Could It Be That We Have Been This Way Before

The surprise was evident in Vito's voice as he began to speak. "Redhead...?" This just threw her mind into even more cartwheels of frustration. She was probably not even recognizable, and she hated it. You could always tell the short girl by the confident stride, the don't-mess-with-me attitude, the strength she always carried herself with.

He asked her to open her eyes, and his soft, almost comforting words made her want too. But she could not, she could not prove to him that she was breaking, that she was hurting, that she was not as untouchable as she liked to pretend she was. She could not show him the tears that were building behind her eyelid barriers. “For the same reason I can’t hurt you… you got too curious, and you got too close…”

She felt his hand squeeze her shoulder, and for a moment, her shoulders tensed and her first instinct was to pull away. It was always that way. Any sort of comfort, any sort of acknowledgment that she was not as tough as the thought she was, her first thought was to withdraw and run for the hills without a backwards glance. But now, she knew it was stupid to hold onto the notions that she had that choice. She relaxed slowly.

“-and now you’ve hit a wall, because you’ve spent too much time bickering with me… too much time trying to figure out how I tick and now you care." She sniffed and nodded, knowing there was truth behind the words, and knowing he must understand it too... There was no other way he could so correctly describe how she was feeling.

She felt his hand leave her shoulder and her reddened eyes opened. As he walked away, she ran hand over her eyes to clear them and she tapped her nose, trying to pull herself together the best she could. He set something on the bed and she walked forward, curious to say the least, though her expression was still one of lost frustration and sadness. She walked to the other side of the bed.

Hate potions... Her eyes stared down at the bottles and then she slowly turned her eyes to look up at him, before they went back down to the vials... She stumbled back and shook her head. "No."

It would have seemed that the simple little hate potions could save her, inspire the feelings she had wished would have come to her more easily... But when presented with such a solution, it frustrated her, made her frightened. She did not have much. She did not have friends anymore. She was never overly spectacular. She had no family that she knew would always stick by her. But she had her curse. The curse that would not allow her to hate Vito. It had always hurt her, frustrated her, upset her, angered her... But the key word was always. It had always been there.

She figured it out. She could not hate Vito because she simply could not. There was not some principle or law of nature or physics that prevented her from hating him. It was not a psychological complex, nor a philosophical conundrum. It was the simple fact that she did not want to. She had enough turmoil surrounding the people who had cared about her one time or another. She did not need to hate the only last constant person in her life.

She shook her head, taking another step back and crossing her arms defensively. In a soft, yet firm voice, she said, "N-no. I don't think... I don't want that. I don't need to hate anyone. I prefer my own thoughts and emotions... Maybe I should get home." She had never before proposed she leave. She was usually the one that got sent away. The times she did leave, she stormed away, almost dismissing Vito in a sense. Now, it was different. She did not know what to do.

It had been as if Vito had offered to gather up all of Jack’s problems or more like, all of his own, within his palms to crush them within his fists and sprinkle them about as if they we ashes of a person no one would ever miss upon the floor- and yet she had denied the opportunity without giving it a thought, as if it took nothing but a blink of her eyes to make such an important decision for herself Vito. Naturally- or, perhaps not so naturally; he had, after all, had quite a fair amount of the strong wine which he had confiscated from Jack- Vito was angered by this; he had offered her an easy way out and she had decided to deny him of the satisfaction that having her hate him would certainly have brought him.

With a quick movement of his uninjured hand, Vito swept open the mysterious metal box, which appeared as if it could survive a war, and yet he treated it as if it would break at his touch, “You want to hate me… you want it so terribly”- the poltergeist reached inside the box, his hand disappearing from view momentarily, the sound of small glass tinkling ringing through the silent air, disturbing the few seconds of silence as Vito paused to read the labels upon each rectangular vial, for he had never been quite skilled at identifying potions- “and yet, when I provide you with a method to do just that, after all this time, you deny it?” Vito spoke, the volume of his voice rising slowly as he continued. His eyes strayed from the potion which he had selected with steady fingertips, drawing it closer to his chest as he examined the expression upon Jack Dyllan’s face.

She appeared nervous, and Vito was positive he himself appeared irradiated.

