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“Am I supposed to feel sorry?”
“Pssh, of course not. The only reason I’m here is because you’re lonely. As usual. Loner.” The cosmetologist huffed, swinging her legs around as she sat on the bench. The moonlit — albeit fake — light shone against the two figures in the garden. Damon could only frown at the notion, trying to make sense of the situation he found himself falling into.
Standing before him was Diana Venicia, the Ultimate Cosmetologist. The “murderer” of Wolfgang Akire; the fifth killer of this game of life and death. She was one of the shining beams of light the school had to offer, and the type of person who'd always give their shoulder for someone to lean on. ...It’s a real shame she “gave up” near the end.
“It wasn’t me, It wasn’t me, It wasn’t me…” filled the room, tears streaming through her face as Tozu deemed her guilty. Those were the words she repeated, over, and over again. Yet her pleas amounted to nothing the lawyer had to suffer for her selfish desires. He could still remember how she’d plead her innocence, shouting how it wasn’t her fault. How it wasn’t her own hands who smashed the skull of the justice driven lawyer with a bat. She wanted someone, anyone to believe it wasn't her. That despite everything, she wasn’t truly to be blamed. Sick, they called her.
In their eyes, she was a manipulative girl who claimed innocence because she was caught — a traitor. ...Or that would be the case, if Damon didn’t know better.
“I know what you’re going to say, and I’m asking you to shut your mouth. You’re so– so annoying. Just go away. Give me some space.” He said, earning him a pout from Diana. Dreams were meant to bring comfort to slumber. If you weren’t given context, you’d assume he was in bliss. I mean, she was here. She always brought a sense of ease to him. The way she just smiled, how she’d give him the unsaid “don’t worry” when he first dreamt of her. The fact that she wasn’t mad made him crazy. Because this...this wasn’t Diana. Not the Diana he knew. Well, technically, he looked just like how they left her. Much to his dismay.
From when the executioners chopped off her hair, each snap closer to her neck, then all to the point where her head got smashed with a huge razor. He was too absorbed in the cruelty of it all that he barely noticed the glance she gave him, right before a pair of scissors stabbed through her chest. Damon could still see the place where her heart should've been; uneven slices were revealed by a twisted circle in it. The memory of the blades cutting her up still haunted his mind. And how could he forget the blood dripping from her head? ...He was glad his dreams didn't show him the chopped up version of her. Diana then let out a small hum.
“You? Telling me to go away? That’s not very like you, Damon! Well, maybe you kinda acted like that a tiny bit when we first met… but that changed, right?” Diana grinned, resting her hands on her lap. She took a moment to breathe in — although that was impossible — given her body. “You’ve changed. And for a good reason.” Damon could only scoff at her words. “Don’t be ridiculous. I haven’t— I didn’t change, or whatever you mean by that.”
With the way he felt the bench shift by a little, he concluded that she was trying to move closer to him. And he was right — she patted his shoulder and continued to blab in his ear.
“You did, you idiot. Come on, you can’t just lie to yourself!” She fussed, sulking a bit as she did so. She continued to inch closer, her voice raising by each second. “The Damon I know wouldn’t just ignore the truth so– so blatantly. He’d face it head on! Just like the– the first trial with Cara… and the thing about Ultimates.” If it weren’t for the pink dripping blood, she would’ve looked normal. Well, if you’re only counting her face. He felt like he already established the horrors which were… the rest of her, honestly.
“...I didn’t change. And you know full well what I mean by that.” She remained silent. Of course she knew why. After all, it wasn’t her who killed Wolfgang, despite all the evidence pointing to her. She knew a little too well.
Noticing her pursed lips, he snickered. “See? You’re just wasting your breath.” Damon rolled his eyes. He then crossed his arms, glancing at her — she seemed out of it. His hands clenched harder, the bristles of the bat scraping his skin. Soon, Diana mumbled.
“I don’t know how you managed to do it.” There was this chilly air between the two of them. Either the weather in this dream — nightmare? — changed because of some altering Tozu did with the air conditioners, or she was starting to loosen up. I mean, ghosts are cold, right? That could explain it. Well, the Diana in front of him could count as a ghost. But then again… He recalled the last time they talked together, one-on-one.
