Chapter Text
VI
Her Caesura in Disdain
I say that our friendship ended that day, but in truth, I don't think it was quite as simple as that. She certainly wouldn't have thought so. Though we didn't really play anymore, she didn't hate me. She still cared about me, at least enough to say hello and smile in my direction on occasion. I, however, changed. To her dismay, and to my mother's, I'd retreated inward again. Returned to old habits, social reclusion and contempt. I was tired of feeling, tired of hurting. So, I simply… stopped.
For most, I gave my usual brand of silence, indifference, and general rejection. For her, though never entirely abhorrent, my feelings became muddled and confused. Where one day I would resent her for cutting me off so coldly, another I would linger on the memory of that fateful day and wonder.
If what her father had said of her memory was completely true, then…what exactly did she remember? What had she forgotten? Did she remember me sitting at the well, encouraging and comforting her? Did she remember playing for her mother? Did she remember the nervousness that had weakened her, the new confidence that strengthened her, or her mother's praise and smile?
And what of our further history? How much did she truly recall of our friendship? How much did I really mean to her, and how much of that connection had she retained? Maybe I was out of line to question it, but…at times, it was like she barely remembered me at all. That may have been one of my biggest faults. Jumping to conclusions, and more often than not, assuming the worst. Knowing what a good person she was, yet still assuming there was something cold in her, if only to justify the coldness in myself.
In the deepest reaches of my heart, I still loved her. Still longed for her, as ridiculous as it may have seemed for someone so young. But outwardly, I just wasn’t the boy she knew anymore. I was who I used to be, the boy she didn’t know and would have been better off never knowing. My true face, of which she’d only ever gotten a glimpse, had finally revealed itself to her. And she didn’t like what she saw.
Most of our interactions from then on were less pleasant and more frustrating. I had taken a shining to certain activities to which she had introduced me, and for which she was still frequently known. Spending time on the mountain path, at the river, and climbing trees were chief among them, of course. But I would do so alone now. Whenever she would show up, especially if in the company of the other boys, I would usually hide or make myself scarce.
It didn’t go unnoticed. It annoyed her, often upset her, but the boys made light of it. Whether to cheer her up, turn her against me, or simply because it was fun for them to have a laugh at my expense, they would make fun of me. Call me names. Call me weird. Often call me creepy, suggesting that I was watching her in secret. Unfortunately, they were right about that. I couldn’t help but internalize the insult and own it.
She never confronted or antagonized me, as the boys had so often done. Yet, perplexingly, and maybe even encouragingly, she had a tendency to watch me just as much. She didn’t pursue me, and certainly didn’t purposely keep her distance from me. But when she knew I was around, I could feel her eyes on me, too. And despite her visible annoyance at my behavior, when her expression settled, it was almost never one of anger. Usually, it was a sort of sadness. Concern and worry. Sometimes… sometimes, I felt like she even missed me.
There was one day the following summer when she did approach me. One chance I had to patch all wounds, to make things as they used to be between us. A chance to safely tell her the truth, when the incident at the mountain had mostly become a memory. And yet, something wouldn’t let me. Some part of me that seemed to enjoy being persistently miserable.
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It was sundown on a typical, sleepy day. I was sitting atop the well’s pressure tank stand, as I often did since the days of watching Tifa practice her song. I had been sitting there for a couple of hours. Since returning to my old habits, I had also returned to spending most of my time indoors. Yet, I could no longer stand to live in a world without her.
As embarrassing as it is to admit, Emilio and the others were right. I was watching her. I had to. I had to know that she was alright. I had to know that she was healing. She’d long ago recovered from the fall, but I worried for her heart and her mind. I had to know that she could still be happy, that she could live like she once did.
I’d promised her mother that I’d care for her. That I’d always be her friend, and that I’d always be there for her. But, if I’m honest, it wasn’t all for her. I’ve never been that noble. Selfishly, I just… It hurt. To be without her, to accept going our separate ways, was painful to me. So, I sat there most days, even if only for a little while. Watching her. Stewing in my own regret.
