I'm only honest when it rains,

An open book with a torn out page,

And my ink's run out.

I want to love you but I don't know how.  

32 - Roots

I removed the Diviner's Charm and handed it back to Alex before marching right in front of Vincent. My face had turned into rubber, a blank mask. It was all I could do to not appear as sullen as I felt. For all I knew, I could just be overacting. It could really be over. My expectations of this mission had been on the level of impossible. Perhaps, that was why I couldn't wrap my head around the fact that we were only one step away from winning.

With the apparently serious strategic planning with Vlad and Kyoshiro interrupted, Vincent twisted his torso to look at me over his shoulder.

I cleared my throat, forced my lips into an awkward smile. For some reason, I couldn't look him in the eye. "So... I'll go see Belial. Do you want me to open a Door for--" I glanced at the vat "--her before I go?"

"Hang on a sec," he answered, raising an index finger and leaving it up before hunching back into the huddle to whisper something to the others.

"It's okay," I declined. "I won't take long."

Alex was on my tail before I could make the first step.

"I'll come with you," he said with a hint of finality.

Vincent pulled out of the huddle and stepped between me and Alex. Facing his brother, Vincent reached for my hand, slipped his fingers in between mine and pulled me behind him.

"It's okay," Vincent repeated the same words I just used on him. "We won't take long."

Wordlessly, Alex stepped back and joined the others. As we left, he gave me a fleeting look. It seemed like Belial wasn't the only one who could read me.

We draughted in silence, eyes forward. There was no urgency in Vincent's strides as we wove our way into the woods. A thick carpet of orange and brown covered the forest floor, marred only by protruding roots of the ancient trees. The light of the moon passed through the canopy of thick leaves and branches. Every now and then, the path would slope up then down like obstacles. Obstacles I used to stumble on when I was younger. When my only problems were learning how to draught and fight.

Those were the days. The easy life.

Vincent was a draught ahead of me. I watched him, memorized the shape of his back, how his dark hair bounced with the gust of the wind. Then, I got to thinking, when did I begin loving this person? Was it that day he brought me back to life? When we were dancing in Death's ballroom? Was it when he got himself captured just to save me?

After the 'when' was the 'why'. I could enumerate a hundred reasons, but not a single one would be the perfect answer.

The never-ending cycle of questions stopped only when Vincent veered right and slowed down. We were just a couple minutes away from the mansion and I hated every minute not knowing what I should. Yet, I went after him.

Vincent suddenly stopped. Near his feet was a tree that had fallen down. It was an oak; wide, bulbous, with strong branches desperately reaching up despite its awkward position, perhaps, for sunlight. It was surprising to see thick, vibrant leaves from the tips of the twigs that should have already died when the tree had been uprooted.

Then, I noticed that the tree had not been completely uprooted at all. A few of its roots had somehow kept their hold in the ground like it had the will to survive.

"Do you remember?" Vincent asked in a quiet voice that was brimming with reminiscence. "You killed this tree when you were learning how to draught."

I did remember. That was why it looked so familiar. It was that night when he first accepted me as his familiar. He was teaching me how to draught and we crashed into this tree because I was so distracted. Because I was so happy that I get to stay. I get to stay with him.

My eyes widened. My first question had just been answered.

I scoffed at myself. All this time, the answer was there. And it took me this long to accept it.

"What's supposed to be dead has come back to life," he grinned, looking back at me. "What are the odds?"

There was nothing I wanted to do but sit there and reminisce with him under the moonlight. But then, that made me feel guilty about a lot of things. Adrianna, for one.

So far, all I had done was envy her, make her seem like the monster. The enemy. When the truth was, she was only a victim here. A victim of my mistakes. To my very core, I knew that my jealousy had grown so big that for a while I had forgotten that in a distant lifetime, she was my sister who I had failed to protect.

Now, if everything would go as planned, that sister would be thrown into the abyss, trapped forever with millions of rotting souls. How could I--her sister who had sworn to protect her--think of my own happiness, much more so, live with myself?

Did I really think that I could have a happy ending after this? How could I think for a second that I deserved love? Life?

Swallowing the blockage in my throat, I said, "Let's go. Belial's waiting," before stalking forward.

Vincent's lips pulled down as he followed. He quickened his pace until he was in front of me. He stopped, blocking my way.