Back when she still shone with the joy unfitting of this killing game. The smell of autumn leaves filled the air, contradicting the sobs the cosmetologist she uttered as she sat on one of the gardens’ benches. Damon let her rest her head against his shoulder, dripping his jacket over her cold body. Diana was cold. She always was, even when she still walked the land of the living. Perhaps her essence was just rubbing on him. In a bad way.
“It was just a plan to lure Tozu out of his little hiding space. You were just the easiest person to use. By making it known that not even the mastermind knows who truly killed Wolfgang, it’ll cause a shake…and a way to fight back without violating the rules.” Damon admitted, fiddling with his jacket. “Being honest with you, it’s jarring as to how trustful you are. You’re a fool.”
Damon heard her let out a giggle — cheerful, ever so bubbly. The very sound of it made his stomach churn, not wanting to listen to the sweet melody.
“A fool. I, I guess that's what I am in your eyes. Always a fool to you.” She started to mumble, chuckling a bit as she pointed her finger towards the debater. “But you're no better than I am. If I'm a fool, you're a lunatic.” She concluded, pointing her index finger up in the air. He gave it some time to process her words.
“… Maybe you're right. I'm literally talking to a dream version of you. Or maybe you're a ghost. Or just... okay, you're definitely a part of this dream.” The debater just wanted to ignore her altogether, but it was impossible. The chilly air only reminded him of her presence. And it's not like he could simply wake up — he tried that once before. To put it in easy terms, it wasn't very effective. “...Oh well, it’s not like I miss you, anyway. The ones who are dead, stay dead.” He said, rather aloof.
“It’s useless to care for someone who’s gone.”
“So you don’t care?” Diana pondered aloud, fixing her hair with her broken comb. With the way she said it, he almost felt bad for her.
“I’m just being real here, ironic as it all is. What’s the point when all that’s left of them is their legacy? And even then, you didn’t really make an impact in the world, Diana.” He began to sigh. Afterwards, he rubbed the back of his neck in annoyance. This was an absolute waste of time in his part. Wait, was time even eligible in this dream world? … There’s no time to dwell on that.
“So…yeah. I don’t miss you.” Damon shrugged, feeling a lump catch his throat for some reason. She squinted her eyes and grinned.
“But isn’t the fact that you still wish of me, you dream of me, to be beside you, belief enough?” Her hands clasped together, as she tilted her head to smile. It was lovely. She was lovely. Yet her eyes remained devoid of love; a shell for his petty guilt. Replacement for all his wrongs.
It's possible it was the lighting, but he was positive he saw tears well up in her eyes.
“Or maybe it's because you keep saying that I'm only a shadow of your mistakes, but you still reach out for my hand. Even when you were tired, and even when you wanted to leave all of us alone. You still hope someone will be beside you. Someone wants you. Unfortunate, is it not?” The cosmetologist started to heave, as if she had ran a marathon. Hearing her tell him this, as if she knew everything about him — it burned. Burned his skin; his heart; his soul.
“I remember when I first talked to you after the…the incident with Cara.” Diana started to speak in a whispery tone. “You and Wolfgang had an argument, I think. He kept going on and on about how we can still ‘get up and fight against Tozu and Mara!’ as he would say. Then I think– you just snapped?” Her hands rested on her chin as she tried to recall the events.
“Going back up the elevator was awkward. People were just staring at the both of you and… It was weird. Eva was with Wenona for some reason, but you were just alone.” She paused for a moment. “It was hard seeing you in such a spot. But I guess you like that. Avoiding others, I mean. Even though your hands were trembling.” Damon shuddered when the icy breeze struck the both of them. He listened to her murmur about whatever was on her mind. He never noticed how his hands trembled whenever he grew frustrated. She always watched. She always noticed. Always.
'What the hell am I doing?' he told himself. He was listening to the thoughts of some dream Diana; this was his idealized portrayal of her. It felt dehumanizing. He was literally listening to some fake.
Back then, he did listen; he wished he listened some more. Maybe then, his assumptions of who she is, and her ramblings now would be– no, who she was as a person would feel more real to him. Her voice, now stuttering, cracked.