I would like to say that I always watched her lovingly, if sadly. But that wasn’t how my mind worked back then. In reality, it was the greatest mental struggle I’d ever faced. Where once I was closed off from the world and from other kids, there was at least a sense of certainty in it. A consistency. Now, my mind fought itself ferociously. I was obsessed and tormented.
I loved to watch her when she was alone, greeting people in the morning. Not quite the way she used to, so energetic and carefree. The trauma and loss had changed her, and she’d matured a bit since then. But still sweetly, still the village darling. And still with her signature, pretty smile. This was the Tifa I knew and missed. The girl I would give my life to protect.
But then… there were the times when she wasn’t alone. When she was with them, it reduced me to a sour lump of jealousy and contempt. Indignant that she could surround herself with idiots like them, after the way they’d treated me. The way they’d spoken about me. Depressed that she may agree with them. Discouraged that she would ever see me as she once did, and certain that I’d lost her forever.
During those times, every part of me wanted to resent her. But my deepest, innermost heart would not allow it. She wasn’t like that, I thought. I’d caused her heartache before, but I’d been good to her, too. My best had shone through for her, hadn’t it? Surely, she could see that in me. But, maybe she didn’t remember… Maybe the lie Emilio spread was still her truth. Maybe I was still “that kind of boy” to her, the kind that made her feel unsafe.
I hated them. I hated that I loved her. I lamented that she may have hated me for loving her. I reeled that she may or may not have known how I truly felt. And I suffered that I would never know for sure, so long as I didn’t have the courage to ask or confess. It was a never-ending agony of despondency and humiliation.
After hours of watching them play, well into sunset, the boys finally left for their respective homes. As always, she set about saying goodnight to all the adults still lingering at the square. On any given day like this, the conclusion was always the same. Whether I chose to hide, whether she chose to steal one last glance in my direction, we would always return to our homes without saying a word. Her visibly feeling awkward, and me feeling pathetic.
Tonight, she broke the pattern.
I held my breath as she walked toward the well, staring straight at me. I was stunned and nervous, but I didn’t run or hide. She hadn’t spoken to me in ages, and I missed her terribly. She stood just below me, staring up at me, winking hard against the glare of the setting sun.
“Cloud.” She called with exasperation. “Can you come down here and talk to me, please?”
It wasn’t much of a greeting. It was more like the way my mother would call to me when she was about to 'gently correct' my behavior for one reason or another. And I gave her the same frown usually reserved for that kind of lecture. I hesitated, embarrassed, and not too keen on the idea of hearing how displeased she was with me.
“Please?” She repeated with a sigh.
Groaning, I slowly climbed down and stood before her, eyes averted and turning red.
“Cloud… you know, I’d like it if you said hi sometimes.” She whined.
I was taken aback. I’d expected her to call me a creep. To tell me to stop staring, and to leave her alone. I expected her to see me the way the other boys saw me. And yet, it seemed that I had misjudged her once again.
“Well… I mean, you don’t say hi to me, either, though…” I muttered, a bit more combatively than I intended.
“That’s true. I’m sorry for that. Do… do you hate me?” She asked meekly, melting me with those beautiful eyes of hers like she always did.
‘I could never hate you, Tifa. You’re special to me.’ That’s what I wanted to say, but…
“I… I could ask you the same thing…” I weakly argued, immediately hating myself. Why did everything have to be an argument?
She sighed. “Cloud, I… I forgive you, okay? Daddy forgives you. The boys forgive you… I think. I’m pretty sure everyone does. It doesn’t have to be like this.” She pleaded.
She did miss me. I could hear it in her voice, see it in her eyes. But, to no fault of hers, I had turned bitter.
She still didn’t know. And how could she? I had never told her the truth, and Emilio certainly wasn’t going to expose his own lie. I had every reason to tell her now. It wouldn’t hurt her anymore. It may have even brought us closer. But, her fault or not, there was something vexing about being ‘forgiven’ for something I never did in the first place.