I kept walking anyway, my gaze on the ground.

He matched my pace, walking backwards now so that he was still facing me. Lowering his head, he focused his pale metallic eyes on me as though he was trying to read my mind.

"You're mad." It wasn't a question. "You're mad at me."

I almost gave in to the urge to meet his eyes, to answer him. But I chewed on my lip to keep the words inside. A confrontation was the last thing I needed now.

Before I could draught, he caught both my arms and tugged me to a stop. As I lifted my gaze to his face, the anger I had expected to see in his eyes weren't there. Rather, I saw panic.

"Look, if it's because I didn't tell you about the plan; I'm sorry," he said, almost breathless. "I knew you'd never agree. But I did it, A. Nothing bad happened. And we got Legion. So please--"

"You're right," I cut him off, my tone flat. "I probably wouldn't have let you do it. So stop apologizing."

His gaze lingered on my face long enough for my chest to tighten, for my heart to skip a beat. Then, all of a sudden, he slid his hand over the back of my neck and the other around my back before pulling me to his chest.

My mind was blank for several seconds before the pain in my chest told me I wasn't breathing. It wasn't an unwelcome pain, because when air entered my lungs again, I felt warm and fuzzy inside. Like everything bad that had happened didn't matter anymore.

All it took was this; once embrace to make me forget about the long list of reasons why I shouldn't be happy.

"But you're still mad," he murmured, resting his chin over my head. "I don't know what else to do."

Unable to think straight, I buried my face onto his shirt.

He exhaled deeply, his breath blowing my hair. Then, loosening his arms around me, his hands moved down to my wrists. He lifted them to his face and closed his eyes tight.

"I know what'll make you feel better," he said through pursed lips. "Hit me."

"What? No!"

He opened his eyes and narrowed them at me. "Hit me, Marion Aramis Rayne. That's an order."

I glared at him. "I said no."

He looked up, straightened his back, stretched his arms and gestured at me to come at him. "Go on. Let it all out it in one punch. You won't get Bound. And I swear, I won't fight back."

"Vincent, stop," I told him, crossing my arms in front of me. "This is stupid."

"Why're you mad, A?"

"I'm not mad!" My voice went up a notch, sending a few birds flapping away.

"Really?" he smirked. "Are you mad because you're jealous?"

I started to say something but thought better of it. Throwing him my fiercest scowl, I chewed on the inside of my cheek.

His eyes widened with something between surprise and mischief. "You are jealous!"

All the blood in my body must have rushed up to my head that I started to see red. My temples pounded and the breaths came out of me like gasps. Next thing I knew was my knuckles colliding with the side of Vincent's lips with a force that left my hand throbbing like hell with pain.

His head whipped reflexively with the impact. Groaning, he lurched backward and spat blood.

"You asked for it," I exhaled sharply, flexing my aching fist. I stared at it in incredulity.

He really knew how to bring out the worst in me.

"Damn!" he grumbled, wincing. With a hand on his chin, he tensed his jaw from side to side, testing if something was broken. "Feeling better now?"

"No," I hissed at him, although, I did feel a tiny bit better.

My heart sank when I saw blood trickle from his busted lip. Now, I didn't feel better. I felt worse.

With a sigh, I removed the scarf from around my neck and began patting the blood off his lip. I could feel his eyes on me as I did this. Guilt and anger made my insides twist and pull.

"I can never tell," he whispered against my fingers "what's going on in that head of yours."

Flustered, I kept my stare on his chin. His eyes were distracting me from my anger. "I'm thinking... if I should kiss you or kill you."

"I'm not objecting to anything." Pressing his lips into a thin line, he paused as if to think. "Wait. Did we really just do this?"

"Did what?"

"This." He motioned his fingers alternately to the both of us. "It's our first fight."

"Ugh!" I rolled my eyes. "We fight like all the time, Vincent."

Laughing to himself, he towed me muttering, "Yeah, yeah," sounding pleased with himself.

Shaking my head, I stomped after him thinking, yes. This neurotic five hundred-year old immortal inside the body of a teenage boy--who was able to make me mad and guilty, sad, annoyed, violent, happy then fall in love with him all over again in a matter of five minutes--had stolen my heart seven years ago at this very same spot, where, by some form of miracle, a fallen tree that should have already died still lived.