“Why?” He hissed, clutching the delicate vial in his hands, “Is it because it isn’t as fun anymore when I’m not suffering? Or perhaps your decision has something to do with the fact that I’m all you have left, and you wouldn’t be able to keep me for long if you detested me,” Vito continued to list off his assumptions, his tone of voice making it quite clear that he expected at least one of them to be correct- but then again, it was not a rare thing for Vito Dee Symons to expect excellence from himself.

“Maybe I should get home,” her voice was quiet, though Vito could still hear an edge of strength to it- the one thing about the young female’s voice that he didn’t find highly irritating- however, despite this recognizable aspect which he had found, Vito couldn’t seem to believe what he had heard; never before had Jack suggested in such a way that it was her time to depart, “What?” he asked, confirming his confusion. Both of his perfectly plucked, dark brown eyebrows shot upward, arching in a way that made his eyes appear much different than usual; they didn’t appear as squinted, and revealed much more of the brown within his irises than could have ever been seen before.

It was a simple question, really, but it seemed to be the only one he could force out of his mouth after having heard such a thing from Jack. It didn’t make sense; Vito had been supplied with pieces belonging to two different puzzles and was thus unable to fit them together to form an entire picture. He had watched Jack Dyllan- defiance personified –crumble before his very eyes, farther than ever before, and had managed to make sense of it- and yet, this, this was straying from the lines that Vito and Jack always seemed to fallow when they interacted; lines made out of a magnetic metal that had a pull against the two, pushing and shoving them in certain directions in order to make sure that they did as they were supposed to whenever they met up.

Jack had pulled herself from the magnetic railroad tracks and had lost her way, and Vito had no other choice but to continue onward down the line, glancing backwards in hopes of catching a glance at the redheaded female who had managed to escape. He parted his lips slowly, but rather than speaking, he extended his arm, presenting Jack with a small rectangular vial filled to the cap with a strange, black-as-tar substance.

Jack could see the growing anger and confusion on Vito's face and she knew that he did not understand why she did not want to take the easy way out. She never had been one to do so, and she was not going to start now. And she now had her reasons, and she was determined not to leave them... It was strange... From her weakness, strength was rising...

He said that she wanted to hate him and she shook her head, wincing as she closed her eyes, hating to admit she was wrong. "I didn't know what I wanted. I don't want that. I was just being weak, I-" She broke off unable to continue, because she did not know how to. Hogwarts did not teach you this sort of stuff, neither did any of the books she read, or the video games she played. Nothing taught you had to deal with this sort of situation.

He hissed a single question- why? She remembered a time when she had screamed the question at him, asking why he had to put her through such hell, and she wondered if he was feeling the same somehow, the same confused hurt, edged and disguised by anger, the frustration breaking through. For two people who did not like to consider emotions, they certainly had similar ones...

He asked if it had been to hurt him. She shook her head, saying, "I don't want you to suffer." She suddenly realized how different this conversation would have been if she had been the Jack she had been at the beginning of the summer. Then again, that Jack would never be having this conversation. She was not even sure who that Jack was.

He asked if it was because she had realized she had no one else but him and she could not tag along with him if she hated him. She began to shake her head and open her mouth, but she hesitated and then closed her mouth. Perhaps that was part of it. Fear of being completely alone. She had felt alone before, but if she hated Vito... then who would she have? In a quiet voice she said, "Maybe."

He was surprised that she had asked to leave, but most of his anger disappeared and a strange expression entered his eyes, making him look shockingly... tame. He had always had this glint that made it obvious he was not human, but now he looked like any old harmless wizard... Jack stopped and bit her lip, not sure what to do. He held out the bottle and she shook her head. "I don't want it." She would not even take it. She wanted him to know, very clearly, that she did not plan on hating him. "I don't want to hate you, you... You were right. I-" She paused and then forced herself to tell the truth. "I care to much. And sometimes it hurts but... I'd take that over hate any day."

Once more, she denied the potion that Vito had offered her, though she had managed to provide him with a bit more of an answer the second time around- one that left him feeling as if he should have spiked her drink with the potion an hour ago, rather than given her a choice; she spoke of emotions that he greatly disliked, emotions which he wished to make certain she never felt towards him again- it was always the same.

