SLEEPLESS

Squall Leonhart had just met a girl at the dance. She was a cute twirling little floozy that had momentarily captured his attention. Gone now. He had known girls like that before. They were generally called whores.

She was pretty, true, but plain. Brunettes like her were a gil a dozen. No he was exaggerating. They were more like ten gil for one, if you liked the cheap kind. Nida, from what Squall had heard, had gotten himself one for twenty gil and his nuts ached for a week from that hole. You see when you buy whores you need can't play cheapskate.

Squall tapped some of the ashes from his cigarette over the ledge of the balcony. The ashes disappeared into the wind as did the smoke he softly exhaled from his lungs. The grey matter twirled in the air like that little slut he had met a few minutes before. For a moment he felt content, here in his self imposed prison. Sometimes things just go so goddamn low that you simply don't give a shit anymore about anything. You just wanted someone to tell you what to do so that you can be a fucking machine. Yes, this was the life, being the living dead, just another part in this giant mother fucking army.

As Squall heard footsteps approaching from behind he tossed his cigarette over the rail of the balcony. No smoking in Garden, like they didn't know that ninety nine percent of Garden secretly lite up a smoke now and then. The stress here was so goddamn high. Only about 10% of the students actually got into SeeD and once you get in, you probably died somewhere in some god forsaken desert fighting for some idiot's lost cause. This was all just horseshit. There was no future, for any of them, there were all destined to either fail or die. There was no choice number three. So why not light up a smoke now and then? What's the worse that can happen? That you would actually enjoy a moment of your life before you are maimed, crippled or murdered?

He chuckled internally. He did not even have the energy to sarcastically respond back out loud. Quistis Trepe. His teacher. What a surprise. Quistis Trepe, his teacher, was no whore, as Squall knew. She was a good woman in the classroom. She tried to care for them all. She tried to convince them all that they actually had a future to look forward to. Now and then her conviction was so strong that Squall often wondered if she actually deluded herself into believing that garbage or maybe she was just plain stupid and she didn't know any better. It didn't matter actually. She was a teacher, it wasn't her bloody corpse that would litter the battle field. She had a reason to be idealistic, she was here in the safety of her little classroom.

"You're a teacher," Squall finally responded as he stared straight ahead, refusing to look at her. Why was he afraid? Because she was beautiful? Because he too had once loved her just like those goddamn trepies? "I feel like there is something wrong when you don't talk."

You know why, bitch Squall thought to himself as he felt a sudden surge of indignation. She was just playing with him, acting stupid. Oh she loved the fact that she had been the one to break him. He was cold, uncaring, distant, aloof. If he was on a steady march to his death he wasn't going to give them the pleasure of seeing him wither. Nothing gained, nothing lost. He wanted to embrace death when it came to him, to make love to it like a good whore. But she had broken him.

He should have known that she had set a trap for him. Those goddamn Trepies, he should have known the moment he saw those Trepies following her around. She was like the goddamn virgin mary to them. Well there was a reason she was so damn holy. She gave herself to no one, not even him.

It was about two months ago when he had stayed late after class for one of her study sessions. Despite the fact that it was after school, the classroom was packed wall to wall, as if it was the latest porn movie that they were gathered to see instead of some silly lecture on potions and elixirs. But watching Quistis Trepe was probably just as good as any goddamn porn movie. She was sexy and she knew it. That goddamn whip, that bare belly and that skin tight outfit. She was out to seduce everyone.

"Quistis," he had implored her, after everyone left. It did take a goddamn long time though since all the little boys wanted to linger behind and drool at her navel. She smiled at him that day and she looked so seductive with her moist lips opened a slit over her glistening teeth. The stupid bitch, she knew she was making him as hard as a mutt in heat.

"Yeah," he had replied studying her. She wanted him, he knew it. It was so goddamn obvious, all those little touches, little gestures, little remarks that she placed on his papers. She was just waiting for him to make the first move, the goddamn bitch.

"I like you," he said quietly. It was a little whisper, almost a thought instead of a sound. He watched her, straining to keep his eyes on her and not look away in shame. I like you, Quistis Trepe. You give me hope, hope for something better than all this rot. You're no whore, Quistis Trepe, please show me that you are no whore.

He stood there frozen, unable to move. She had rejected him. The only woman he had ever loved, did not love him back. He had thought that this time things would change. If she said yes, something would change. He would break out of this cycle of hate and sorrow but there was no way out, not for the likes of him. Stupid bitch, he cursed to himself but the curses did not help. Not now. Not here. He had reached out to her and she had refused. He would never forget this rejection, never forgive her for this injustice. She was the devil's bride to lead him into this trap of seduction and then reject him. Married to solitude? More like married to lucifer.

And then he had turned, leaving the room feeling the tears burning his eyes. He had drove his fists into the wall of his dorm, refusing to cry, refusing to allow her rejection hurt him but it did, like a wildfire spreading in his chest. It was truly the worst day of his life, soon however to be surpassed by the day of his death which loomed not far on the horizon.

"Really?" She asked in surprise, looking at him with such innocent eyes. He could just imagine what she was expecting him to say. I still love you instructor Trepe, I'm your goddamn spaniel. It made him want to scuff in disgust.

For a moment he felt a measure of sympathy for her, but only for a moment. She deserved this, the bitch. Her chastity hurt more men than promiscuity ever could. So who did she think she was? Wearing that slutty clothes, strutting around like a goddamn harlot. She deserved this and more.

She wiped away her tears suddenly and glared at him. He didn't care. Death was coming, he was a Seed now. It was only so long before he could leave this charade forever. He would die victorious, a gifted fighter to the end. A short glorious life instead of a long dull one. Wasn't that the offer Thetis made to Achilles? Yes, he was Achilles, the great hero of the Trojan war but the difference was that he would not be remembered. Another soldier fighting for some corrupt institution, not for any romantic cause. For money, so that this Garden of evil could kidnap more orphans and turn them into cold blooded soldiers. He was without illusion and without motivation. Take death not failure, that was his only motivation. Quistis was still watching him. Finally she spoke, her voice calm and without fear.

"Cid and I had a small talk tonight. I recommended that he send you on a mission to assist the Timber Owls, a mission from which you won't return from. Do you know their leader? Rinoa Heartilly, a complete idiot. She'll kill you guys faster than the ground would if I hurled you off this balcony right now."

"I'm glad we had this talk. I thought before I came that a wall would give me more comfort than you would but I was wrong. This talk was strangely comforting. Now good night, sleep tight, Squall, the SeeD."

Quistis turned and left, left him standing there in the moonlight. Through the blur in eyes, through the pounding fury, he saw nothing but gold. The color of her hair as she retreated into the ballroom. Golden skies. The embrace of death.