6-29-2001

This is a prequel (Sequel?) To "Walk On". It took me awhile to get it out, since I was utterly burnt out. Anyways, uh, enjoy?
I Want to Paint it Black By Jim Morrison.
Disclaimers: Don't own, Don't sue. I give the owners of GW money!
Paint it Black belongs to the Rolling Stones.
Warning: Suicide attempt, Drug and alcohol abuse, unstable Heero. OCC?
Pairings: 1+2
Notes: Pseudo, quasi,semi autobiographical. Heero's thoughts are sort of odd and if they seem OCC, it's because I wanted to show how much he has fallen apart.

 

I Want to Paint it Black.

Trowa is angry. Well, as angry as us emotionless pricks can get, that is. I close my eyes and grit my teeth at the pain of getting my cuts swabbed yet again. That's why he's angry. He's been tending my wounds every time I go out, get completely wasted, start a fight in a seedy bar and drag my sorry, hung-over ass back home to a worried Duo. Trowa is sympathetic in his own way, Quatre is always worried, since he thinks that he has failed in helping me in some way and Wu-fei only snorts and shakes his head at me. I don't care. It's a release of sorts.

I can't find it any other way than through pain. I live my ordinary life and I feel that every day, a piece of me has been lost. That layer upon layer of self has been rubbed so thin that all that remains is a thing shell that isn't strong enough to shelter the core of my being. That in turn, is keeping me from actually wanting to live so that I can protect the small part of me that is left.

"Dammit, Yuy. Did you fall on broken glass again?" Trowa asks as he carefully picks out a couple of shards out of my shoulders and deposits them in the rubbish bin beside the bed that he and Quatre share. I sigh and turn my head towards the window. Nice day. I hate nice days.

Nice days remind me of what I could have been. What I could have done. But that is all lost now. If I hadn't been found by Odin Lowe. If there hadn't been a war. But there is no sense in dwelling on that now. I fought. Odin died. I gained a measure of humanity in Duo and the other pilots that became my surrogate family. But I still wonder what happened to the little boy that was murdered for the sake of saving the world. I bite my lip. <Won't cry.>

"Yeah. The bastard caught me with a pool cue on the side of my head." I reply.

"Aa." He says as he as he gives my shoulders another wipe with the cloth. "Sit up." I do as he says and he quickly wraps the lengths of gauze and linen round my shoulders and upper back. I sigh when he's done. I guess I can't wear a tank top for a while, unless I want to see the look of utter hurt and betrayal on Duo's face once he sees the bandages covering my recent wounds.

"Here." Trowa says as he hands me a long-sleeved shirt. I put it on without saying anything, only wincing briefly as the cuts protest my movements. I get off the bed and nod to Trowa before I turn to leave. I have just reached the door when he speaks again.

"Why do you do it, Heero? Why do you keep searching for your death?" He asks in a soft voice.

I don't turn around. But I don't move either. His questions have no answers that I can readily put to words. All I know is that I'm running desperate and scared. I feel like I'm running out of endurance. Maybe I'm finally defenceless nowadays. Maybe I'm afraid of waking up every day.

"I don't know Barton." I reply before I walk out of the room. All I know is that every day is getting harder to face. The level of my despair is slowly rising. I think one day I'll wake up and find it over my head. Maybe then I'll finally drown in it and find a measure of peace.

//I see a red door
And I want it painted black
No colours anymore
I want them to turn black//

I walk down the hallway and head into the room Duo and I have. I give out a sigh of relief when nothing but the gaily made bed and a pile of comic books greet me. I don't want to see him right now. Especially when last night's actions are still hazily vivid in my mind. I walk to the window and look out. Damn. I see him walking into the house with Hilde, both of them chattering happily about something or other. I can't take his cheerfulness right now. Especially not when I'm feeling like... a fake. A shadow that drains colour and happiness from all that are around me. I feel all used up and worn out with grief and darkness. Duo calls himself The Grim Reaper. I guess I must be his lieutenant. He holds the souls and I stay in despair and misery. The one in the dark.

<Stop it. Stop it. Get a hold of yourself. Calm down.>

I tell myself. But my control isn't as perfect as it used to be just a year ago. I hold myself tightly.