Nothing ever changed, and if it, Vito clung to what he had once had before, and lit on fire whatever addition to the average displeased him.

“You care? Funny, I remember saying that just a moment ago…” for a moment it seemed as if his sarcasm had been forced from his lips- as if he had been unable to spit from his mouth the usual degrading remark; perhaps he was honestly stuck on the fact that he had just spoken those very words and that Jack had felt that they would somehow have more of an impact- bang bang, my baby shot me down – if she were to speak them for herself. Funny? Had he said that he found it amusing? No- no he didn’t find it amusing in the slightest, rather, he was puzzled by it, and therefore, quite frustrated.

“You care…” Vito scoffed, his eyes drifting away from Jack’s until they met up with the bottle within his hand, the black color of the potion making it appear as if the glass that the flask was made of had been painted black, when it was, in fact, transparent- and yet, Vito could still see one of his brown eyes reflected off of the small thing; the smallest portable mirror known to mankind poltergeist…kind. It hadn’t been until that moment that he had noticed the expression held within his normally, catlike eyes; they appeared average, and quite dull in his opinion- which instantly set off hundreds of the loudest alarms within Vito’s head; insecurities ringing throughout, taking over all other thoughts.

“That’s not right.” It was a simple statement, but something about it seemed important, or worth jotting down, simply due to the tone in which Vito had said it. Perhaps he assumed that he could make up for the imperfection that he had found in his eyes by amplifying the usual appeal of his tone of voice to the human ears, and to his own.

Vito slid his fingers over his reflection, breaking contact between his eyes and the clone of his right eye, which he had had so much trouble looking away from- oh the eye-rony. He brought his eyebrows downward in a rather robotic way- as if his facial features were being rearranged- and slowly narrowed his eyes so that the corners of each made him look like the panther he was always comparing himself to. “Eh…” Vito muttered under his breath in a way that sounded quite similar to an expression of pain; seeing himself in such a state had certainly brought on pain, but it hadn’t been the sort that would show up during any medical test.

"A scared, broken man, not sure what is going to happen to him, so he has to resort to trying to bring the only person who ever bothered to try to care down to his level, and now that he has, he is ever more terrified, because who is going to pull him up now?"

Another glanced at the black vial of doom, and Vito was sure that he would be rid of the temptation that he had begun to feel to swallow the entire bottle- it would, after all, provide the emotions necessary in order for him to turn around, grab hold of that bottle of wine, raise it above her head . . .

and like a electric bill forgotten, Vito flickered rapidly where he stood, creating the illusion that he was fading from existence completely- something that he had experienced once too many in his ‘lifetime’. “Why wont you just…?” It was only moments after this half-question when Vito vanished from sight completely, the only noise to give away his presence being each breath he drew in, which sounded as shallow as always... that and the soft tink! of the class vial being dropped back inside its metal home after he had made his way back over to his bed on the farther side of the room.

Jack stared at him, remaining unflinching beneath his sarcasm and his strange expression, though she did fell a sort of chill run across her again, and she pulled at the coat around her as casually as she could, though in a situation like this nothing was casual, every move seemed calculated and deliberate. He repeated the phrase- you care- and she nodded, though she did not say anything more.

She was not sure why she had allowed herself to say it- it had basically become a known fact, Vito had already said it after all. But she had felt the need to confirm it, as though she was making herself accountable. She could not deny it later, she had said it herself. It was not just Vito's delusions. It was her own knowledge.

For a long moment, he stared at the bottle and her heart thudded against her ribcage as her mind reeled, trying to predict his next move. He was bout to drink it, her worst feelings told her that, and then she would be alone in a room with a dangerous, hate-filled poltergeist. There would be nothing to stop him from killing her or harming her. And she would have just pledged her care for someone who wanted nothing more than to snub her existence from the earth...

He let out a soft, pained sort of noise and her eyebrows twitched, her eyes scanning his as she tried to discover the source. He began to fade out and she opened her mouth to say something- well anything, though what she still had not thought up yet. She was broken off by his own question. Why won't you just-

And he disappeared. She could hear the sounds of his moving and the silence seemed to amplify these noises, and the sounds of her breathing and her pounding heart. She paused her thinking and concentrated on calming down. She felt the tension release from her shoulders, her arms and hands loosened, her breathing returned to normal, her heart lessened its intensity.

