| Chapter Eight: Two Types of Realization |
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| Disclaimer: Still don’t own, so please don’t sue. Because if I owned, do you really think I would be letting you read this for free? ;) |
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| The door to the Shadow Gallery hit the wall with a thud as V stormed into his home. An alarm was sounding overhead that activated anytime someone tripped the line about 20 yards from the Gallery, and V hadn’t bothered turning it off before entering his home. Because of that alarm, he knew when anyone came close to his home, and when anyone left. Though this was the first time it had ever started because someone had left. V threw off his cape and hat, uncharacteristically tossing them over the couch as he stalked by.
If she wanted to leave him, why should he care? If she wanted to get herself killed, fine. These types of thoughts followed him as he made his way to the training room, anger and pain driving him, ripping a wicked looking sword off of the wall. It would serve her right, pretending to care about him, touching his scars as if they didn’t bother her. V swished the blade angrily through the air, walking back into the living area, stalking up behind his unsuspecting foe. V stood in front of his fat metal friend, a glare in his eye. White hot fury was brimming inside of him, causing his stomach to churn painfully. So what if she gets herself captured? Without warning or formalities, V struck out, striking at the suit of armor furiously. The blade glinted in the dim light as it sliced through the air, striking the metal almost rhythmically. V spun around gracefully, landing a solid blow that knocked off the arm of his opponent. If she reveals his hiding place, why should he care about that either? Just more proof of her treachery. V could handle a couple of pesky Fingermen, it didn’t matter. He let out a low sound, almost like a growl, his breathing becoming heavier as he landed blow after blow on the armor, denting it like he never had before. Why should he care about that slip of a woman? He had been on his own for so long, he didn’t need anyone messing up his well laid plans. Now he could completely focus on the conclusion of his twenty year old vendetta, without having to worry about some pesky intruder in his life. The alarm beeped in rhythm to his blows, metal and sirens mixing together in a sick sort of symphony echoing off of the Shadow Gallery’s walls. Another arm became a casualty, the blade hitting it with such force that it flew across the room, crashed into the wall, knocked down a painting, the sound of shattering glass adding a new depth to his orchestra. V took a step back, circling his prey, his anger still overpowering, but now there was an edge of despair, of sadness, of hurt. He had thought maybe, just maybe, Veronica would have been different. Different from all of those other people who had turned away from his body in disgust. When she had touched his scars, she didn’t shudder or stare unbelieving. No, he thought, flinging himself back at the armor in a vicious flurry of well placed blows, a sneer on his face, she touched them without flinching and he had dared to think she had touched him with a measure of tenderness. What a fool he had been, thinking maybe she could hold softer feelings for him when she knew, had seen, had touched the monster that he was. V felt his pain prickling at him a bit more, cutting him deeper than his anger had. How could she ever possibly love something like him? His blade sliced through the bindings that held a leg on, causing it to clatter onto the ground. Beauties never choose a beast in real life. V flung himself hazardously at his foe, pain ripping through his chest. He should just forget her. What’s so special about her anyways, besides the fact that he thought she might have cared for him? The siren wailed on. Or that she was incredibly intelligent with a passion for reading that rivaled his own? The blade swished through the air, landing with a loud clang. Or that she wasn’t a helpless damsel in distress? His mind flashed back to the alleyway, how she had brought down that man with the bandana with a pipe, and how she had raised her fists after being flung to the ground, fighting to the end. A last burst of anger, directed at the villain who dared to attack his Veronica, made him fling his blade around, cleanly slicing the head off of his opponent. V froze, his breathing heavy, his muscles screaming, the constant screeching of the alarm the only sound in the Gallery. He had seen no fear on her face, only determination and a will to survive. And Lord, how beautiful she had looked, wisps of her chocolate brown hair falling around her face, her eyes flashing in anger, every move graceful and flowing. She had looked like a wrathful angel… V stared at his headless opponent, his muscles burning from the vicious workout. Slowly, he lowered his blade. Oh, Veronica… V turned away from his injured foe and moved back to the training room. He carefully hung the sword back on the wall, as if in a trance. His stomach grumbled a bit and he dimly realized he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten anything since the sandwich Veronica had given him. He fought down the surge of pain that threatened to overwhelm him at the memory. V numbly walked into the kitchen and opened the cooler. His eyes searched inside