I find myself shaking with the intensity of the emotions. I take several deep breaths, but they do nothing to calm me down. Shit. He can't see me like this. Or he'll be hurt. I don't want to hurt him, but I can't hide for much longer. Barton knows what is happening. The cracks on the veneer are widening and my heart can be seen pulsing through them.

//I see the girls walk by
Dressed in their summer clothes
I have to turn my head
Until my darkness goes//

"Heero?" I turn from the window and see Quatre and Duo standing in the doorway. I look into their faces and wonder at how much they saw. But their childish faces reflect nothing of their thoughts. Even their eyes have a reflective quality that could be interpreted in any way that I chose. I decide to let them be the ones that make the first move. They've caught me unawares and I need to gain my composure and play my end of the game without them being wary.

"What is it?" I ask quietly. Softly. My voice isn't dead like it used to be. Now, it's just quiet. But it still makes Duo and Quatre exchange glances when they hear it. Shit. Maybe they've heard too much inflection in my voice. I suddenly feel tired and want to be left alone. But the idea is dispelled when I see Duo's violet eyes shine with a quick gleam of pain that fades as quickly as I had perceived it. It's the last thing that I want to do. To hurt him. After he has literally and figuratively made me live again. But I am wearing thin and I can't hide all the crap that is swirling through my mind day in and day out since the end of the war.

//I see a line of cars
And they're all painted black
With flowers and my love
Both never to come back//

What would he say to me if I told him that I wanted to blow my fucken head off? Would he laugh? Or would he just wind up and give me the punch of a lifetime? Or if I told him that my main goal in life nowadays was to cut myself up and watch as the blood dripped down my body to make nice swirling patterns in the pale white tile of the bathtub. Aw fuck it. I think I'm getting emotional over the lucky shot some fucker managed to squeeze in last night at the bar. Reflexes must be getting slow. Never saw it coming. I think that was why I had more cuts and bruises for Trowa to tend this time around. I went berserk after that.

You see, I hate being hit in the mouth. In fact, I hate to be hit anywhere. A shot to the face stuns me. A shot to the mouth puts me in a pure, mindless rage. I fight to the death. Then I cry. Sometimes people have seen me cry. Sometimes I hide it deep inside. I don't know why I cry. It isn't the pain. Sure, it's annoying afterwards, but it isn't enough to make me cry. I hate crying. One form of weakness that I have never been able to get rid of no matter what I've gone through.

"Heero, do you want to come to park with us?" Duo finally asks me, snapping me out of my bizarre train of thought that just isn't getting me anywhere fast. I want to refuse. I feel like I'm infecting him with the sorrow that is slowly seeping out one rivulet at a time. I don't want to infect him with my hollowness. But the shining depths of those violet eyes tell me I was too late.

//I see them turn their heads
Quickly look away
Like a newborn baby
It just happens every day//

He is watching me with suppressed expectations while Quatre has turned away, a frown on his delicate face, a hand over his heart. He can feel some of my emotions, but he has no clue as to how to decipher them. You can't decipher what isn't really there, baby Cat. Oh great. I'm getting sarcastic and cute. Only in my own mind, away from the spectres of Odin Lowe and Dr. J can I actually have a demented sense of humour. Or is it just the fact that I have slipped off the deep end that lets my mind go on these fucked up little tangents?

"No. I don't feel like going out today." Duo's face falls for a split second. But it quickly recovers his grin. But it is wobbly. I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry I had to hurt you. But the time for me to go has come. I don't want to cause you any more pain. You have had enough to last you a lifetime. That's why I'm letting you be free from what I could do to you. Sorry love.

"Fine then. We'll be back soon." He says as he moves closer to Quatre, who wraps his arm around Duo's shoulders in a comforting gesture. I close my eyes and turn my head. I don't want to see the causes of my behaviour.

"Sure. I'll be waiting." I lie. I know I won't be. With luck, I'll be dead when he comes back.

//I look inside my self
See my heart is back
I see my red door
And I want it painted black//

The door closes behind them and when I open my eyes, I become aware of the tears that have trickled down my face without me knowing about them. Fine time for me to actually start following my emotions, like Odin told me to. I move to the large bed and bonelessly drop down on it. I love Duo. I always have. But I can't give him anything in return. Even when he deserves so much. It isn't because I can't feel anything. It's because I don't have anything left to give.

I'm having such a hard time keeping myself together as it is. During the war, combat and Duo kept my slowly deteriorating soul together. They were the glue to repair the cracks that were starting to appear even then. But now the solvent is beginning to weaken.

