Not Her

Author’s Note: Hahahaha I hate myself. I sit down determined to work on the last chapter of Lost, and this oneshot comes out of nowhere. This is written from the perspective of Atton. Also, Xposted from ff.net

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Kid, I stopped being jealous of you a long time ago. After all, we were never in love with the same girl, now were we? The way I remember her… well, I don’t think she could stand to be in the same room as your version. You sugarcoated her, Mical. You decided right off she was an angel, and refused to think of her as anything but. I thought she was a monster, and fell for her anyway. Birds of a feather, after all.

Do you remember her smiles, kid? All of them? I know you won’t forget the sweet ones, the ones that light up the room. But can you recall the cold ones? The empty ones that didn’t reach her eyes and made you feel dead inside? Or worse- the vicious ones that did reach them, that always disappeared in a flash like a glimpse of skin under those robes of hers. But they were there.

And her eyes. How do you remember them? I can guess. Sparkling with laughter, filled with stars. You’ve forgotten or choose not to remember how they could be so empty, how those dark eyes could give you vertigo. The dark circles of nightmares and worry are erased. You probably remember her hair as sleek and soft and red, and it was all of those things. But do you remember that it was always tangled, like she never had an easy night’s sleep in her life? Do you remember- I’m sure you remember- that that hair was exactly the same shade as blood?

You never noticed that her skin has scars, the same ones I adore, and you never saw how pale and tired and unhealthy she looked sometimes. You figured she was above all that. You’d let her believe she could get away with the skipped meals and the lost sleep and using all her strength on the rest of us. But I’d tease her and goad her into eating and sleeping, or infuriate her until she let me take care of my own injuries and spent her energy on herself.

I’m sure you like to forget that she and I once shared a profession. That she was a killer, not just a soldier or even a general. Forget what she was willing to do, and how good she was at it. Have you realized that she never once said she was sorry she did it, only that she was sorry it had to be done? Don’t you see that she’d do it all again, because she believes it was the necessary price? No, you don’t like to think about that, do you.

I’m sure the girl you’re in love with is wonderful, kid, but Julima isn’t her. Maybe she was once, many years and several wars ago, but she outgrew it. So you understand why I’m not jealous of you anymore. I’ve got no reason to be. After all, only one of us was ever in love with Julima Dire.