It soured me, and against my better judgment, doubt crept in. Even if I were to tell her, after all this time, after I’d accepted the blame for so long and with such an obvious grudge, why would she believe me? Surely, I’d lie simply to absolve myself in her eyes and win my way back into her good graces, she’d think. How disgusting, to pass the blame onto her just to save face.
“I thought you didn’t want to be friends with ‘a boy like me’?” I spat. I was actually angry now, unfairly treating her as though she should know better.
“Cloud…”
“The others don’t like me either. In fact, they hate me. So, why don’t you?” I huffed.
I was just digging the hole deeper. She was giving me a way back in, and I was throwing it in her face. I knew it was wrong, that I’d regret it, but I couldn’t stop myself. I was twisted in knots of foolish, petty pride that I couldn’t swallow, even for her sake.
“I don’t hate you, Cloud.” She sighed, annoyed with my stubborn impertinence.
“Yeah, well… maybe you should. That’s what Emilio and the others want, isn’t it?”
She went silent, staring at her feet. She knew I was right. She had nothing to say. And so long as she didn’t, I had nothing further to say, either. Yet, as I turned my back on her, she protested.
“Cloud, please! Please, don’t be like this!” she cried.
I stopped, desperately fighting myself. I wanted to apologize, but for what? I’d done nothing wrong. I wanted to tell her how much I missed her, but I already felt pathetic enough. The truth burned my lips, fizzling into impotence as I found the admission futile and pointless. With nothing left I could say, I just kept walking. Never turning back, even as I heard her caterwaul in frustration, stomping her feet and slamming the door as she shut herself away for the night.
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I felt small.
She didn't deserve that. My anger and frustration weren’t with her. She only knew what she had been told, and when I didn’t deny it, she had no cause to question it. I was frustrated with the situation, with having to bear the burden of guilt that wasn’t mine. In truth, I couldn’t even entirely blame Emilio, though the lie was his. In the end, I accepted it for her sake. I was suffering the consequences of my own inaction.
That night, I heard her play the piano again. She didn’t play as often now. I’m sure it reminded her of her mother, and that made it difficult to entertain. But when she did play, she was as diligent as ever. She reached to perfect the art as nearly as she could, and to push herself beyond her limits. She practiced her mother’s repertoire, practiced a rather large collection of other well-known works she’d compiled, and even went about composing more songs of her own.
At the end of every night, for which I always waited before I committed myself to sleep, she played the song she wrote for her mother. Improving her accuracy, refining her technique. And occasionally, adding a new layer of depth, making it richer and more beautiful. More worthy of her mother and the legacy she’d passed on to her.
In the days when she’d just started to learn, it was easier to read her heart through her music. Her hand was guided by pure emotion, and technique was secondary. Now, her emotions still rang through, but in a different way. It was in how loudly she played, or how softly. How quickly or slowly. How passionately, or stiffly.
It isn’t to say that her play was perfect. There was still much room for growth, as there would be for anyone. But she had grown dramatically, matured. Now, the feeling I got from her music resembled that of her mother’s play much more closely. In a way, she transcended it.
I only ever appreciated her mother’s music for its beauty. Tifa’s, even through the same songs, remained a window into her heart. The one unbreakable connection we had, unsullied no matter our interactions in dysfunctional daylight. I think she saw it that way, too. After all, she knew I was listening. And she always left her window cracked, knowing how the sound carried.
As the sound of her song washed over me, as every night, I closed my eyes and concentrated. Memorizing every last note, especially those newly added. Tapping my fingers on my bed in mimicry of the five notes I’d kept since playing them at her bedside months ago.
This song was sacred to me. My most important memory, however painful. It was the sound of my promise to Mrs. Lockhart, and of my secret vow to Tifa. Every night, with every note she played, I carved it a little deeper into my heart. Chiseling it in fine detail, embossed and calligraphic.
