Arrhythmia:
–noun: Pathology:
--A disturbance in the rhythm of the heartbeat
This story promises to be much more episodic, and made of mostly vignettes. Short and sweet, kidlets! They build off one another, however, so… yes. It also promises to be quite long, arching over a span of several years. So kick back, relax, and brace yourselves.
Title: Parasomnia
Timeframe: One week after the battle with Omega
Rating: T
Spoilers: Mild DoC
Notes: I love the present tense. And Red XII.
"Parasomnia:
A parasomnia is any sleep disorder such as sleepwalkingnight terrors… characterized by partial arousals during sleep or during transitions between wakefulness and sleep. Parasomnias are often associated with stress and depression."
Everything was back to normal. People across the planet were returning to their lives, some achingly oblivious to what had transpired. They went about their routines, grumbling about rising prices, too-small shoes, and the smoking heaps of once-reliable vehicles. Nothing was different for them. They lived as they had before, talked, laughed, and even played.
She hated them.
How dare they be so ignorant? How dare they have no knowledge of the events? How dare they not be standing where she was, fighting against the tears, against the aching, engulfing hole in her heart?
Rain drove down into her face. For that, she was grateful. It obscured the tears force of will would not contain. A strong hand rested on her shoulder, squeezing against the ache. She wanted to return the gesture, but could only remain rooted to the spot, watching the morbid procession advance toward them.
Four men, clad entirely in funeral black, carried a long, narrow box of the same color towards the waiting pair. It was too narrow, too long, for any normal person to be entombed in. It was a scarecrow's coffin for a scarecrow's frame. Her body shook at the sight of it. Before them walked a creature of feline grace, even the proud angle of its head and tail subdued by the occasion. It was the only spot of color among their ranks, save for flame-colored hair, noted out of the corner of her eye.
She couldn't even look in that direction. She'd already berated them severely, having to be forcefully removed by the woman now holding her shoulder. They had no right to be here, no matter what the leader said he owed the dead man.
"It's all your fault," she'd shouted at them. "If you and your stupid company hadn't done all this… this shit…! None of this would've happened! Get out of here! This is your fault!"
The words rang hollow in her memory now, struck so juvenile by the scene before her. A child's sobs could be heard from the other side of the redhead, and one of the pallbearers winced at the sound. It broke all their hearts anew.
Reaching them, the cat took his place before the pair, head bowed, as if surveying the grim furrow in the earth before them. There was no marker, not yet. None of them were prepared enough for this to create one. Least of all the person who wanted one most. The men slowly set down their burden, rain imitating tears in their eyes. All save one were too stoic, too brash, to show their grief. But they felt it, all the same.
They moved to their positions, one at each corner, and took up a rope. No one moved.
The swordsman was first, nodding to the others.
The big man followed, squaring his shoulders against his sorrow.
The pilot heaved a sigh, cursing at nothing in particular.
Last came the uniformed man, reluctantly lifting his rope into pale and shaking hands.
As one, they lowered their comrade into the earth. She felt a scream of denial building in her throat. Only the pressure of her friend's hand on her shoulder kept her from giving voice to the cry. Rain drove harder into her face. She let the tears come, sobs shaking her body. The woman beside her pulled her close, almost crushing her in an embrace.
"It's okay."
But it wasn't. Nothing was all right anymore. She'd broken her promise to him. She'd let him down. He needed her, and she didn't come for him, as she'd promised. She broke her promise and now, as a result, he was gone.
There was a dull, muted sound as the box hit the bottom.
"No."
Not even the comfort offered could hold back the cry now. Not when the men took up their shovels, filling in the wound in the earth. It was too final a chorus.
"No!"
The scene fell away, dissolving into darkness.
"Vincent! No!"
Dawn breaks, and snaps her free of the dream, plunging her into a waking nightmare. There is no relief from the dream, not while there is no word from the ruins. For over a week, she has left her phone on, so much that her batteries have died countless times.
Curled in bed, tears and sobs ripping from her throat, she wishes for the thousandth time to be allowed to accompany the search parties slowly sifting through the remains. Anything would be better than sitting here, far away from the gutted city, hanging on the ring of a phone.
She should be there. She promised him.
Instead, she is here, huddled up, hiding from a dream. Tifa has said she needs her here—that someone needs to help her watch the children and the bar while the others search. Red is here, she has seen him prowling about. Why can't Red stay, why can't she go and help?
A sudden weight startles her and causes the bed to bounce. She uncurls out of surprise, half expecting to see one of the children, roused by her noises, to be staring back at her. Instead, she meets a single, yellow eye.
"A nightmare again?" the cat asks, tail lashing. His voice is soothing, rich in ways none of the others' are. When she nods, miserable, he continues. "You don't usually dream so loudly. I was concerned."
She rubs her hand across her eyes. "I want to be there," she whispers. It does not matter how quietly she speaks; Red will hear her. "I promised him I'd be there… if he's hurt… if he's…" Her throat closes. She can't bring herself to say it.
"That is why Tifa needs you here." The cat's voice is a purr. "She is just as worried as you, we all are." He makes no protest as she wraps her arms about him, only flicking an ear as her damp cheek contacts it. "As odd as this sounds, while she waits for Cloud, she needs you." The yellow eye regards her again. "Both of you are missing someone dear to you. It is better you are together."
She does not want to continue crying. Red may very well decide to abandon his post as comforter, should she dampen his fur. Yet the tears come anyway. She is relieved when, rather than pull away, he leans into her with little more protest than a huff.
"I just… I want him to come back…" she chokes out.
"As do we all," Red answers.
Neither speaks for a time. She gradually calms, the simple breathing of the cat relaxing fear-tensed muscles. He allows her arms about him until the sounds of others rising drift up from the bar below. It is then he gently pulls away, nudging her towards the door.
"You should speak to Tifa," he advises. "Perhaps word came in the night."
Even though she knows the answer, she nods, rising. Red stretches, making no move to follow. He is quiet until she is nearly out of earshot.
"He will come back to you, Yuffie. He always returns. It will be all right."
But, as Tifa confirms her fears—there has been word, but nothing has been found—those words ring hollow in her heart. It is all she can do to bring frustration out to mask the bitter sorrow.
"It will be all right."
"It's okay."
It is not all right, not okay. Not while she is not at his side. Not while he remains lost.
Not while she has a broken promise carving another wound in her heart.