Duo love, your love does so much for me. But it isn't enough to keep me from falling apart at the seams. Especially when I want so much to give you what I know you want and crave. Maybe dying right now will be the best way for all of us. It will hurt. But you'll be strong enough to bear it when the time finally comes love. I don't see any other way.

//Maybe then I'll fade away
And not have to face the facts
It's not easy facing up
When your whole world is black//

I get off the bed and go to the washroom that we all share. I flick on the light and give the room a look over before I move onto the cabinet. I move bottles away as I try to look for the one I just saw a couple of days ago. My search is methodical and it doesn't take me long to find the bottle of Valium. Palming it, I close the cabinet and walk out of the washroom. <One down>.

I head downstairs into the living room. No one is there, thank God. They'd probably try to talk to me and I'd lose my nerve. The liquor cabinet is well stocked with Vodka. Good. I couldn't drink the Valium down with whisky. I'd puke and never really get around to dying. I take two bottles out of the liquor cabinet and head back to my room.

Once inside the safety zone of my room, I put the bottles of Vodka and Valium on the desk. I then take a fresh sheet of looseleaf from the pile sitting on a corner of the desk and stare down at the blank surface in front of me. I pull a pen from the cup we store them in and start fiddling with it as I try to compose a suitable farewell to the man that became my ultra-violet beacon.

"Duo, Love. Don't ever blame yourself for my death. I chose to end it. I'm the only one that had control over my actions. No one else was responsible for what I have done. Don't ever think otherwise. Don't ever ask why. It was the only way I saw at this point. The only way. You were the only person that I ever loved in my entire life. The only one that never wanted more than I could offer them. But I have to go. I can't stay any longer. I love you. I always have. Heero."

I put my pen and my head down on the paper and close my eyes. Tears seep through again and I have to bite back a sob. Seeing the words looking so stark against the white surface makes them so final and real. Too real, almost. I shake my head. <it's what you wanted.> I remind myself.

// No more will my green sea
Go turn a deeper blue
I could not foresee
This thing happening to you.//

I sit like that for what seems an eternity, but in reality, only a few minutes have passed. It's funny how when the time comes to kill yourself, there's the strange detachment and hesitation that washes over you before the deed is actually committed. I raise my head after I have chased all these dead-end thoughts out of my mind yet again and reach for the plastic bottle of Valium that has been sitting at my left elbow all this time. I pop the cap open and dump at least twenty pills out onto the smooth white surface of the note I have written for Duo.

I scoop them up in my hand and stare at them intently for several minutes before I swallow them all in one gulp. I quickly grab the first bottle of Vodka, unscrew the cap and take a healthy swig of the stuff. I ignore the fact that it makes my insides burn like hell and my eyes to water.

It doesn't matter any longer. I just want to die as soon as possible. Small discomforts like those are the farthest thing from my mind. Meeting the final blackness is the only thing that matters.

// If I look hard enough
Into the setting sun,
My love will laugh with me
Before the morning comes//

Already, my legs are feeling a bit numb and my movements are becoming sluggish and uncoordinated. My brain feels really fuzzy and I'm having a hard time focussing on anything. I blink once or twice, but the fuzziness doesn't dissipate. Instead, it becomes stronger. I raise the bottle with great difficulty and swallow the last drops of the bottle. I toss it away and grab the second bottle. Funny, I don't recall drinking that much from the first bottle.

My head is spinning. I can't sit at the desk any longer. I want to lie down on the bed. I get up and promptly fall over the desk. Amazingly enough, the Vodka doesn't spill. I take another swig of it and stumble over to the bed. Luckily, it wasn't that far from the desk. I flop down on it and look up at the ceiling. It's spinning so fast that it's making me dizzy. I take what seems to be the last drink of the alcohol and just look at the ceiling that is slowly changing colour.

It's no longer white. It's turning darker and darker. I feel cold. My body isn't responding to any of my commands. In fact, it doesn't feel like I'm in my body anymore. I feel nothing. I don't see anything. Everything has gone a deep shade of midnight blue that is quickly darkening to black.

//Wanna see it painted
Painted it black
Love is gone//

It's all over.

Comments? Death Threats? Flames? Psychiatric Recommendations? Send it all to: Larrikin75@hotmail.com