My first attempt at a Resident Evil fanfiction. I hope I did alright. This focuses around Jill and Wesker, and it occurs after Resident Evil 5, around three months after the end of the game. It basically is all about illusions, whether Wesker is really alive or if it is Jill's subconscious playing tricks on her. Also, she is in the middle of a mental breakdown.
NOTE: There is also hints at JillxWesker previously. Whether you choose to see them or ignore them, it's up to you.
Disclaimer: I do not own Resident Evil. If I did, Jill would have stayed evil, JillxWesker would be canon, Richard would be saving the world with Rebecca and Chris would have died in the first game. There you go.
Run, her mind shouted. Get away from him!
She tried, but her breath was heavy, and her body was dripping with sweat. She couldn't keep him away. Everywhere she turned, he was there: watching. In a last ditch attempt to inflict pain on the man, she picked up a lamp and threw it with all her strength in his direction. Her eyes couldn't keep up with his immense speed, and in a flash, he was at her side. His fingers moved to grab her arm, but she jerked her body away from him.
Door opened. She ran into another room, bracing herself against the wall. She frantically looked for something else to toss at him, but there was nothing within reach.
He entered the room slowly, taking each step calmly as he neared her. "Give it up," he ordered. She disobeyed as she tried to put as much space between them as possible. She wanted to hurt him, to make him scream in agony.
"Stay away from me."
"You can't escape me. I'll always be here, haunting you." He moved in a blur and before she could react he was standing in front of her. Panic.
"No! Leave me alone!"
"How disappointing...not putting up a fight today, are we, Jill?"
"Don't mock me you son-of-a-bitch!"
Smirk. "You have quite the mouth. You should learn to control it."
Fingers clenched into claws, wanting to rip the man into a bloody mess. Fire and anger burned in her tired – yet wild – blue eyes. She sprung at him; arms outstretched. Her hands were restrained by his, and in a split instant she was pulled up against his chest. Those golden cat-like eyes bore into hers from behind a pair of shades as he leaned towards her ear and whispered, "That's the Jill I know." His hands shoved her backwards. She tripped over her own feet and fell against the wall.
Silence hung over them as she made no attempt to stand. Instead, she slumped to her knees and toppled onto the floor. She was so weak. Her mind was ill. She lost any self-control she had left and began to sob into the floorboards, desperately pleading for them to open up and swallow her whole...anything to stop the torture. Screams began to escape her mouth as her shoulders shook from crying.
He hurt her.
He haunted her.
He broke her.
She was the ghost of who she used to be. Jill Valentine was dead. This...nameless reflection she saw in the mirror everyday was the cracked shell of what she was before.
Albert Wesker was dead as well. It seemed that everyone had come to terms with that, with one exception...her. This man standing over her was a figment of her imagination. No, his touch was too real. His voice was too clear. The pain he constantly inflicted on her body was felt much too frequently. The heartache that memories of him brought to her happened much too often. No...He was alive. The others were in denial. They didn't see his lingering presence that hung over her.
Gloved hands touched slender shoulders. He tilted her face to gaze into his. For the first time in a long time, his face was familiar. It was like she was staring at her captain once again. The man before her now seemed trustworthy. She wouldn't fall for it. Not again.
"A face of stone," he bemused as he observed her facial features. "Too bad it's been placed on such a fragile woman."
She tried to shove him away. No avail. "Stop insulting me. I'm not weak."
"I am not!"
"You are. Look at yourself. You can barely support your own weight. You're mentally ill."
That struck a chord. "No...you're wrong."
The corner of his lips twisted into something she could have sworn resembled a smile. He was easily amused by her constant struggling. "You've pushed all your friends away."
"They're still there! They haven't abandoned me!"
"You've been relieved of your job. What have you become, Jill? How has fighting against me helped you?"
Her hands wringed and pulled at her hair as his hands gripped her shoulders tighter. Her face invaded his with teeth clenched. "The fuck you know!"
"A former-B.S.A.A. agent who is on the list for the crazy house, that's what you've become. Guess you've received what you've been dealt."
A hand managed to sneak up on him and slap him across the face. She hit his face so hard, his sunglasses flew off. They clattered onto the floor, shattering the silence. She couldn't see his face anymore. He had turned away from her. Slowly, ever so slowly, he faced her once again. She tried to avoid gazing at the red blotch forming on his cheek. She began to fear him again. He was going to kill her. That slap practically invited his rage with open arms. What he did instead shocked her.
He laughed. Not joyously, but menacingly. That unnerved her even more. She didn't bother try to defend herself. She squeezed her eyes shut and prepared for the pain.
He pulled her closer to his body. He was warm, which surprised her, as she pictured his blood running cold. His arm wrapped around her back and she let her body go loose against his. She tried to figure out what was going on as one of his hands smoothed her hair.
"How long can you keep trying to survive like this?"
No response. Her mind shut down.
He continued to dig at her defense. He was winning. He never lost yet.
"One hit and you're vulnerable. Just as your anger begins, your strength depletes. If you had stayed with me, you would've been so much more. You would have been more powerful than you have ever dreamed."
She forced herself to talk. "I would have been a monster." Pause. "I was a monster. Chris found me. They helped me. We escaped."
"Yes," she said, swallowing the lump in her throat, "and you survived."
His hands on her back quickly baledl into fists before slowly relaxing against her back once more.
"It doesn't have to be like this."
Eyes snapped open. "What?"
He positioned her in his lap as if she was his puppet. She faced away from him; her back slumped against his chest. Her only support was his arms around her stomach: her seatbelt. His lips tickled her ear as he whispered. "I can save you...again." Fingers intertwined with hers. "You won't be alone. You will want to run again. You won't be scared of anything. I won't leave you like the others."
"...They left me because of you."
"They left because you tried to convince them that I survived. They offered you help. You refused. You locked yourself up in this apartment."
"They thought I was crazy. Why can't they see you?" Her voice began to rise as hatred bubbled to the surface. "Why do you only haunt me?" Quiet. She dared herself to tilt her head back and face him. Golden orbs reflected in pale blues.
"Haven't you realized?" he asked her, shaking his head slightly. "I want you for myself."
She searched his eyes for any traces of emotion. There was none. She opened her mouth to speak but couldn't force anything out.
"You will be mine."
A single tear fell over her cheek as she bit her lip. She was trapped. She was confined to her apartment, talking with the man she hated, and feared, the most. Time after time again she let him get under her defenses. Every time she heard his velvet voice or saw his smug smirk her heart lurched into her throat. She would feel sick and hopeful at the same time...
Hoping it would be the last time she saw him.
Sickened at the sight of what he had become.
Hoping that he would change to the man he used to be.
Sickened when she realized he was a traitor all along.
Hoping that she would have the gratification of killing him.
Sickened at the notion that she would never be able to do it herself.
She didn't know how to feel anymore. Everything was a blur. She found herself lying in the enemy's arms, finding comfort in their warmth. But, deep down, this woman knew that he would disappear into the shadows like he always did. Whenever she would begin to find some peace, she would count on his appearance. And he would break her again. It was a never-ending cycle: a complete circle that couldn't be broken. Like he said, he would haunt her forever. Three years under his control had showed her that.
The darkness was covering her again. Her eyes, red from crying, closed over. The body that once held hers faded away, and she made contact with the unforgiving floor. Sleep was never peaceful, but that night it was, all because the enemy showed her mercy and filled her with false intentions.
She slept, waiting to wake to the monster again.
Hopefully, it wasn't god awful. Reviews are always appreciated, and thank you for reading!