Among The Missing - [Ursula/oneshot]

Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When it's exactly twelve o'clock that night
Welcoming in the New Year
New Year's eve
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TO SAY I AM TRIGGER-HAPPY is certainly an understatement. Metaphorically speaking, of course.

The world directly above me ripples away in white circlets, yellow dots blotting my vision. Even underwater, I can clearly hear the ticking (or am I just imagining the sound?) of my watch, which lies discarded on the tiles next to the foot of the bathtub. The muscles in my throat and lungs burn with the effort to stay conscious. The human body is like a paradox, that way. The mind - a separate and intangible entity - can try it's hardest (in vain) to kill itself, yet the body continues to reform its structure until life is resurrected - until life can no longer be resurrected. Seconds tick away, as loud as earthquakes to my ears underwater, although that may just be the sound of my frantic heartbeat.

I shouldn't be here. Although, I suppose there are a lot of things Ursula Libertine shouldn't be (like heart broken, for instance), and this just happens to be one of them.

Normally, it's easy to ignore the jarring stares and whispers of locals rummaging through the pawn shop, eager to catch a glimpse of the infamous, scandalous, and - all around - magnetic Libertine family. But, when a group of old classmates stumbled in late last evening, with the liquor still heavy on their breaths, I couldn't help myself. I recognized the lips of about half of them: boys with weak wills and shaking knees that I kissed in the shadows of the back alley of the shop, or sometimes behind the walls of the cracked courtyard at school. I extracted deals from those trembling lips, answered those "Come on, Ursula, one more kiss Ursula"'s with some "Only one kiss for a favor, maybe"'s. Then, I would drop them, like a beggar's change on sidewalks. Their glazed over and bloodshot eyes regarded me as they all walked in, as if they could still taste the poison of my words on their tongues. "Which Libertine will drown next?," they had whispered, the sound of their poorly muffled voices and giggles drifting to my ears behind the counter. One of them bought a pair of dusty binoculars, and I smiled politely while I counted his change.

My lungs can no longer take the lack of oxygen, and I emerge out of the water, my mouth gaped wide open and hungry for air. The sound of my labored breath is loud and obnoxious as it echoes off the bathroom tiles, bouncing from wall to wall, as if the sound of my continued life simply annoyed me. When my breathing became somewhat constant again, I settled my shoulders against the curve of the edge of the bathtub, the water swaying to my rigid motions.

I highly doubt that "Which Libertine will drown next?" was supposed to be taken as a challenge. But, I am Ursula Libertine, and she doesn't back down from challenges. Even from unspoken ones. Apparently. (Silly, foolish, trigger-happy Ursula Libertine. She takes almost everything as a challenge to her existence, these days. One spark can elicit dozens of wildfires. Metaphorically speaking, again, of course.) Here, in this bathroom, I'm not entirely sure what kind of challenge I had initially planned on taking on. Was it merely a testament to my resilience and survival, seeing how long I could hold my breath to somehow prove I wouldn't be the next drowned Libertine? Or was I subconsciously hoping otherwise, answering the juveniles' questions with one last bang, in full Libertine style?

I reach out one of my water-wrinkled hands to check the time on my watch. 11:55. Outside the window, the night sky is darker than usual, reminding me of the calm before a storm. I lower the bottom half of my face into the water, leaving my nose barely above the surface. My breaths are slow and easy.

New Year's eve, and I'm taking a fucking bath.

In five minutes, the night sky would look like someone had torn it right through the middle, with flashing lights spilling through the tear. I've always liked fireworks because they reminded me of storms - all the entertainment minus the danger. They made me giddy with infatuating thoughts of new beginnings and rebirth.

Rebirth - something I had already supposedly claimed for myself. Something I had also equally forfeited.

Here is something they don't tell you about 'new beginnings': it is exhausting. fucking. work. Like shedding the skin off of a snake, except the old skin weighs as heavy as tons of lead, and your new skin is raw and irritable to the open atmosphere.

He should know that better than anyone. He should understand my silence just as well as I understand it. My surrender to the tug-of-war that was our relationship saved us both the trouble.

New Year's eve, and he's probably stumbling around the cobble-stoned streets with his hands around the neck of some bottle, his eyes bright and looking for trouble. Oh, and he'd find Trouble, too, undoubtedly. He always did. He'd corner her in some alleyway, perhaps, or under a flickering lamppost, and give her that smug smile that's grown to be a bit too familiar to me. Maybe Trouble would take the form of a girl with batting eyelashes and rosy cheeks, or... or maybe she'd even be that Caly chick, who he's become suspiciously attached to. She'd meet him at a local pub and she'd playfully swat his arm when he whispered some inappropriate joke in her ear. The music would roar around them. Would my name fade from his mind? Would they dance? And, when the clock strikes 12, would they -

But, never mind that.

I shut him out for a reason. My life is one big storm after another, and I've only got room for one to drown in them. Besides, I think to myself as I comb through my knotted hair with my pruned-up fingers, I could never live with myself if I broke him even more...

Oh, shut up Ursula. You are one huge fucking pile of bullshit.

My whole body seems to shudder with a sigh as I roll my eyes and lean my head back against the rim of the tub. Slowly, I allow my head to sink back down below the surface of the water. I keep my eyes shut this time.

The break-up had no subtly noble intentions or selfless motives. Ursula Libertine, selfless? The thought itself was ridiculous.

My life is a series of trade-offs. That kind of lifestyle would only be natural for an innate dealmaker like me. Unimaginable sacrifices have already been relinquished - my sisters, my power, my sanity - what more did he expect me to give up? God, Nino should understand that I couldn't give my heart out so freely. My heart was one thing on the list that wasn't up for a deal, that no price could even tempt me into considering a trade-off, anymore. If I were to give something, shouldn't I be getting something in return?

You did, idiot. You got his heart.

To be fair, I always had Nino Ripley's heart. It sat like a forgotten child's toy in the back of my closet, collecting dust until I discovered it with reinvigorated interest. Was that fair? No, but my deals hardly ever are.

So, you retreated. You abandoned him. You stole back something that you supposedly gave him and you -

My head retched itself from the water just in time for my ribs to heave out gutting coughs. I lost track of time and stayed under for a few seconds too long, making my head dizzy with the shortness of breath. Another look at my watch told me it was 11:59.

It doesn't matter now. I imagine his life is continuing splendidly despite my absence. That boy isn't easy to kill, no matter how vulnerable he's always made himself out to be...

I heard he's got a job in some club, now. I also heard that the break-up was devastatingly hard on him, which resonated some deep sickening satisfaction within me. The whole "broken-hearted" situation wasn't really what satisfied me, but more so the reassuring fact that, to him, I wasn't easily forgotten.

Our relationship was destined to collapse in on itself from the start, anyway. Two very broken people can't summon any light from their combined states of darkness. We were so close, but always just out of reach, always shrouded behind tomorrows. I hastened its destruction, but at least I saved myself from crumbling in the rubble. The Ursula Libertine who he fell in love with and who broke his heart would always be preserved in his memory. And the Nino Ripley who made new beginnings worthwhile - even if just for a fleeting moment - would always be preserved in mine. What a magnificent way to end a fruitless love story.

I plunged myself back beneath the water just as the first firework tore through the sky.