Final Fantasy - All Series Fan Fiction ❯ Love To Hate ❯ Love To Hate ( Chapter 1 )

A/N: This piece is what I would call the result of writer's block in writing a paper that's worth 25% of my grade at 4 in the morning. I was debating about the name simply because I think it might be giving the wrong connotation about what this is about, but I suppose it'll work. The first part and majority of this baby is stream of consciousness, so don't go looking for it to make sense, although I do offer certain insights. The beginning is in Tifa's POV, but to be honest, I think it was just my method of ranting. Whatever. Anyhow, I'm too freaking tired to make any sense in this author's note, so I think I'd better just shut up.

 

Right. Well, then. Enjoy and leave a review, por favor!

 

Summary: The years of waiting on Cloud's emotional constipation to clear has finally taken its toll on Tifa. This is the reason why you learn to appreciate what you have, when you have it.

 

Disclaimer: I don't own Final Fantasy VII or Advent Children. They would belong to Squaresoft Inc. Or is it Square Enix? I forget. It's one of those. All you really need to know is that it's not me.

 

Love to Hate

 

Have you ever met someone who was so goddamn genuinely nice that, even though you want to hate their guts and envision evilness to fall upon them in everything they do, you just can't bring yourself to think ill of them? Of course you have. Everybody has. Right? Please tell me that everybody has because if you don't, then I'll have to admit that it's just my shitty luck that I would go and meet a person like that. So tell me. You have met a person like that.

 

Good. Thank you. I appreciate it. Unless you said that you haven't. Then you can go to hell. The world would be rid of one more insensitive bastard.

 

Anyway, moving on.

 

I was talking about her. I'd really love to hate her, but I can't. She the impossibly kind-hearted angel. I hope you know that I'm not being sarcastic when I say this, nor am I being bitter…Well, okay, so maybe there is a itty bitty little bitterness there but that's it. Honest. She really was and is an angel.

 

She was just one of those people who knew exactly what to say at exactly the right time. One of those people that everybody could confide in and feel comfortable around…even him. For that, I wanted to feel jealous. I wanted to envy her. Maybe I did, but I know I could never bring myself to hate her, or even to bear any ill will towards her.

 

Damn it. Sometimes I really just wish that she'd been a hell of a good actress and was actually a bitch once you get past her perfect exterior. By exterior, I don't mean her physical aspects, in case you're wondering. I just mean that maybe she was nice on the outside but was this prick on the inside. I wish. Then I could just hate her. Even if no one else knew that she was a bitch, I could still feel justified in hating her because I knew.

 

But no. She was the real deal. She wasn't messing with our minds or our emotions. She was true and honest and loving and all that good stuff. I'd love to hate her, but I can't.. I can't even dislike her.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm a failed rival. I mean, there's gotta be at least some animosity between rivals or there wouldn't be a rivalry, right? But there is no animosity between us. No enmity. There's only friendship and trust. There's girl-talk and honest to God sisterly companionship.

 

We weren't best friends. We probably never could be. It's kinda funny though. You would think that with her attractive personality and her unquenchable zeal for everything mixed with my (supposed) optimism and never-ending friendliness (at least that's what they say) that we would be best friends. But we weren't. I think everybody understood why. I know I do and I know she did too. God, I'd love to hate her. But you know I can't.

 

I guess it's just back to the whole rivalry thing again. I suppose it would be wise to mention what the rivalry is about in the first place. But I don't think I really need to tell you. Whenever two girls ought to hate each other (though in this case they don't) and ought to be resorting to underhand methods and catfights (though in this case we never fought, just shopped), there is one and only one reason behind it: a man.

 

So yes. We were vying for the attention and affections of a man. An extremely attractive—though mentally disturbed—man. Hey, don't give me that look. It's not as if I like him just because he looks like he would be good in bed. In fact, I never thought about that until now. Great. Now I can't stop thinking about it. I really hate stream-of-consciousness sometimes. You get to read my messed-up thought processes and label me as a lunatic but I can't do a damn thing about it.

