Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Guardian ❯ Rain ( Chapter 3 )

Guardian, Chapter 3
Rain

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I'm half-alive but I feel mostly dead...

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Awareness hovered persistently at the edges of my consciousness, finally driving me reluctantly out of the sheltering arms of slumber that held my sorrow at bay. A familiar light pattering sound banished the last wispy shreds of denial, leaving no respite as the briefly suppressed pain returned in full force, crushing the air from my lungs. It was raining.

Backlit by the risen moon, water poured restlessly down the large glass windows of the bedroom in bright silvery streams. Matching dark rivulets of shadow coursed along the stark whiteness of my bare arms and the tangled sheets as I lay beneath the uncurtained panes, leaden and numb, no longer able to sleep but equally unwilling to rise.

It had rained just so, our first night in this house. How romantic it had seemed then, as we lay curled together in each other's arms, spent and drowsy, letting the soft repetitive sound lull us to sleep. How different it seemed now...mournful and desolate, mirroring the tears I silently cried without even realizing. I wrapped my arms around myself as if they were any kind of substitute for the ones I desperately wanted to feel.

Jecht.

Jecht was...Jecht. The handsome blitzball player had swept me off of my feet the moment that I saw him. He could have had any girl he wanted, plucked from the screaming hordes that pursued him wherever he went, lured by the intoxicating mixture of starlit fame and roguish charisma. I imagine that he did, for a time. But one night he took the hand of a quiet, shy girl who stood watching him silently behind the rest, and after that he never looked back.

The life of a professional blitzer called him away much too often, but the sport was as natural to him as breathing, and I could never have asked him to give up something he loved so much. I knew that for me, he would have, and that knowledge was enough to sustain me through the hardest times. But how I pined for those short stolen days with him, spent here and there, holding my breath at each stray sound to discover if it heralded his unexpected homecoming. I lived and breathed him, he was like air to me...or a powerful narcotic from which I was in almost constant withdrawal.

I never asked such a sacrifice from him because I loved him, and my loneliness was small enough price to pay for his happiness. But tonight I lay cursing my altruism bitterly, my endless black grief a tangible, crushing weight on my soul. If I had only asked, he would be here now. I repeated the rueful litany endlessly to myself until finally exhaustion overcame the sadness and drug me back under the surface, down into oblivion. If only...

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I awoke inexplicably irritated, slightly confounded by my ill humor until the source became readily apparent: something was being bounced repeatedly against the wall near my head. Squinting against the brightness, I peered out of the blinds to see the boy throwing one of those ridiculous spiky balls at the outside of the house. He was wearing a small, dejected frown but brightened visibly when I came out to join him.

Annoyed, I tried to look stern and imposing but failed miserably when he gave me a rueful little smile and said, "I was hoping you'd wake up." He glanced longingly toward the area of the house where the master bedroom lay. "Mom won't get up yet, and I'm lonely."

I sighed inwardly, wondering when I'd gone from Guardian to nursemaid. But his wide innocent eyes held far too much sadness for one so young, and I found myself saying, "Well, I'm up. Now what?"

"Want to watch me?"

I nodded, and tried not to look bored. I settled back against the side of the house, arms crossed, reluctantly letting myself enjoy the warmth of the sun on my bare skin. Wishing irritably that I sat on actual grass, in a real yard, and not the bare stone of the small courtyard. From what I could tell, nothing green grew in all of Zanarkand. Every inch of land was paved over. It made my stomach churn; I didn't know how anyone could voluntarily live here.

"Okay. This is a sphere shot..."

He tossed the ball up over his head, flinging himself backwards in an attempt to kick it in midair. He was remarkably dexterous for a child his age, but he misjudged and completely missed the spinning blue and white ball. Picking himself off of the ground, he cringed as if expecting a verbal blow from my direction.

"What?"

"You aren't going to laugh at me?"

"Boy, just get on with it. No one is perfect every time."

Digging his toes into the ground, he looked down and muttered, "Dad was."

What was I supposed to say to that? Kids. "There were a lot of things your father wasn't good at. Manners and hygiene, for one."

He laughed, and I found that I much preferred to see him happy. Unexpectedly, it lessened the dead feeling inside of me to see him smile. The boy needed someone to believe in him, to encourage him to try and not belittle him when he failed. Even I, who had never played this game, could see the natural ability that his father's scorn had all but crippled. It lay dormant under the surface like a sunken treasure that sparkled and threw back the sunlight that caught it on a clear day. He was afraid to try, afraid to bring it forth and fail. I wondered what kind of parenting Jecht had known, that he'd treated his own son so. For I knew that he loved him, though the words weren't something he could say. Any fool who'd spent time with Jecht could have seen that, from the way he spoke of his long-unseen child. I felt a sharp pang of sorrow that he wasn't here now with the boy, instead of me. He should have been here in my place, with his son, his wife.

It should have been me.

Curious, grubby little fingers touched the gold trim of the black leather breastplate I'd thrown on when I arose, more out of habit than need. He was invading my personal space but I forced myself to tolerate the intrusion, gritting my teeth and checking the urge to brush him off and stand up.

"What's your name?" he asked me. The cornflower-blue eyes were frank and curious, with a hint of wistfulness.

Had I really forgotten to give it to him? "Auron," I said simply.

He grinned up at me. "I'm Tidus."

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End Chapter 3

song quote from "You Were Meant For Me", by Jewel.