Tonight, her song spoke of missing a friend.
︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵
That exchange didn’t make things worse, but it certainly didn’t change anything for the better. Emilio and the others had heard about it, clearly. They tended to pay me more attention than they previously had. Looking over their shoulders at me, wearing sour expressions, and frequently pressing her to relocate their play somewhere beyond my line of sight. But their opinions didn’t matter to me, and she evidently didn’t wish to avoid me any more than I wished to avoid her.
A month had passed since then without contact. As before, I continued to watch from the well most days. But now, I had adopted a new habit. A couple of weeks earlier, Shinra had paid an unannounced visit to Nibelheim. Something which always made the villagers, particularly the elders, uneasy. We owed our livelihood, the very existence of the town itself, to the company. Shinra Manor at the top of the town’s tallest hill was testament to that fact, and the old mako reactor far into the mountains was the reason for it.
In truth, given that we had no major export to speak of, we were merely allowed to live there in order to maintain the land in which they had so heavily invested. Even as the company interest focused elsewhere and operations at the reactor grew more and more seldom, even as Shinra Manor lay abandoned for years, that fact remained. So, when Shinra showed up, it could only mean one of two things: either they had something for us, which meant more funding and a better life for everyone, or they wanted something from us when we most often had little to give.
It usually wasn’t the former. This time, as usual, it was the latter. They hadn’t meant to take anything from us directly, but they did intend to plant an idea in the heads of the village youth. We had been at war with Wutai, far to the northwest, for quite some time. Now, in Shinra’s final effort to end the war once and for all, they were looking to bolster their numbers for one final push. Namely, their elite forces. SOLDIER.
They’d shown up in a military convoy. It made everyone nervous, but in so doing, it attracted the attention they were after. They came bearing propaganda and demonstration. Display of their elite SOLDIER force’s strength and pride, selling the idea of transforming oneself into a superhuman warrior. Exhibitions of their First Class division’s fitness and combat prowess, effectively romanticizing the prospect of becoming a superhero.
They’d done so in dramatic fashion, too. Bringing in live monsters to release and kill in the town square for all to see. Not the relatively tame, local variety, but the kind of things you’d only see way out in the wilds or far into the mountains. Real threats, something your ordinary grunt wouldn’t be able to handle. A few of them even looked unnatural. There had been rumors for quite a while about Shinra’s genetic experiments, and that was proof enough for many.
They insisted that it was a “controlled environment”, but that didn’t really comfort anyone. The only thing standing between us and them were the SOLDIER operatives. And that was the point. It certainly did leave an impression when the beasts were quickly dispatched and not a single person came to harm. It was a sight we weren’t going to forget anytime soon, whether for the spectacle itself or the nightmares that would surely follow for many.
Surprisingly, by and large, the appeal didn’t land. A few here and there, but for the most part, even the kids enjoyed the slow, peaceful life to which we’d grown accustomed. The thought of genetically modifying themselves and dying in a foreign land just wasn’t attractive. But then, there were kids like me. Kids who, for whatever reason, had a personal investment in getting stronger. After what happened, after watching her nearly die and desperately praying for her survival, she was the only reason I needed.
Ever since that day, I could be found sitting at the well, looking at the pamphlets and brochures they’d left behind. And when I grew tired of them, I’d taken to reading the local newspaper. It was distributed by Shinra, so there was always mention of the goings-on in Wutai. I didn’t understand most of the language; my reading wasn’t so great just yet. Mostly, I was just looking for pictures and mentions of one legendary warrior in particular.
Sephiroth, Shinra’s pride and joy, and the bane of Wutai forces everywhere. Some said he wasn’t even human. I would have killed to see him in action just once. Here, I thought, was a man who could do anything. A man who made people feel safe. Who could protect anyone. He was more than a man, he was a symbol. A genuine hero. I idolized him, wanted to be him. If I were that strong, Tifa would never come to harm again. Not as long as I lived and breathed.