of it for a long moment before the realization of what he was seeing began to creep over his consciousness. A small buzzing began in his head, mingling with the siren that continued to cry as he turned from the still open cooler and began to open the cupboards. The wood banged off the walls as he flung more and more open, the holes gaping open, mocking him with the truth. Empty. Everything was empty. V practically fell into a chair by his kitchen table, the truth staring him in the face. She had been telling the truth. Veronica had left the safety of the Gallery to get food for them, not wanting to bother him. He remembered seeing the market bag in the alleyway as a fresh wave of pain washed over him. She hadn’t abandoned him at all. Oh, Veronica… V’s face fell into his hand, his cold mask pressing into his fingers mockingly as he realized what he had done and what exactly he had lost. And the alarm that had signaled her departure continued to wail in loss. |
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| I sat staring blankly into the fire, completely unaware of anything surrounding me. My head was pounding painfully but my eyes were dry, having already expended all of my tears hours before. I just couldn’t get the image of V out of my head. He and I dancing on a winter rooftop. The slight tilt to his head when I asked him an interesting question. The way his voice rolled in rich waves when he laughed. How he had stood over the bodies of my assaulters, as calm and wrathful as an avenging angel. And how he had turned away from me…
I winced as gentle fingers tightened the bandage that was being placed around my head. Once the bandage was in place, Professor Thornton moved into my line of vision, giving me a worried look. “How does that feel?” I smiled at him wryly, “Better, but it still feels like a ton of bricks fell on my head.” He nodded solemnly as he began to clean up the bloody towels scattered around the both of us. When I had arrived on Professor Thornton’s doorstep, my hair matted with blood and shaking a bit in shock, he had ushered me inside, no questions asked. He had carefully and tenderly washed the blood out of my hair, cleaning out the bit of concrete embedded in my skull, then had bandaged up the wound expertly. He hadn’t yet asked for an explanation, though I knew it was only a matter of time. Until then, I was just grateful for his kindness. He walked away, carrying an armload of supplies from the room, and my mind turned back to V. I wondered if he had made it home all right. I wondered if his side was still bothering him, even though I knew he was just about completely healed, amazing as it was. I wondered, briefly, if he was wondering about me, though I pushed the thought away quickly. It just hurt too much. A warm mug was pressed into my hands, waking me from my reverie. I took a deep breath of the spicy tea before smiling softly up at the caring face of my former supervisor, noting sadly how much I wished it was a different face grinning down at me. He settled into the chair across from me, watching as I took a small sip of the dark liquid. He was silent for a long while, just watching and waiting. I just stared into my tea, realizing the time for explanation had come, and I had none to offer that wouldn’t betray V. I could never betray him. “So, do you want to tell me what happened?” he asked, his voice kind and fatherly. I fiddled with my cup, watching the ripples in the dark liquid, my mind tripping over itself before I sighed. “I…I can’t.” He nodded. “I understand, Veronica. But I’m always here if you need to talk.” I looked at the man across from me and was reminded with a rush of gratitude why I liked my former boss so much. “Thanks, Professor. I really appreciate it. All of this.” “Of course. I’m just glad you’re safe and sound.” He smiled at me as a companionable silence fell between us, and I turned back to the crackling fire that danced merrily in the fireplace. Oh, V, what have I done? I felt like I had inadvertently ruined the best thing that had ever happened to me. Like the day I was almost raped by that Fingerman was the luckiest day of my life because it led me to him. Who knew I would ever be grateful to that horrid man, just because it was due to him that I found V. I have read many books during my lifetime. Stories of war and of hardships, of rising above all odds. Surviving every single thing that the cruel world could throw at them. But mostly I’ve read stories about love. Love that could conquer anything, from prejudice to distance to death itself. But I had only read about it, only dreamed about it. I mean, sure, I had dated, but nothing serious, nothing real. And then I met V. I had felt a jolt in the pit of my stomach the first time I heard him speak as I fell into unconsciousness. For the first time in my life, I was able to relate to all of these love stories I had read over the years. He had made me feel something I had never thought possible. The firelight danced across my face as my expression softened. V had truly given me something precious. And I would always remember that. I would always love him. “Professor?” He jumped in his chair, having been snoring softly for a while. “Oh, um, yes, Veronica?” I smiled into the fire, a sense of calm and peace settling into my heart. “Have you ever heard the story about a boy wizard named Harry Potter?” |
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