Blood & Sympathy (FFVII: Vincent x OC)

Ch74 - A Wedding, A Disaster Pt. 1

The faint touch of light, reached her eyelids. She slowly began to stir, and it wasn't until she regained her senses, that she realized, she'd been lying on a bed. Her hand was stuffed beneath a fluffy pillow, and her cheek pressed on top. She was dressed in her clothes. The ones that she wore last night, but she did not remember herself sleeping on a bed. It was rather the arms of the man that she wished he was still there.

Even though she doubted that he was still there, she realized, she had no voices in her mind. She had no screams. Not her demon's imitation of the voices from people of her past. Nothing. There was silence, and maybe, the soft sound of somebody's rhythmic breathing. Jocasta turned her head and looked over her shoulder. She had to turn her whole body around, to make sure that she was seeing correctly. Vincent was there. Lying beside her on a double bed. It was probably a room of a motel that he'd booked for a night. He must've carried her there. She must have been so exhausted last night, she didn't notice.

She took a moment to stare at him while he slept. He wasn't tossing or turning, or mumbling. No flinching, no gasps, no sudden gasping, from nightmares. Nightmares that he couldn't escape unless she was there. He hadn't slept in so long. So long, he'd lost the count of nights and days. She too felt refreshed. She hadn't slept through an entire night in almost two years. She hated that she needed him beside her should she sleep. She hated it, because she knew that that was going to be a rare occasion. He wasn't going to be beside her for the rest of her eternal life because he never really felt anything for her and she knew it.

And she hated how much this thought hurt. It hurt needing him that much. It hurt feeling for him so much. And now she couldn't help but stare. His skin, pale. Whiter than the sheets of the bed. The crimson bandana kept a few of his hair away from his face, but most of them fell over his forehead, messily. Messy dark locks. She wanted to tangle her fingers into them. But she knew she couldn't do that.

He was still wearing that golden gauntlet on his left hand and she always wondered why. But he'd never tell her. He wouldn't even let her touch that hand. He was covered in his crimson cloak. He'd left the bed sheets for her. He'd left most of the space on the mattress for her. He could scooch in any position if it meant having her there. If it meant being able to sleep.

Jocasta had found herself questioning why. Why was he there? Why did he hug her last night? Why did he kiss her? But she knew the answer to all these and it hurt. It hurt. It hurt because she knew he sought for something that she was giving him so willingly while she knew that she shouldn't. Affection. Physical contact. An opportunity to sleep without nightmares. Salvation. She didn't know that being used would feel so good yet so painfully bad. Lucrecia couldn't give him any of these, but Jocasta could.

No. She couldn't keep letting him use her. She couldn't. She wasn't a thing she's a human being with feelings. Emotions that hurt. She couldn't believe that for a small amount of time she actually believed that he actually felt something for her. So stupid I am.

Jocasta woke up. She picked up whatever was hers and she walked towards the exit of the room. She was going to leave, because staying was a bad idea. Her hand reached for the doorknob, but she stopped when she heard shifting on the bed. She turned around and saw him propped on his one elbow. Crimson eyes found hers and she hated herself because she felt herself lost in them. Jocasta bit her tongue. She wanted to run to him and hug him, and let him know that it was alright. That she didn't mind him using her like that, because she wanted this. She wanted him. She needed him.