She slowly took a step forward and she heard a clink, making her turn her attention towards the metal box- he had returned the vial. As relief swept over her, a gracious expression flickered onto her face, a grim smile forming. She continued forward a few steps, her eyes searching the air near the box and she said in a cautious voice, "Why won't I what?"

Another soft thud fallowed after the noises of Vito’s expensive shoes tapping softly against his bedroom floor when he had made his way back over to his bed, and the quiet sound of him dropping the vial back inside the box which he had produced it from, indicating that he had had his ‘fun’ with the thing, and that he didn’t plan to do any more with it- or, at least, for the time being. Only the noises that his motions made gave away the position of the transparent poltergiest as he slowly dropped the metal box back into the drawer within his bedside table- the crane within a toy claw machine, cautiously maneuvering the prize within its clutches in order to make sure it made it into just… the right… spot…

“You never know when extra potions will come in handy,” Vito commented, almost in a threatening way before shoving the wooden drawer shut, causing the table to rock slowly back-and-forth as if an earthquake had struck. It was rather amusing how gently Vito handled the belongings that he cared for, and how roughly he treated everything else that he owned that he knew could be replaced within an instant.

This was yet another side effect of having earned enough money to sit pretty for the rest of one’s life- or for as long as Vito had left in London, which was his lifetime as far as he was concerned.

Vito turned from the wood table before him on his heal to fall softly upon his back atop his bed, closing his eyes immediately upon his head coming in contact with the soft fabric of the many pillows that lay about the large thing- many of which ended up on the floor by the morning whenever he slept there. It had taken no time at all for Vito to learn the ways of the upper-class; the main goal of those with money was to appeal to the eyes of the onlookers, anything else was irrelevant- such as achieving perfection appearance-wise; things that came naturally to narcissists like Vito.

However, lesser beings had begun to mingle with people like Vito- lesser beings with curly, untamable red hair, a short stature, and an extremely agitating tone of voice. These lesser beings- or, one specific, lesser being -had thrown things off balance, and because of this, Vito found himself frequently attempting to re-collect his thoughts, and to make right the pace at which his heart was beating.

It was during this calming ritual that Jack spoke up once more, reminding Vito of a half-question that he had asked merely to forget about it seconds after it had left his mouth, "Why won't I what?"- Vito assumed that the part that he himself had spoken, had been the first half, and therefore, it was after that point when he stopped listening to her, deciding that it would sound much better coming from his own lips, “Why wont you…?”

There was momentary silence; he had asked that question when he had been torn between drinking the entire bottle of hate potion, and simply storing it away for another occasion- not to mention the pain that he had suffered from due to the incident with the imperfection which he had found in his eyes… so what was he to do with such a question now that he had calmed himself somewhat? Now that his heart was no longer kick-boxing with his ribcage? “Why won’t you… hand me that bottle of wine over there?” he asked without putting nearly as much effort as he would have had it meant as much to him as he was sure it had moments ago, when he had had that vial within his fingertips…

Oh what a beautiful black it was, and he was sure that it would taste wonderfully upon his tongue- after all, it was hate that he had thrived off of for so very long, what else could help him at his time of need?

Jack watched as the vial slipped back into the case, and relief flooded her. The metal case closed and was pushed into the drawer, which rocked afterwards as though still unsettled by having been treated with such disrespect. She waited, feeling as though she could not breathe, even though the threat she had been most uneasy with- the vial- was gone.

But now she had another thoroughly pissed off threat to deal with, one which she could not see and, now matter how good she had become at doing so, one she could not predict. She found it strange and almost amusing how she had been the one breaking down downstairs and he had been the calm one. How had the simple changing of locations changed that?

Of course, there had been some sort of shift, there was more than location that had affected the conditions. Her unease had grown and transformed into frustration, as did his own confusion become frustration, which was almost synonymous with anger when it came to Vito. So perhaps it was not as crazy and unbelieveable as she had originally thought.

Then again, her name may as well have been Crazy, and he would have been a fitting Unbelievable.