 

Anyway. What was I talking about again? Oh yeah, its not like I like him just because of his looks. To be honest though, I don't even know why I like him. I really don't. But I guess life is just like that huh? It comes to kick your ass when you least expect it. You know, what's up with that term “kick your ass” anyway? How can life “kick your ass”? I usually do the ass-kicking. That's my job. Life should get another clichéd line to say. Like “slice your throat” or “impale your heart.”

 

…Okay. So maybe “kick your ass” is better. Sure as hell sounds better.

 

God, I hate stream-of-consciousness. Did I already mention that? Well, too bad. I said it again. I don't even remember what I was talking about.

 

Ahh…let's see...Something about clichés, life kicking ass, hot men, why I like him, shopping, ah yes. That's right. The rivalry. I remember now. You know, just as a side note, do you ever do that? The whole retracing your memory thing, I mean. I'm sure you've done it before. You just don't remember. Try retracing it! Haha…okay. So that was bad, I'll admit.

 

Maybe the reason there was never any animosity between us was because we both knew that there was no rivalry. She'd won a long time ago, so why bother keeping a grudge when the battle's been fought and lost? Actually, to be more accurate, there was never a battle. I lost in the prelims. No, I lost before anything even began. I'd sooo love to hate her! But I don't.

 

Damn, how's that for a self-esteem booster? O boy, I'm really losing it now. Not that I had it in the first place. That could be in reference to both him and my mind, for your information. Because I'm just so certain that you weren't smart enough to pick up on the double meaning on that.

 

…That was sarcasm too. If you can't tell, I'm not exactly feeling like my cheery self right now. Then again, I never understood why everybody always thought that I was this optimistic girl with the unbreakable smile. I can't think of anything that could be any more opposite than that.

 

Okay, so I smile a bit more than the rest of our ragtag company. But I mean, come on! Look at who's with me, for goodness sake!

 

There's Barrett. That man has a serious anger management problem and while he's like a protective older brother or even a father figure to me, he has got to figure out how to calm down every once in a while.

 

Next up. Let's pick on Nanaki…What needs to be said? He's the last of his species and was turned into a lab specimen. How much optimism can the guy—er, beast—have?

 

Then there's Cid. God, that man has an awful mouth. How he manages to always have a cigarette is beyond me. How he manages to curse like he does without that cigarette falling out is an even bigger mystery. Although I suppose he's much better than the others. Not really. Never mind.

 

As for Vincent…haha…I don't think I need to say much more. The guy spent some thirty odd years in a coffin and he's been modified to have eternal youth and immortality and he shares a body and mind with four beasts. Right-o. That is the perfect example of a man with problems.

 

And then there's him…Maybe it's just the men in our group though. Yuffie is the farthest thing from depressing on my list. She has a major problem with kleptomania, but all in all, she's not a bad girl. Just in need of a little self-discipline is all.

 

I think that in the depths of my mind I'm wishing that she's bitter. But no. Even with the knowledge of what she has to do and all the millions of voices creating havoc in her mind, she's still just so happy with life. She doesn't seem to have a pessimistic bone in her body, either. No, not seem. She plain doesn't. If somebody wanted to find the epitome of good-natured temperament and optimism, that's your girl right there. Not me.

 

Me? I can't help but laugh inwardly when I hear people say that I'm this bright, happy-go-lucky girl. I'll admit it. I'm a hateful woman. I remember that fateful time in Nibelheim when I found that Sephiroth had killed my father. I remember those angry declarations and I remember the hate coursing through my veins. I still do every single time I think about it.

 

Okay, see now you're gonna think I'm psycho or at least seriously disturbed. But I'm not. I'm just trying to say that I'm just a normal woman with a normal woman's problems. I'm not trying to paint myself into this dark, angsty person because that's not who I am either. That's about as true of me as I am the eternal optimist. Neither of them is me. Yes, perhaps I carry aspects of both characteristics, but that's just a part of who I am. It doesn't define me.

 

I don't know how or why I keep on getting side-tracked. I was talking about her.

 

I'd really love to hate her. Really. But I can't.

 

I sometimes what would have happened if I'd been quicker on my feet to stop Sephiroth that day. Or at least to knock her out of danger's way. I know. It's stupid to think of “what-ifs.” If we spent all our lives stuck in a rut thinking about what-if this or what-if that, we'd never get anything done. Maybe that's why I get so annoyed with him sometimes. It's just so frustrating dealing with him!

