My Dirty Little Secret

|Secret Thirteen: Love the Flames|

Vincent looked at the matchbox in his hand. He took a match out and lit it, watching as the flame burned the stick. He had always been in love with the fire, always loved it too much. He would often light a candle, just to watch as it melted from the heat. He would stare at the flame as it danced, and wish that they could become one. If you'd asked him why, he wouldn't know the answer, it was probably just in his blood to die by fire. He'd imagined it many a time. 

The match burnt out before ever reaching his skin, so he lit another one and another one, until half of his matches were gone. If he ever died, he wished fire would consume him. He wanted flames to destroy his body, so that it would be like he never was. His ashes would spread out, soak themselves into the ground, and become one with the earth. Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Vincent Phantomhive would be nonexistent. 

The day in which Rachel had decided to come, was the day in which Vincent had planned to take his life. He often thought about it, but that day was the one he'd almost succeeded. The reason he was so shocked that Ciel had come home, was because he thought Ciel must have known, instinctively. Much to his surprise, it was for another reason, because his ex-wife planned a surprise visit.

He never enjoyed the idea of jumping off bridges, or slitting his wrists, it was always the fire that seduced him. He had planned to set the manor to flames, placing the two rings in a box far from the wreckage, so Ciel would at least have something of him left. The fire would burn so long and so hot. He would disappear. That's all he wanted. 

Tonight he had reached another low point, and was half tempted to try again, but each time he lit a match, Ciel's face would pop up into his brain, reminding him that he couldn't die yet. Vincent sighed, a life living like this wasn't work living. He would battle with this two sided version of himself. The side that stayed positive, and the side that was realistic. The things that he had told Ciel, over and over again, were they actually just things that he wanted to hear?

He continued to do this, to sit there, at the kitchen table, and light matches. He would continue to watch them burn and wish he himself was the stick. Would Ciel survive without him? He often wondered that, sometimes it would seem, that he had caused half the misery that his son lived through. Would it be better if he wasn't there?

No, that's stupid, he shook his head trying to clear away those thoughts. Ciel would only hate more if Vincent lost his life, it wouldn't help him in the end. Sure, he might end up living with Madame Red, and being well off, but he wouldn't be happy...was he even happy now?

Staying alone with your thoughts is the worst thing to do to yourself, for you walk endlessly in a circle, trying to figure out which way is right, which choice is correct. To live? Or to die? Often times you find that neither choice is correct. Choices are just choices and life is full of them. It doesn't matter what you choose, in the grand scheme of things. That's what Vincent believed. That's the conclusion he reached. 

Vincent looked at his cheap watch, Ciel wouldn't be home for a few more hours. He looked at the matchbox, there was only one match left. It stared at him, like the single bullet in a gun. Russian roulette, was luck on his side? Well, what was lucky for him? The death, or the life? 

The father walked outside his manor, he would get some fresh air, to think more clearly, since he obviously wasn't thinking well now. Breathing in the crisp air as he walked, he blew air out of his mouth to see his breath. He loved this weather, it complimented the flames well. Humid heat was terrible, but dry heat, was wonderful.

Vincent was oblivious to the world around him, and bumped into someone on his journey. No one should be out, people rarely were in this neighborhood. Looking up at the person, it just so happened to be The Undertaker, probably on his way to see him. He placed the matchbox in his pocket, but it was too late, he had already seen it.