She heard a thud and saw the bed tremor slightly, and she turned her attention to it, looking towards the place on the pillows where they looked shrunken in, presumably under the weight of Vito's head. She heard him repeat his half question, and then he tentatively finished it, saying something she knew had not been his original question. Originally, she would have been irked by this, but she decided to leave it be. Chances were, she did not want to know.

She went and retrieved the wine which had been long forgotten. She knew that Vito drank wine as a cure for everything he could not handle, and right now, she was all for aiding him finding that cure. She was in turmoil, and she assumed he was. Might as well knock one of those out of the equation. They needn't both feel terrible.

She went very and sat on the bed, towards the head of it and pushed the bottle along the covers until she felt it bump an invisible man, and she leaned it against him, before turning and pulling her knees up, crossing her legs, reaching out to maintain the bottle's balance. Once she was settled, she released the bottle and stared down at her knees and her shoes. Her shoes lacked the usual mud, having fallen off when she had been dancing, and when she had made her journey upstairs, clomping up the stairs. She sighed, no words coming to mind, so she silently stared down at her knees, as though she could find the answers in the patterns of her pajama bottoms.

The bottle of alcohol had been gently set upon the surface of the mattress and had fallen over slowly until the neck of the meaningless, yet oh-so-important thing was held perfectly within Vito’s palm- as if Jack had been able to locate his fingers despite his state of transparency. A bit of curiosity sparked beneath Vito’s chest, dancing about his slow-thudding heart like a spark leaping from a fire. He peeled his eyelids open slowly and he began to examine the facial expression of the female before him, who he had grown so very familiar with- so very used to having her at his side, or trailing behind him like a lost pup. Without really having a say in the matter, Vito always expected Jack to be there when he turned his head to look behind himself; she had made it with that way, she had made it that way with the help of time and many conversations.

It was as the poltergiest was tracing a strand of Jack’s wild, red hair with his darkly colored eyes, when he realized that, had he given in to his impulse to drink the hate potion that he had offered her- had she taken the potion herself- he would no longer see her stumbling along behind him whenever he glanced over his shoulder. All that he would have been left with, would have been what ever was left of his memory- which he had damaged and cracked in many placed with the many toxins that he filled his body to the brim with each evening in order to drown his sarrows.

Part of him, he knew, would rejoice if he finally got the opportunity to watch her fall to the ground, the life gone from her eyes- but there was that other half, that one that had caused him to feel like he had won a great prize when Jack had chosen to follow him home rather than those friends of hers... that other half of him that he louthed so very much, that would have lost his mind while trying to figure out why he had killed the only person who had shown true interest.

Her eyes were focused upon the winkled clothes that she had chosen to wear to the party earlyer that evening- the cause of all the drama, though Vito was sure it would have unfolded the very same way no matter where they'd been, it had only been a matter of time- and for whatever reason, Vito felt as if he were suppose to say something; perhaps the moment of silence was too much for the twisted man to handle, “Some things never change at all,” he had intended his words to sound wise, as if to recover what he had tore down when he had crumbled only moments prior, but it came out sounding bitter, as if he were cursing the world, and he were suggesting that he and Jack were the only people who would understand such words.

With a faint noise, the wine bottle was opened- what had happened to the last, opened bottle of wine, Vito really didn’t care, for he would most likely find it in the morning and put it into use against the hangover he’d have. He brought the lips of the bottle to his own lips; a kiss much more satisfying than anything the Dementores could ever offer him, being as soulless as he already was. A sigh came from the pillow, which had slightly sunken in due to the weight of Vito’s transparent head resting upon its fluffiness, “Show me the way to the next whisky bar. Oh, don't ask why. Oh, don't ask why,” Vito sung in a way that almost sounded as if he had found a way to speak in that low, lazy voice of his while humming, but it was as if he were unwinding with each word he sung aloud, “For if we don't find the next whisky bar, I tell you we must die. I tell you we must die.”

“There is a song that is always stuck in my head whenever I get myself drunk. It’s a drinking song actually, but the fact that it is always the same song is rather amusing,” Vito told her, adjusting his hold around her waist before pushing the back door of the club open and stepping inside.

