Words That We Couldn't Say

Words That We Couldn't Say

Vicious’ long fingers wrapped around the neck of the vodka bottle, bringing it to his pale lips for another swig. He was dimly aware of his surroundings, that he was laying half-frozen on a moth-eaten bed in some slummy motel. The icy Callistan wind bit brutally from the open window, but Vicious didn’t care. Didn’t care if he died, alone, in this rat-infested hell hole. In fact he hoped for it.
He took another swig.

The syndicate had disbanded. The organization he’d pledged his life to was gone. Gone, in an instant. In a blink of an eye, the past fifteen years of his life meant nothing. There was nothing left for him now.

He took another swig.

Vicious didn’t really know why he came to Callisto. He’d driven here on emotional autopilot after he’d gotten the news of the Syndicate. He dimly supposed it was because the last time he was here was the last time he’d actually felt.

Gren…

Vicious grimaced. That name brought up feelings better left unsaid. The man he’d befriended, the man he’d sold out, the man he’d murdered, the man he’d…

Loved…

Vicious felt love was a weakness. That’s why he’d lied to the court, called Gren a spy. He had to distance himself from the man. Had to put as much space and time and hatred between them as possible. He wanted Gren to hate him. Needed him to hate him. Hatred was so much simpler of an emotion than love. Vicious could deal with hatred. It wasn’t as confusing as love, but it was just as all-consuming. Just as passionate.

Passion…

He took another swig.

Some part of Vicious’ mind wondered just how long he’d been in that dingy motel room. The sun was beginning to set. It would be well below freezing soon. He could already feel his extremities going numb. He didn’t care. He wanted to be numb. It hurt so much less than feeling.

He took another swig.

Titan.

The word had simply floated to the top of his storm-tossed mind. Painful memories shot their way to the surface, but he didn’t push them away, not just yet. This might be the last time he’d be able to remember.

He took another swig.

Vicious could swear he heard the tinkling of Julia’s music box, even now. He saw Gren’s face; Not haggard with pain as it had been that the last time Vicious had seen him, what seemed like lifetimes ago, here on Callisto; but young and cheerful, as it had been in those days on Titan. Music danced in the man’s deep blue eyes. Vicious felt tears sting his own. He allowed them to flow freely. Vicious couldn’t remember the last time he’d cried, but it seemed fitting, somehow. He was defeated.

He took another swig.

The bottle was empty.

Haphazardly dropping it to the floor, Vicious turned his head to the open window. It was snowing, but then, when wasn’t it snowing on Callisto? Gazing through the threadbare curtains, Vicious could dimly decipher the tiny pinpricks of stars light years away. He’d been told once that stars represented fallen warriors, the sky their eternal resting place.

Silently, a star zoomed across the sky, before fading into darkness.

Vicious smiled, turning his gaze back to the wall opposite him.

For some reason, he wasn’t at all surprised to see Gren standing there, in full Titan garb, holding out his hand.

”Time to go home.” He said, and Vicious responded, standing and faintly noticing a peculiar weightlessness. Striding across the room, which was now pleasantly warm, he grasped Gren’s hand.

He didn’t hesitate when the man pulled him into a kiss. In fact, he kissed back, feeling more at peace than he’d ever felt in his life.

I love you…