AN: Out of all the times to think of a story idea it was when I was doing dishes. It just suddenly popped into my head a small line with Revy drinking and etc and here it was born... so well anyway without further ado here you have it ;D
PS: I had to write a Black Lagoon Story too, because it is sexy D and Revy s badass. I don't own Revy and her badass self or black lagoon .
Her head pounded with remorse and guilt. Blundering agony. It would only continue to probe the depths of her mind even if she tried to forget. The Bacardi she drank would help nothing and only fuel the fire to her ever increasing hangover.
Not like it mattered anymore.
Rock was dead. Fucking dead, and nothing she did would bring him back. Not after the bullet had pierced through his abdomen, spraying blood in its wake and leaving trails on her face, in her mouth and littering the ground with raining scarlet drops.
It was the taste of salt, a rusty tang that even now still clung to the inside of her nostrils and tongue, tempting her to spill any content still left in her stomach. It had clung to the air so think that day she had vomited. Foamy chunks right over the dock. The smell of death in Roanapur: blood, rust, sea salt. It was a nauseating mix and she couldn't hold back after slaughtering the sack of shit that had decided to shoot him.
Then again they were only the walking dead, but he always had a fragment of that life left in him. Hidden from the filthy, criminal ridden streets of, Roanapur.
She wouldn't cry, never, at least that's what she told herself, but she still felt empty. Hollow. A shell void of everything there was; emotion, ambitions, a soul…
He just had to get himself fucking killed didn't he?
She had to blame someone, everyone, herself.
Yes, she easily blamed all of this on herself.
Taking another swig from one of her Bacardi bottles, she let out a choked groan. Her lips were dry, parched, cracking, and bloodied. She didn't care. Drinking herself numb was the only solution to this.
Bed creaking its displeasure, she tossed to the side to stare out a crack in the blinds. The dark, dank sky greeted her bloodshot eyes and guarded her messed room. Empty alcohol bottles littered her floor along with undergarments, clothing, guns…
Guns…, the same gun that had killed Rock in cold blood…
Revy gulped down the dark amber fluid all the harder.
Yes, she had taken the gun that shot Rock. Why? She really didn't know, didn't care. It simply lay on her makeshift nightstand, a testament to what hell she was going through.
Whatever it was it didn't matter. Simply didn't fucking matter, because she had been too late!
Too! Fucking! Late!
The words clung to her mind and made her chest constrict. She was late for everything.
Late at telling or letting him know the slightest reaches of her feeling, she herself, was scared to know and didn't think she could feel. Too late to take action on said feelings. Too late to save him: to keep his blood from painting the streets red. From his lifeline to stop draining into the gutters…
Damn it all this was her fault. If she could only stop being late.
She wasn't always late, just always when it mattered.
She hadn't been late to kill the son of a bitch for fuckin' shooting him. Hadn't been late to grab some Bacardi and try to drown in her sorrows. Hadn't fucking been late to anything else, but him.
And for that she could never forgive herself. The great Revy Two-hands, was finally breaking.
A choked sob racked through her form, threatening to tear her apart from the inside out. To sever the last strand holding her together, if there was one anymore.
The Bacardi rum fell with a glug as its contents spilled onto the carpet, pouring like the tears now streaming freely down her face, like Rocks blood, out of his body into the gravel…
Fuck it all. Nothing mattered anymore.
A strangled gasp for breath and she curled in on herself. A tight ball on the expanse of plain white, bloodstained, sweat smelling, dirty sheets.
She hadn't slept in a few days and the fatigue was slowly crawling up to her. Settling in and forcing her eyes to slowly shut as she cried; years of pent back emotion bursting through her very seams.
An almost cool draft finally making her eyelids close, Rock's doing no doubt. Even when she had treated him like shit he was still there, even in death to make sure she was alright.
Flicking in through unconsciousness and the world of the living dead, Revy had realized, she had been too late to notice something vital too.
So he really had loved her hadn't he?
With that thought the very last string of thread holding her together, snapped.
AN: Hope you enjoyed Please R&R!