So, that became my goal. I was still little, only nine years old. But, the way I figured it, the earlier I started, the more suitable I’d be when the time came to prove myself. It started small. More daring outdoor play, and in the manner that Tifa and I once did. Just to remind myself what I was fighting for. I got better at catching frogs. I climbed that tree that Emilio conquered again and again until I’d mastered it too, reaching that highest branch twice as fast as he ever could.
I chased our neighbor’s dog now, though I don’t think he enjoyed it quite as much. He was getting a little older, a little slower. And I was getting much faster. After a while, his joy had visually turned to fear. His typical wagging tail started tucking between his legs when he saw me. I was menacing him. Scaring him, though I’d never meant to. After I started seeing that, I moved on. I didn’t want to hurt him. Tifa would never forgive me. Besides, I really did love that mutt, though I’d have been loath to admit loving anyone or anything back then.
By the standards of most boys my age, it probably wasn’t much of a change. But it was for me. Before I met her, it was very clear that I spent most of my time indoors. I was scrawny and relatively pale. Soft, I guess you could say. After she’d lured me into a life of outside play, that began to change a little. But it was really only for her. Physical activity only really appealed to me when she was with me.
For the first time in my life, I’d begun to do these things for myself. Though, for self-betterment rather than entertainment. I would make myself stronger, even if only little by little. When it was finally our turn to venture out into the world, I knew exactly where I was headed. And I would be ready, no matter what it took.
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Eventually, play simply wasn’t enough anymore. If I intended to live the life of a warrior, to grow truly strong and capable, I had to get used to the idea of facing real danger. While I did still watch Tifa from afar, and most certainly still subsisted on the sound of her music, it was no longer my focus. At the end of the day, how much I worried and wondered would affect no change. I had to be better, to be capable of keeping her safe.
After Tifa’s mother passed away, most people in town weren’t quite as concerned with my safety, nor did they pay me much attention. I used that fact to my advantage and spent as much time on the mountain path as I could. Far up into the areas from which we were forbidden. Running, hiking, and climbing where none were likely to come for me, where I could only count on my own wits and tenacity. If I couldn’t save myself, I couldn’t save her.
The only one regularly enough in my presence and with enough investment in my safety to be concerned was my mother, but she was not inclined to babysit my play at this age. Despite my father’s “wanderlust”, she still felt it was important for me to be adventurous to some degree. Of course, had she learned what I was actually doing, she definitely would have protested. Vehemently. She would not stand to lose me on that mountain the same way she lost her husband.
So, apart from whatever scrapes and bruises I would definitely accrue as I pushed myself, she would receive no clues from me. But I did have the poker face of a nine-year-old, and I couldn’t hide everything. When the day came that I faced the first real threat to my life, reality shattered my composure, and my secret was nearly exposed.
Whenever up the mountain path, I would always stop at the foot of the broken rope bridge. It had yet to be repaired since the incident, so I couldn’t go any farther. I would just stand there and stare into the river below. It was truly dizzying, something that would have probably stopped me as easily as it did the other boys had my fear for her life not blinded me to the peril. I still didn’t know how we managed to survive, let alone how I got away with nothing more than scraped knees.
Standing there today, there was no chilling storm threatening to consume me and cast me into the depths. In fact, the air was eerily still, and the heat of summer was oppressive. I’d already been there for several hours and exhausted myself on the slopes. I was growing stronger, and I was pleased with my progress, but I had my limits. Typically, this is where my “training sessions” would come to an end. My way of keeping my purpose in mind, remembering the pain that I sought to prevent from ever recurring.
In hindsight, I was grateful for the calm weather that day. Were there even the slightest breeze, I might not have heard them approach. I don’t know what drew them to me, whether it was my sweat, or the fact that my obvious exhaustion made me easy prey. Either way, it was terrible timing and almost certain death.
