myself and for my beliefs, and for the sake of my friends. I made myself strong so that next time, I would be the one protecting them."
"Is that why you made the Phantom Troupe?"
"The Phantom Troupe…" A ghost of a smile crosses his features. The bedside lamp behind him puts a shadow on his face, and it makes his face look sadder than usual. "We are the Spiders. We are what the world made us to be−abandoned, forgotten, unloved. For the outside world, we were nothing worthy. But we, all of us, were children with dreams and ambitions. That was what motivated us to create the Spiders. The world already thinks so lowly of us, why the hell should we care?"
"And you killed people for it?"
"Yes, we did. We still do."
Valtiel falls silent, letting everything sink into her mind. She never would have imagined Chrollo's story to be like this. She has always seen him as the quiet, reserved individual, highly respected by his peers. To her, he is no more than a thief with a penchant for books. Now, as he lays beside her with his sad smile present, she sees the other vulnerable side of him: loyal and caring towards his friends. She loves hearing him tell these stories from his youth, unable to imagine the violent Spiders as children playing together.
Then her silence turns into heartache. A pang of jealousy suddenly seizes her when she remembers that she has no memories of her own to share−no childhood friends, no bullies, no lessons and experiences to shape the person that she is now. She is nothing but a shadow of her former self, and she even has no ideas what her former self was like.
Chrollo senses her grief and shifts on the bed. His weight makes her roll towards him. He chuckles when she flushes in embarrassment, trying to scoot away from him.
"You are one of us, Valtiel," he tells her, the same phrase he keeps repeating since the first day in the church. He puts his free hand, the injured right, to cup her cheek. "Even back then in Meteor City, you were with us. From the beginning, until now, and for the rest of our days, you will be with us."
"Really?" Her eyes turn wide, the light from the lamp illuminating her golden eyes brighter.
"It is true," he assures her, traitorous to his very core.
The lies flow smoothly from his mouth−one lie after the other−regaling her of made-up stories about her close friendship with Machi and Pakunoda, her fondness of Shalnark, and even how Phinks would treat her like a sister. He should feel ashamed making up her history, acting like a god to his own creature, making her a subject−a soulless puppet more like−to his own additions and subtractions.
But Chrollo Lucilfer feels no shame or guilt. Instead, he feels fiery and animated. He is not fond of improvising, but as the minutes wear on and the smile on Valtiel's face brightens, the lies keep flowing. In a short span of time, he remakes her into someone else, an entirely different person.
According to him, Valtiel is like them, abandoned by their parents in the world's largest junkyard city. She made friends with the Troupe's founding members and was closest to Machi and Pakunoda−for Chrollo did not want to assume that he and Valtiel would have been that close. He adds her in his personal experiences with the Troupe members−playing tag, rummaging through garbage in search for food, sitting beside them before a blazing campfire in the middle of winter season, and many more. In each memory he has, he adds her as if she has lived the same memories, when in truth, she is a Kurta with a home and a family and good food on the table, warm and loved throughout her life.
His soft voice and storytelling lulls her to sleep. He watches how her eyes droop in sleepiness and how she tries to swallow back a yawn, to give the impression that she is not yet sleepy. He sighs at her stubbornness and glances at his phone for the time. 4:58 A.M.−wee hours in the morning, it seems.
He finishes his lies with the story of how the Spider was made, that Valtiel was there the day it happened, but she did not want to join them in stealing and murdering.
"Can we go back there?" Valtiel asks sleepily, her eyelids fluttering shut.
"Where?" He tucks her hair behind her ear, and then tucks the blanket under her chin.
"Home," she murmurs as she smooths her cheek across the pillow. "Meteor City."
"Of course." Even though she could not see, Chrollo smiles at her. He turns the lamp off behind him and notices the two cups he prepared for them earlier. He lets them cool as he burrows himself deeper into the covers, his face only inches away from hers, swallowing back a yawn like she does. Watching her fall asleep beside him makes him feel sleepy as well. He closes his eyes then, the memories of his childhood flashing.
"Promise?" comes the extremely sleepy question.
"I promise," are the last words he says before finally drifting into slumber.
Author's Notes: Hello, everyone! Sorry for the rather late update! I got carried away with real life stuff. Haha. Belated Happy Thanksgiving as well!
This time we are having a shorter chapter, a bit of an emotional and psychological exchange between the two. Small details here and there, but will play a large role in the future. Oh, Chrollo!
*xenocanaan - Thank you! Glad you enjoyed the last one!
*polarsky - You're welcome! Feel free to ask any kind of questions. Also, I could imagine the Spiders putting her under their care when it comes to training. Gotta babysit the Danchou's treasure. 😉
*HiMELuna - Thank you as well for reading!
*hisoDAMN - Yay, thank you!
More Scarlet Eyes transactions coming up. See you all next update! Thank you for reading and please leave reviews! 💜