Jack sat in the silence, not comfortable in it, but not wanting to break it either. The silence meant no arguing, no hate potions, no fighting, no confusion, no unwilling exchange of secrets, no outside world, no interruptions. She could forget about the night by there being no words to remind her of it. Perhaps if they were quiet enough, she could think that time had frozen.

Vito spoke, saying Some things never change all. She glanced at him, or rather where she thought he was, for he had not yet reappeared. She nodded, "Seriously." She and him would always be trying to top each other. Her parents would always whine at her, her classmates would always think her crass, and she and Andrew and Chase would never fully trust each other. Those things would not change, and crazy as it was... It was a comfort.

She heard a faint, familiar strain reach her ears. Show me the way to the next whiskey bar. She smiled and, still facing forward, chanted with him, "Oh don't ask why, oh don't ask why. For if we don;t find the next whiskey bar, I tell you we must die. I tell you we must die." A chuckle escaped her lips and she turned to look at him.

She glanced back at the empty bed, a sunken impression where Vito was obviously still laying, transparent and invisible to the human eye. Why had he not reappeared yet? She could not imagine why vain Vito would not want to be seen... And it made her wonder, and she immediately felt as though she was missing something important. She needed to see his expression-

She turned so that she was facing him. She could vaguely tell where he was because of his sunken pillow and where the wine bottle was held... With some imagination, she could almost see where he was. She reached out and her hand fastened around his wrist, her eyes darting towards the pillow. In a soft, different voice she said, "I... I can't see you." It was a statement of the obvious, but it was also obvious that she was asking him to reappear.

There was something wrong, Vito could tell that much- but then again, something was always wrong; nothing would stay as it was supposed to be long enough for Vito to enjoy himself. This realization had dawned on him the moment Jack’s smooth-skinned fingers had come in contact with his left wrist, which had been lying limp upon his pillow moments before. There was an obvious temperature difference between Jack’s body and his own. Her flesh was warm to touch, whereas, his was chilled to the bone- That skin does not belong to you, thief! It’ll rot some day; death always rots- causing his entire body to ache on a constant basis. And yet, upon that small patch of skin that clung to the bones of his wrist, Vito could feel… warmth; a warmth that was slowly creeping down his arm like spilled wine crawling across the carpet and seeping beneath it’s patterns, which were the tangled blue veins scattered about Vito’s arm in his case.

Vito bit down as hard as his jaw would obey, digging his pearly white teeth into his alcohol-stained snake-tongue, and dragged his eyes slowly downward towards the wrist that Jack had curled her fingers around. A part of him expected to see- or, not to see, his arm resting there at his side, and yet, it had still come to him as a shock when he had found no such fleshy limb in sight.

It had happened before; he’d found himself to be invisible without having commanded himself to be that way several times before, but during those times, he had been just as frightened. Nothing could prepare a poltergeist for such a shock; it was just as terribly startling as it would be for a human to experience the transparency of their entire body. There was no adjusting to such a life, and though Vito had come to accept this fact long before, it still took quite a bit of restraint to keep a frightened yelp from escaping his quivering lips, which a small droplet of crimson blood had begun crawling upon, having escaped from within.

He had not noticed how terribly painful the action of gnawing at his tongue had been until he had felt the small liquid slip from his mouth and continue onward to the unblemished skin of his chin. “Mmm”- he could not prevent the pained sound from leaping from his wounded tongue, nor could he stop himself from bringing his hand- the hand which did not belong to his currently occupied wrist- upward and brushed the blood from his face.

It was then when he decided to speak for the first time since he had sung carelessly of Whiskey and death, “I can’t shift back.” The voice in which he spoke such frightening- to himself, such words were petrifying, and as painful to him as a switchblade being slid beneath the skin of his skull, slowly pealing back flesh from bone- made him proud of his own strength. In fact, he could not remember the last time he had felt so confident, which was rather ironic, for he had broken down, and was, at that moment, forced to use every ounce of restraint in him in order to keep himself from clinging to Jack; for some reason, he felt as though he could anchor himself down where he was as long as he had good hold of Jack.

There was not a flicker of an image of the great Vito Dee Symons, nor was there another sound from his lips, for he knew his voice would betray just how frightened he really was, even if he had managed to keep all signs of such emotions out of the sentence he had spoken last.