Kyuvilduns, we called them. Like giant, dog-sized mosquitoes without wings. Stealthy, agile, and relentless creatures that hunted in packs. Proboscises like razor-sharp rapiers. Not particularly strong individually, but more than enough to overwhelm a single person if caught off guard. Especially a child such as myself. Given half the chance, they were capable of taking down even the largest prey in moments.
I stood frozen with terror as three of them scuttled to-and-fro at a near distance, twitching and chittering with excited hunger and blood lust. They could have pounced at any moment. Thinking quickly, I grabbed a small, stripped branch laying at my feet. How it had made its way this far up the treeless expanse, I have no idea. Likely some other wanderer’s walking stick from who knows how long ago. Regardless, it was my only chance.
Just as I took hold of it, the nearest monstrous insect leapt upon me from an impossible height, knocking me to the ground and the stick from my hand. Belying its thin build, the strength of its limbs easily surpassed my own, and it ground me mercilessly into the gravelly rock beneath my back. The barbs of its carapace tore at my shirt and skin with every skittering pass. Only my left hand stopped its barbed and bladed proboscis from piercing my sternum, quickly losing its grip as the edge slashed through my fingers and palm.
As I reached desperately for the stick just beyond the length of my arm, it continued to thrust downward, menacing me with clattering chitters and alien shrieks. I nearly lost all of my strength, nearly succumbed to the embrace of death, before motivation struck me like a thunderbolt. I thought of my mother, crying over my grave and alone with the remaining scorn from the town. But, of course, I primarily thought of Tifa.
Would she mourn my death? Would she miss me?
How would I keep her safe if I died here?
What if she wandered up here again, and these creatures were still around?
What if she was next?
With that last damning thought, I found strength and ferocity that I didn’t know I had. With the direction of all of my weight and anger, I kneed the insect in its lower abdomen. While it stammered with the insectoid equivalent of a yawp, I took the opportunity to scramble for the stick, snapping its end to a jagged point.
I turned to face the monster, teeth bared with determined fury. I dodged as it redoubled and jabbed for my face with the point of its blade, instead finding and jamming into the rock beneath me. While it struggled to pull free, I wasted no time. With a crushing force and a shouting exhalation, I stabbed the splintered end of the stick into the side of the space between its head and thorax. Once, twice, three times, until I ruptured its basement membrane.
Over and over again, shouting obscenities I hadn’t known I remembered, until the stick broke apart in my hand, until I nearly severed its head from its body, I attacked it with a depth of hatred I’d never felt before. Squelching beyond the now useless exoskeleton, through its quickly silencing shrieks of pain, drenched in its yellow, translucent ichor and viscera until its metal tang saturated my palate.
When it went limp, I shoved its weight from atop me and approached the remaining two insects, shards of shattered and yellow-stained wood in my bloody grasp. They recoiled, and I gave a child’s best battle cry. Daring them to try, though I knew I didn’t have the strength to win. But my bluff was enough to send them bounding away.
I struggled to catch my breath until the shock and lack of oxygen forced me to my knees, dizzy and disoriented. I looked upon the aftermath of my kill, at my gore-slicked and splinter-riddled hands. I marveled at the warrior spirit I’d channeled in those few, short seconds…
And I cried until there were no more tears left to spill.
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I don’t know exactly how long I sat there, next to the eviscerated carcass of my would-be killer. Long enough for sunset to settle into its pinks and reds. Long enough for the first few stars to shine. I sat there trembling, knees too weak to support my weight. Breath too shallow to speak. I could still taste its death and my rage. Still dripping with the remnants of its murder.
It was getting late, much later than my mother would tolerate. While this trip up the mountain had been especially traumatic, I couldn’t afford to let it be my last. This was the life of a warrior, I thought. The life of a SOLDIER. With great effort, I collected myself, caught my breath, dried my tears, and slowly made my way back down the trail toward the craggy road more natural, familiar, and inviting.
