#i can't wait to read all the other ffxivwrite entries and see more people and their characters having a very normal time

[forever-halone]

IV. baleful

(cw: death, loss) 

When I come back down, I don’t see where my sword lands when I toss it. It can get lost wherever it wants in these weeds for all I care. Because right now my back hurts, my arms hurts, there’s a gash on my thigh might be still bleeding, and I’m tired as all shit. And in a minute here, I’m gonna have to go dig a ditch to go bury the woman I loved and her lover I killed in. 

I’m such an idiot.

I should cry. Maybe even scream, or something, I can’t feel anything no matter how hard I focus on it. I stubbed out that instinct long ago, and I’m still working on getting it back. Fuck, I have to get that back. This war won’t break me. I won’t let it. No one is ever going to get that satisfaction. 

My hands are still soiled with her so I end up wiping it against my faded harness, because only the Destroyer knows how many times I’ve cleaned that thing, before I go search through the satchel at my hip. If I can’t feel a damn thing, then a quick smoke break will put some warmth in me, at least. And if I remember correctly, the last few packs I have are the ones she gave me. 

I thought it weird she had so much to give, more than usual, before I found out she was fucking some motherlander. Maybe this is poetic if I smoke one over her corpse. Or maybe this is just pathetic. I can’t be mad at her when she would have probably had a better life with him than me— but she knew that she knew too much about too many people to be doing shit like that. 

Why couldn’t she have just she told me? Was she afraid of me? Did she not really—

The movement seems to spook my brother (but not really, it’s complicated, more like my little brother, but I don’t like it, and I’m tired of explaining it to people, so don’t ask me, so stop asking me) who had been spending his time staring at the Imperial’s dismembered leg like some kind of weird asshole. I wouldn’t have brought him along, honestly, I can take care of my own problems, and I’m tired of him thinking he can solve them for me. But he’s the one that found this out and told me, and he is more into that vengeance shit than I ever was.

But I’m polite, so I offer him a cigarette out from the rations that her Garlean suitor gave her. He declines, of course, but it was more of a formality than anything— he usually only accepts a smoke when he’s drunk or trying to convince me he’s not on the verge of hysteria.

So I take my first drag alone, and try to ignore him before he tries to pretend to bring up conversation for my own sake.

“...I’m sorry.” He says, the misery in his voice likely making up for mine and more. Rhalgr’s fat teats. 

“Shut up.”

“...you didn’t deserve this.”

“Yea’. But it’s whatever.” When he turns to look back at me at that, I’m already in the midst of fuming out a thick smokescreen between myself and the miserable scene in front of me. The warmth in my chest is comforting, and I’m beginning to feel the ache in my thigh less and less.

“...are you alright?” My chest hurts a bit. Thank fuck, there it is. “You don’t look...”

“Angry?” I finish the sentence for him. I’m not usually good at that, but I know him better than anyone when he’s like this.

“Yes.” A pause, and he asks. “...or sad. It’s worryin’ me. You know, you just...”

I’m not going to let him finish, because I don’t want to be here until nightfall. “Yea’. I’m sad as all fuck. But I’m not goin’ to cry in front of you, though. Even if you want me to.” I pause, too, and end up trying to stuff my matches back in some random pocket of my harness. “But I’m not angry, either, even if that’d make you feel better.”

I see his brows furrow at that, unfortunately— my smokescreen is gone, and I can see him glooming in all his glory. I’m so tired.

“You don’t hate her?” He asks, and I get reminded again he’s younger than me. Probably. He doesn’t want to figure that out, and I don’t care.

“Fuck no. Lovin’ people is hard, Farid. Hatin’ people is the easiest thing in the goddamn world. It takes nothin’ out of you.” I sound so stupid, but I don’t care, I’m allowed to sound stupid because I’m grieving or whatever, “And I’m not weak like you.”

He barely manages to smile at that despite his somber getup, like I had managed to get him there with some bad joke. Maybe I really do sound stupid. I’m forgetting to take another drag. 

“I just say all this mean shit because I’m a bitch.”

“...no you’re not, Pan.” He says. He always says that when I say that. He always does. It’s because he loves me, isn’t it? This asshole.

...fuck. Zaansha never said that. She thought it was funny, though. So I’d always say it. Did she believe it? Did she hate me for it? Did I end up being too much? Did she ever actually love me? Was doing all of this to me easy? I loved her so much. Was loving her only hard because it was just me?

I realize I’m crying when I can’t see a damn thing, and I can feel Farid trying to take the cigarette out of my hands to have his hands there instead. But I don’t care if I’m a damn liar— he doesn’t give a shit, probably, and I’m relieved I’m doing it in the first place. 

I’m going to cry, and I’m going to cry until I’m satisfied.