We Apologise for Nothing- Chapter 2/2
Name: We apologize for nothing
Characters: Dino& Squalo
Genre: introspective, romance
Warnings: none except very mild yaoi
Summary: The past marked them by a promise, but they were told by none just how past promises always end up haunting the future.
Chapter I: Blind Will Lead the Blind
We Apologise for Nothing
Chapter 2
The Only Thing They See Is Their Lies
SqualoPOV
If you were to write the story of my life I would deny the chance. A story is a history and history is useless if you aren’t planning to rewrite it; the Gods know that I don’t.
If I were to begin I wonder what I shall be, for the main character is always young, brave and never wrong. I hope I don’t need to say that I never will be the good one. I am the criminal, the monster, the traitor. These are the words that the world defines me by. I will always be captured between the limits you impose on me. Maybe I’ll be the good guy for a minute and even explain to your sorry ass.
Humans are stupid; always were, always will be. They were weak from the very beginning and are marked to be to the bitter end. In such a condition what did they do? Easy, once you think about it: they put borders on a small part of human nature to protect themselves from anyone who happened to think differently; this is the preservation of the species. The weak were called normal and the strong, those who refused all rules to live by their own rule were suddenly ‘freaks’, the proverbial bad guys. Nietzsche called them slaves and aristocrats; the week masses and the strong ‘monsters’. This is the true nature of good and evil: the week govern the world and force anyone else to live in darkness
Understand that this is the difference between Life and Fiction. The good ended happily, and the bad unhappily is what Fiction means. Life is different; it just had to be different, didn’t it? Shit.
The story of my life will be black as the darkness they made me live in; the place where you made me go, Cavallone.
They say that laughter is a good beginning for a friendship, and an even better idea of parting. If that happens to be true, we started well, but never quite ended. I wonder, will we ever? Huh, I’ve started with the ending, haven’t I?
Well, just like in an AA meeting: let the mad hatter introduce himself: I’m called Squalo, believed to be one and feared to be trifled with. My likes are none of your business. My dislikes are none of your business. My family is none of your business. My companions are none of your business. What a pleasant character I have; bloody perfection I tell you. What? Do you want me to say ‘sorry’? Not a single chance. I happen to always be rude and cruel; I make up for it by being severely over educated. Surprised? Well, here is something you should remember, apparent simpleton: living in a world full of assassins, Mafioso, corrupt politicians, and cheep women is a task that needs quite the skill if you want to possess a head by the end of the day. Don’t understand? Well, I’m fresh out of ‘give a fuck’; for more please report to Xanux and I if that doesn’t make you change your mind, I will suggest a lobotomy. Happy? No? You just made my day.
As the next problem on the agenda seems to be the twit (known to the rest of the world as bloody good little Dino) I will say how I met him by claiming amnesia. Honestly, the fucker dropped a freaking cake on my head. Do you know how hard it is to get chocolate out of blond hair? No, you do not. And yes, contrary to popular assumption, my hair is most definitely not white (note to self: find the idiot who said that and bleach him, then find the idiots who believed it and slice them to ribbons; they deserve it, thank you very much). It’s blond. It is!
So anyway, the first time I met Dino, I wanted to kill him; big news I know. Wonder how we ended up friends? Well, if you asked him, he’d sure tell you a long and sappy story. The truth is that he was lonely and so was I, end of story, nothing new. How did we stay friends? Well come on, I may be a bastard, but I’m not that careless: the brat was on the verge of the proverbial fall. It may be funny now to push him, but envy aside, he is strong nowadays. Back then he was this weak thing, more like a girl than a boy, with quite the alarming habit of maiming all those around him. Pushing him down would have been like drowning a small cat. Who does that?! And anyway, it’s not like I did anything special; I just dragged him everywhere. Surprised he went, actually. Twit.
Somehow, (I mush have been sick) I got used to him and before I could do something about my new pet, his mother died. I quite liked her- she was gorgeous as I’m glad to say the twit is not- so I stayed by him. Twenty years after, I wonder why? Maybe someday I’ll even know, though I suspect my parents had a surprising part. They believed it was good for me to do something else other than find ways of killing shit; parents can do that, though why is anyone’s guess. Well, to be frank, mothers are all right: they pay a guy's bills and never bother him, but fathers bother a guy and never pay his bills. That is a very bad thing in any teenager’s book, so yeah, maybe I liked staying in the Cavallone mansion because dad wasn’t there to yell at me for being useless and mother didn’t look at me with that worried gaze that seemed to be her trademark. In Dino’s family, everything was quiet; it was the type of peace only those who come from fucked up families can truly enjoy. They kind of took me in for most of the time- said it was good training for the twit- so when things came tumbling down, I stayed.