 

I know. I know I'm supposed to comfort him and be all understanding and all that shit, but there are just times when I don't want to be understanding. I want to be a bitch and throw tantrum. I want him to calm me down for once and to talk me through things instead of the other way around all the time. I want him to see that I need him to guide me just as much as he needs me to practice his cold shoulder on.

 

God, that's pathetic! I know that's not all he thinks of me as, but sometimes I just really feel like that's all he sees of me. It's like I'm a freezer to him. I'm not sure how that really fits in, but you're smart. You can figure it out.

 

Whatever. I'm tired of this. I'm going to bed. Give me a holler if you need anything. I'm done for the day.

 

…

 

His arm around her shoulders tightened as they walked further from the edifice. This was his fault. His fault that she turned out like this. His fault that she'd lost her mind.

 

He ran a weary hand through his spiky hair, not caring if he mussed the already messy mass of tresses. “It's gonna be okay,” he mumbled, not really believing it himself. But he had to believe. If he didn't believe, then she…she'd never recover. His voice was laced with fatigue, dark folds of skin gathering beneath his exhausted eyes. The sharpness had long ago faded and his once-brilliant orbs of blue were now hidden behind a pair of glasses. Dark stubbles lined his chin and testified to the fact that he had not shaved in several days. His clothes were rumpled though one could see that the muscular build his once possessed was now emaciated tissue.

 

They say that if one doesn't treat their body correctly in their youth that their body will take revenge on them with time. They were right.

 

He was barely in his forties, yet health problems had torn his body apart. Old wounds that never completely healed resurrected with fury, especially the one that he had inflicted upon him all those years ago in Nibelheim. He felt like an old man. An old man whose wife…

 

He shook his head to clear the unpleasant thoughts, but he couldn't help but return to the fact that he had done this to her. All those years that he had refused to open up to her had caused a much greater injury to her heart and mind than he could have ever thought. He had always thought that she was so unbreakable, so strong. There was nothing that could take her down.

 

Nothing but himself, he had realized too late.

 

They had enjoyed a couple of years filled with joy, happiness, and love. They'd had a wonderful family with Denzel and Marlene, and she'd even given birth to their own son. But that was when everything began to go downhill.

 

Most people would call it postpartum depression, but he knew it ran deeper than that. He knew that it was because of all those years of counseling his mind that she had neglected her own. Maybe giving birth had been the trigger, but he knew that it wasn't the cause.

 

She never spoke to them anymore. She was too busy living in the past and in her doubts for that. Sometimes there would be a glint of recognition flashing through her eyes that insinuated that maybe she was recovering, but it was flee as quickly as it came.

 

She had always been able to calm his aching conscience and fill up the cracks in his heart with her soothing presence, but now he could only hope that his presence was doing the same thing. He had thought that he was justified in hurting the most back then; he never realized that she hurt just as much as he did and that his actions were only hurting her more.

 

It was so ironic that it was she who taught him how to let go of the past and to live for the present. Why is it that people can never take their own advice?

 

His eyes shifted to appraise her silently. She didn't look depressed. But that was her gift. Hiding her emotions behind this cheery façade until all those buried sentiments festered and rotted away in her soul. For others, she would always be strong. For herself, she would never be fair.

 

He stopped suddenly and she stopped with him. He turned to face her and brushed a lock of soft brunette hair, the same lock that always fell loose, behind her ear. He loved her so much, and his heart clenched painfully when he thought of the fact that he did this to her.

 

But no. He would not allow himself to wallow in self-pity. Now more than ever she needed him. She needed him sane.

 

And so he will be strong. He'll be strong for her just like she'd been strong for him for so many years. They would get through this as a family. They would raise their son together with happy memories. He could do it. He could heal her just as she'd healed him.

 

A ghost of a smile played on his lips. Yes. Things will get better. “Let's go home, Tifa.”

 

…

 

A/N: Okay, so not exactly what I envisioned when I first wrote this, but it works. I hope that was enough of a glimmer of hope at the end to make this not quite so depressing. I must now go and attempt to not fail my classes. I really hate college sometimes.