"Bitch.", the man spat downwards, into the face of the dead woman laying beneath him. From below him, wide eyes were lifeless, and white. He wasn't certain how he'd arrived at this place in his life. He had gone from being such a calm individual, to a murderous bastard.
He was sitting straddled over her upper torso, his calloused hands wrapped around her pale throat. One minute, they'd been locked together at the hip. It had been passionate. Violent, but passionate. She'd been screaming for him to hurt her. He remembered somewhere in the haze of his mind wrapping his hands around her neck. He remembered bearing her back onto the floor, and squeezing. He remembered the feeling of how everything had tightened beneath him as she'd screamed. First in bliss, then in panic.
She had black hair, just like she had. Those same piercing soulful eyes. Was he trying to replace her? Maybe that was it. Maybe it was the likeness that had sent him into the murderous rage. He pulled away from her after a moment, one finger dipping down to slide through the moisture that stained her cheek. She'd been crying and struggling there at the end. His hands on her throat, and his lips on hers, he'd choked the life out of her. Out of her, and into him?
He laughed, as he staggered to his feet. It was like something about the woman on the floor had unlocked the demon he'd kept hidden inside. What was it about that old familiar face that always tore into him and drove him to this vile rage. To this state of uncaring where even murder wasn't beyond him? He reached for his pants where they'd been dropped over the arm of the couch as they had undressed.
Sliding into them, buttons were fastened, feet left bare as he made his way towards the balcony. With a yank on the handle, the glass door glided open, and let in the rush of fresh air. It was a good thing. The smell of sex and death was getting too strong for his nostrils to tolerate. He stepped out onto the paved surface of the balcony, and moved towards the railing.
One hand was fishing around in his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he'd been carrying with him before this had all started. One hand had grabbed for the matches that had been lain on the balcony, and in unison, the flame was struck, and the end of the smoke began to glow pink in the darkness that the night had afforded him.
"Stupid bitch. How dare she leave me for that punk?", his comment was to no one but himself, as he leaned forward against the railing, cig dangling from between his fingers. He'd spent hours musing on that. On the way that little bastard had stepped in and taken everything that had been his. Just thinking about it made his blood boil. Fingers tensed when his thoughts strayed, and he attempted to force himself to get back on track. He had calls to make, and a body to get rid of.
After all, he couldn't get caught with a dead body in his hotel room. That wouldn't look very good, would it? Especially with him on a mission. Chuckling, he'd turned to move back into the main area of the hotel. Stepping over the body of the dead girl without so much as a thought for her, he'd headed straight for the telephone. After a few moments, there was a punching of buttons, and he was speaking through the receiver.
"Yeah, it happened again. I don't care how or why, just get over here and help clean this fucking mess up. She's starting to freak me out.", for several moments, there was nothing but silence, before a sharply barked 'Yes', came from the other end of the line. Good. Everything would get taken care of just like he wanted it. She was such a loyal little witch. So willing to do whatever he told her, as long as every now and then, he scratched her itch, and made her feel nice.
The phone was dropped back down into the cradle, and he moved towards the bathroom. He needed to get cleaned off. A hot shower would do wonders for him. Pants were stripped back off, and a towel was yanked down from the rack when he passed through the door. Closing it behind him, he'd reached for the hot water spigot. A rattling hiss, before steam started to fill the room. Without hesitation, he'd moved beneath the water, letting it darken his skin to red, as he burned away the vile memory of the woman dead beneath him.
He scrubbed, and scrubbed, until his skin was a raw, almost blistered pink. But the pain was refreshing, it revitalized him. Gave him time to think and time to breathe. Perfect. When he was positive his skin couldn't take any more torture, he stepped out from beneath the water, jerking the spigot down to turn it off, reaching for that towel again. Wrapping it around his midsection, as rivulets of water dripped down his body, and he turned towards the bathroom mirror.
One wet hand reached to wipe away the steam that had gathered, and he stood, staring for a minute. Green eyes stared back at him, accusing.
'You killed another one.', the voice was admonishing, as if attempting to guilt him into remorse. He smirked at his reflection.
"The bitch deserved it. She wanted me to hurt her.", laughing, he reached up, running fingers down the slender scar that marked his face. He'd had that blemish for years. For a while, he'd been okay. Then, he'd slowly started to spiral downwards. Drugs, women, hard and fast life. That was what had made this side of him, right? Not anything in his head.
'You killed her because she looked like her.', the voice was stern this time, and he whipped his head upwards, looking irritated.
"Just shut up, all right? So what if I did? That bitch fucking deserves it too. Leaving me for that limp dicked asshole. I'm the only one that can protect her. Doesn't she know that? I'm the only one that can scratch that itch for her. Make her scream. Make her cry.", his hand lifted, only to slam downwards, into the marble countertop, his hand reddened, but knuckles remained intact. Pity.
'Whatever.', that voice, mocking him again. So soft, so much of a contrast from his own. How he hated it. Snarling, he turned to move out of the bathroom. Let the voice mock him all it wanted. Stupid limp dick. He began redressing. By the time the doorbell chimed, he was dressed, sliding his arms down into the silver trench coat.
He'd gathered the woman's clothing, and had it bundled up in a small pile next to her. When the silver haired woman at the door looked up at him, she said nothing, but moved in past him. One hand snaked out, and caught her arm.
"Don't worry pretty. You know these stupid whores don't mean anything to me.", she said nothing, but jerked forward out of his grasp, and moved to clean up the mess he'd left behind. He chuckled under his breath, and reached for Hyperion. He'd make her scream for him later, when he needed it the most. Remind her why she remained his little bitch, forever at his beck and call. Yeah, that was the ticket. Just remind her of why she stayed his.
The door slammed behind him, and he left Fujin staring down at the Rinoa look alike.
"Damn you Seifer.", her voice was quiet, as she reached to gather the clothing, and start getting the body ready to move. Her brother would be there soon to help her.
A/N: Wow. I even scared myself with this one. I've never done stories like this before. Its kind of frightening. Really frightening, actually. Short though, thank goodness. The foul language abounds, and so does the evil hinting. But its worthy of being rated R. Definitely. Its not too over the top, I think. Maybe NC 17, at the most.
I really think this will be a one shot fanfic. It worries me what will happen if I keep adding to it. But maybe, I guess, if it gets enough positive reviews. On a sidenote, I love Seifer as a character, though I'm not super fond of Rinoa. Why it all came out like this, I'm not certain. Blame my muse.