"maybe we can head to the apocalypse again as a little vacation. you know what they say... paradise!"
"i cannot express to you how little i would like to do that."
"stingy fucker."
IN WHICH vincent leblanc, resident french asshole and externally...
( nobodys safe from the end, not you, not me, not anybody )
chapter twenty-six!
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THE INSIDE OF VINCENT'S HEAD WAS BAFFLINGLY CRUEL. It was a harsh space present to Vincent and Vincent only that had nothing better to do than tear him down until he was essentially nothing but a sad ghost watching his own life play out. Vincent felt disconnected from the inside of his head. He felt like it was a whole different person sometimes. It eased him to have a conscience yes, but it also controlled every waking moment of his life. It held him up by the throat and squeezed until Vincent was too afraid to fight back.
Really, Vincent didn't know what was going on with him anymore.
Not that he ever did, anyway. Vincent had been a trespasser in his own life all the damned years he'd been alive; though this feeling of confusion scared him beyond anything he'd ever encountered. To be separated from the very thing that is supposed to make up his life was bewildering and terrible and made Vincent feel dizzy to think about.
Sometimes he thought that his actions weren't always his own. He'd killed all those people while he was a hitman for the Commission and most times- with the ones Vincent remembered, at least- he had felt nothing. There were times, of course, when Vincent felt guilty and horrible because most of the people he offed weren't exactly deserving of their death sentence. Though there were also times when Vincent shot his gun in the back of someone's head and didn't even begin to think about a feeling of guilt. He felt good sometimes after, exhilarated. It was a bad thing, but sometimes people are the best at bad things. Maybe Vincent was destined for bad things.
Vincent never felt disconnected when he was with Five Hargreeves. Never once did he feel like his mind wasn't on fire with the boy, screaming and screaming at him to fucking do something useful and impress the boy he felt so strongly for. He felt real and awake when he was with Five. He felt like he could breathe clearly. He felt like he was alive.
But the knowledge of Five's carelessness toward Vincent was truly disheartening. It made Vincent want to slam Five's face against the wall and scream at him that he had done so much for him, god dammit! Vincent had thrown out everything he'd known for Five, and Five had paid him back in a few measly kisses that he would likely never bring up again and the Commissions plans to kill Vincent hanging over his head. Five had done virtually nothing for Vincent except send him into a long line of turmoil, and Vincent couldn't believe he was only now realizing.
That dickhead with his pretty face had sent Vincent face-first into something horrible, and there would be no one to catch him. Vincent just hoped to God that Five wouldn't kick him when he was down.
Now Vincent had to act casually and walk beside Five with Klaus and Diego a few feet behind them to some bar where Luther was cooped up, and try his hardest not to blurt out to Five the pressing question of it all which was, "why the fuck did you kiss me back?" Five was limping a bit, and Vincent wanted to make a joke so bad. But he was supposed to be annoyed with Five, and he would stick with that.