“You’ve always tried to distance yourself from others, and now you’re doing it to me? Was our friendship nothing to you? Am I nothing to you?” She then paused. “Who…who am I kidding. You answered this already. All I am is a fool, no? A rag doll for you to toss around. I’m just something you can discard, is that what you think of me? Maybe that’s why you framed me for the murder–”
“Stop.” His throat tightened as he spoke. “Don’t– don’t say that. Please.”
“Don’t say it like I wanted it to happen.”
There was silence between the two of them. Underneath the artificial starry sky, he could hear the flickering lights of fireflies — they radiate warmth. Just like how she used to smile at him as he told her his problems. Just like how her hugs always seemed to melt him, giving him belief that his voice didn’t fall under deaf hers. Just like everything.
Just like her.
It made him sick.
“Now, what's gotten into you—” He stopped her before she could finish her question.
“… You keep giving me that sick smile. And– and I hate it. You’re always so happy, even now. You’re supposed to be gone. Dead. So how can you still manage to make my worries fade away? Why do you care? Come on, telll me. God– Stop smiling and answer me, Diana. Answer me. Please.” He felt so tired. So fucking tired. In return, she said in a soft, gentle voice:
… “Isn't it obvious?”
“You miss me, Damon.”
He felt his lungs inhale sharply.
“You said I didn’t make an impact on the world,” She continued, waving her pale arms around. The blood from her head pooled downwards. “And yes, I guess that’s true. I mean, all I ever did was style a few celebrities and become a Hollywood stylist, right? It’s not like I saved the world, or built grand buildings… In your terms, I'm a failure.”
Shifting, she stood up and faced him, whereas the debater looked away to the shrubs and bushes to his right. If this were any normal circumstance, what she said would be deemed ridiculous. Even as they grew closer over time, or when Damon started to find comfort in her presence; saying that he would ever miss her would be weird. Yes, she was always there for him. And yes, she may have supported him — albeit indirectly, but miss? Damon? Missing her? He could only scoff at the thought.
“Admit it. You're scared. You're worried. And for the first time, you truly feel alone.” His eyes twitched as she bended closer, reaching his head level. Noticing his unease, she mused.
“Hm. Look at you now... avoiding me again.” Diana giggled. She then moved her hands, cupping his face to garner his attention. The contrast with her coldness and his warmth was daunting, to say the least. He forced himself to look at her. “... You're a hypocrite. You love to correct others with their mistakes, but when it's directed to you, you fumble. Down, down, and down. All the way to the bottom. And you have no intention of getting back up, in fear of the mockery that comes along with it.”
Damon could hear her snort.
It was pathetic, how she could read him like a book. Both the real and dream versions were really good at reading people. Sometimes, even better than him. He wondered if she ever caught wind of his soft cries, or if she ever saw the sleeping pills he took from the infirmary.
Her lips then pursed. “It's sad.”
Once she fell quiet, he only stared at her. Staring, staring, and staring. The dried tears on her face from when she was executed reminded him of the times she'd stumble whenever they were alone. The first time they actually talked: he had walked into her choking out sobs in the basement. He didn't know why she was there, or why she was crying, but he decided to lend a bit of comfort. Or as much comfort he could give. And as much as he wished to deny, her words gave the same feeling of comfort.
“... I'm sorry.” He mumbled. Out of instinct, he got up and pulled her in a hug. The place where Diana's heart was supposed to be laid bare, while his whole being pulsed. He hated how she made him feel this. He wanted this to stop.
She hummed a small tune, a song she always played during nights like these.
“I know you are.” It was… nostalgic. He missed times like these, when he could forget everything that ever happened. No more killings, no more plotting against one another. Only the two of them in the garden.
“Please don't forgive me.” Damon managed to stutter out, burying his head on her shoulder. "Give me more reasons to hate myself."
“I can't promise that, Damon. You know why.” Diana said. He tried to hear her heartbeat, but there was nothing. Void. He forgot of the gaping hole. Thinking about it made him puke inside.
Pursing his lips, he mumbled a few words of apologies.
“Then can we stay here for a while?” He whispered as he held onto her tightly.
Her response was a smile; a longer embrace.
He wished he could rest easy, without her.
Fate was too cruel to the mind.