Looking back, it was the only thing I could do for them. Understand that I couldn’t become Dino’s consigliore, like my father was for his; I just couldn’t. Don’t ask why, because I don’t know. I guess I was born with a bloodlust and a taste for danger; they’ll be the death of me, I knew it from the very beginning. As I mentioned before: I’m the bad guy in this story, the one no one will remember with a smile. If you still believe me to be just the antagonist or plainly misunderstood, then paint me black wings and crimson tears.
Now we come to the almighty question: why does one become an assassin, forsaking all chances of a normal life? The truth is that I don’t know. No one in the Mafia plans to become what the looking glass tells us we became; we just play our parts the best we can. You will never understand the terror that can come alone at night, the fear that will consume you. You begin to think I am nothing because that is what everyone says about you and while you may play the part of the demon in this theater of masks, you are still human. Seeing their disappointed faces was the only thing you could never bear, but the only thing you ever saw.
You see, to be good by the oh so lovely standards of goodness is ridiculously easy. To be the good guy in the picture, one merely requires a solid amount of terror, an outstanding lack of imagination and a certain passion for a sordid type of respectability. As I said before: very lovely; fucking brilliant. In such a circumstance, it is not surprising I ran away as fast as I could.
The fact is that civilization requires slaves, criminals, whores and thieves. The Greeks, the Romans and the bloody conquistadors actually got it right there. Unless there are lowlifes to do the ugly, horrible, boring work, culture and beauty become impossible. If you don’t see this in today’s society more than ever, you are the true idiot in the story; the fool who doesn’t know what he fights for. What you don’t understand can mean everything. With every breath you take in the nice, good world of the brave, you condemn my kind to darkness even more, because if light is born with darkness, then there will always have to be someone to do take this forsaken part. Don’t forget: the prince of darkness was once the angel of light.
To all those who condemn me I’d like to say that a murderer will walk your streets tonight, tomorrow and forever. Only the foolish get caught, and last time I checked, stupidity makes this particular job quite impossible.
To all those who I had to leave behind I’d like to tell: I’m not sorry. I don’t regret one thing. If I’d have the chance I’d change nothing. But I will ask one last thing of them: to forgive me for my crimes and never forget that I too was young and scared when I had to make my choice; too young.
I don’t regret a thing, but to be frank, this is not the way I pictured this side; I wanted better things, dreamed of them, just like everyone else. Now some are scared, others are killing for fun, one day I even had to shoot a mother in front of her only son so understand that you are a fool if you believe I wanted this. God, if you are listening: take this from my consciousness, and please erase my dreams.
I didn’t want to leave, I never would have left, but it wasn’t my choice. I could have never stayed. I would have destroyed them with this bloodlust that always scared the twit. It scared you. I scared you.
You will always be fond of me, Cavallone. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit. Nowadays most people die of a sort of creeping common sense, and discover when it is too late that the only things one never regrets are one's mistakes. You idiot… I wonder if you still think it was your fault I left. I never knew why you believed that in the first place since I never was half as good as you. Fool.
I did everything I was supposed to do, twit. I kicked you when you were down, betrayed your trust, became what you hated, but I did it. I won the bet. I did.
You made me promise on your mother’s grave that I would never make you cry. I promised; I regretted afterwards, as it led me to a path that will never be by yours, but I did what you told me. Now you won’t mourn for me, or cry, or feel sad. You told me not to leave you, but I had to, because one day I’ll die and all you’ll have will be memories. Now I know you won’t mourn my loss; you don’t have a reason why you should. My memory will never be painful to you now, I made sure of it. And make no mistake: I will die young, but you will not mourn this memory. I will never make you cry.
You fool, I betrayed your trust, but I never betrayed you.
I never break my promises. Never. Back then, the night I left, you looked into my eyes and I just stared at you. On the outside we looked just like two teens saying ‘till we meet again’, but… no. We were two forsaken sinners that will never meet as friends again. On the inside… you were silently broken and part of me was screaming that I'm sorry. For each time I said something I regret I wanted to cry "I don't want to lose you."
You were my only friend, more like a girl then a boy, a child in the role of a man. You were weak, nice and frail and I didn’t want to kill you. I would have killed you in the end; don’t forget that the scar on your back was made by me, the shark’s bite. I had to change the world to make you see me that I was wrong, mad, sick. I had to make you lock the last open door. So you can leave me just like everyone else.
I never break my promises.
I apologise for nothing