With every mound or crevice that had to be leapt rather than walked, I became more painfully aware of my every bruise and sore muscle. With every surface I had to climb down, I became aware of the weakness and lacerations of my grip. A swelling breeze whistling through the hills dried and flaked the film of the insect’s lifeblood still clinging to my skin, and I became aware of the putrid stench that enveloped me.
I couldn’t walk through my door looking and smelling like that. My visage would be hard enough to explain away without it. I stopped for a cold and agonizing dip in the river. The dirty, rushing water stung in my every cut and scrape. The silty bog and frog piss wouldn’t make for a cleansing bath, but walking through the door a sopping wet, scraped up, mangled heap would definitely be easier to explain. Extreme, yes, but not entirely out of the realm of typical childhood mishaps.
When I was clean enough to present a plausible alibi, I pressed onward. The sunset had now entirely receded, and the starlight was my only comfort in the thick of a garden of shadows. Every silhouette in the dark, another potential monster threatening to eat me. The increasing wind against my wet skin chilled and cut me to the bone.
I started to cry again. I was desperate for the safety and warmth of my bed, even if I had to weather my mother’s tongue-lashing to get there. Less than a mile now. I could see the rooftops on the horizon, smell the hickory and flint of their evening hearths. Sweet and savory airs of dinners served.
Home.
Five hundred feet now. One hundred. As I limped to my house, inch by inch, I could see my mother running toward me from our open doorway. Shouting something I couldn’t hear in what was either panic or anger. Likely both. We both stopped in our tracks when we heard Tifa shriek from her bedroom window.
“Cloud!!” She screamed, rushing downstairs and through her door with a haste I hadn’t seen in her since our happier days.
She wrapped her arms around me, caring little for the filthy river water soaking her clothing.
“Where were you?! We looked everywhere for you! You… you weren’t at the well, and then you weren’t anywhere, and then it got late, and… and… w-what…”
Her panicked, tearful rambling stammered to silence when I groaned in pain at the pressure of her embrace. She stepped back and stared at me, speechless. I was battered, bruised, and black-eyed. Cut, scored, and bloodied. I looked at the tattered shreds of my hands that fought against the blade, still pooling blood from my wounds in their creases, and caked in the thicker patches of that bastard’s remains that refused to come clean.
She stared at them, too, taking my upturned hands gently in hers. She struggled to speak.
“Cloud… what… what happened…?” She whispered, stunned and horrified.
I swallowed my sobs, heaved what little breath I had to the surface of my lungs. Staring into the Cabernet splendor of her eyes with the bloodshot horror of mine, I grasped her shoulders and spoke with a gravity I feared may scare her, but which I desperately needed her to hear. Through stunted gasps, I sickly croaked my vow…
“Tifa… I… I swear to you… I will never… let anything hurt… you... ever… again…” The last of my air was spent in a wheezing, labored moan.
Her expression was of the sort that escapes meaningful description, but to be understood immediately. And what I understood was that she didn’t understand. She had no idea what to make of my appearance, let alone my words. But she was certain that I meant what I’d said, for whatever meaning and context she lacked to fully comprehend. For whatever feelings remained secret from her, to never tell of how they’d inspired everything standing before her. Both my pain, and my survival. Both for her.
I locked my gaze with hers only a moment longer, just long enough to know she’d heard me. Long enough to see that she had no response. I released my grip and stared at my hands once more, now quivering for even that small effort, and having streaked her sleeves with filth and blood. Lowering them to my sides, I stared at my feet and slogged past her toward my mother, muttering to myself nervously.
“I fell in the river… I just fell… Tripped and fell, and… and there were sharp rocks…and…” I rehearsed as my vision blurred and faded.
She didn’t shout. She didn’t scold me. She just hugged me and cried into my shoulder. Whatever ire of hers awaited me, and whatever lies I would tell her to abate it, would wait until tomorrow. For now, she was content to know that I was home and safe. Which was for the best.
I only had a few more seconds of consciousness left to hear whatever she would have said, anyway.