Title: Unsatisfied Love
Author: Maxwell's Demon
Disclaimers: The usual.
Warnings: Shounen ai, angst, depressing, cursing, OOCness, Duo's POV, more angst, attempted suicide, blood
Author's Notes and/or Comments: Um whoa.
"..." = Speech
/.../ = Thought
Unrealistic, isn't it? Love, I mean. You are raised believing that this feeling is the best feeling in the world. So you dream of the day you find that one person. The one that is alive for just you, so you can feel love, and return it in kind. They say that when in love, you get a weightlessness feeling in your stomach, and your heart beats faster, so you can feel it in your chest, when this person is near you. Your mind slows, and it takes you a moment longer to process thoughts and speech.
They never mention the feelings when that person is not around you.
Such an emptiness. Such unbearable pain. It makes you wonder. Love, is it really all worth it? Once you find it, and it leaves, what then? Is it really better to have loved and lost then to have never loved at all? I suppose that's a question I couldn't really answer, myself. I love from a distance. Ironic, isn't it? Even in love, I hide in the shadows.
I continue to be Death.
If I let my mask crack, all chaos would be cut lose. I can't let anyone know the real me. I can't let him know. Love is a trap. A prison. A cell of confusion and pain. You are left asking questions, never receiving the answers. Why does it hurt so much when your lover is gone? Why do lovers fight, if they are supposed to be in love? Why do people love ones that are out of their reach? To only be left in a pool of despair. Pain. Loneliness. Left with no comfort, no release. Nothing to rid the pain of rejection. How do I know so much about rejection, you may wonder? Easily. I have been rejected. I've been rejected by the one that I love. Oh, how I love him. The one they call the Perfect Soldier. Such lies. He's not a perfect soldier. He is just merely perfect. In every way, shape, and form. Heart, mind, body, and soul. Complete and utter perfection, from the depths of his deep, Prussian blue eyes, to the tousled mop of brownish hair on his head. He haunts my dreams, he haunts my nightmares, he haunts my life.
I am in love with the pilot of Wing Zero, Heero Yuy.
Yes, that psychotic, homicidal, suicidal, bastard. Who just happens to also have the sexiest body known to man. What I wouldn't give to feel those lips against mine, that scarred flesh beneath my hands. Damn those bastards that scarred such beauty. I wish I could kiss each wound, each bruise on his skin, healing the pain away. But I have no such power, nor such permission to touch the man I desire. He doesn't let me hug him, let alone kiss him. Raised without emotions, knowing only missions, failure as not an option. They ruined him. I can see it, when I look into those deep eyes of his, the raw emotion he has, burning to be released. But he will not allow it. They told him not to. It's all their fault. The love he denies the pacifist woman. The love he denies me. It is because of them that he shows nothing. I've tried to break the soldier mask of his. Oh, by the God of Death himself, how I've tried!
I've tried so hard to pry him away from that damned laptop of his. I'd ask him to come out for a walk with me, go to an arcade, play a game of basketball Hell, I've asked him to go get piss drunk with me! But he'd just grunt or tell me to shut up. Why is he always so unfeeling? If only he wasn't such a cold bastard. Then, maybe, he'd feel the same way towards me the way I feel about him. If there's one thing that keeps me fighting in this damn war, one thread of hope for happiness after all the blood shed, it's him. That thread, however, has been ripped apart. I lost myself in a simple moment of silence and in my thoughts, and I told him. I said `I love you,' and all he said was not to interfere with his life.
Now I stand here, gazing at all the flaws in my pale flesh in the reflection of the mirror. My violet eyes are void of the emotions they used to have. I don't need that emotion anymore. No one wants it. No one wants me. I look down at the switchblade in my hand. Idly, I flip the blade out, then back again, hearing the `click' ring in my ears. Flipping it out again, it suddenly dawns upon me how ironic my situation is. I am Death. For most of my life, I have claimed the lives of people, sending their souls to Hell. Now, Death is going to claim his own life, his own soul. Spill his own blood.
I feel nothing as the blade begins to part my skin, blood beginning to spill from my flesh. I slice across my wrist slowly, gazing intently as each drop slides down my arm. I still can feel nothing, as if I am void of all emotion and physical pain. I wonder if this is how Heero feels. So helpless and alone. I watch as my own hand adds another cut, starting from the center of my palm, down to the inside of my elbow. Still staring, my vision is suddenly filled with a cross of flesh. No, not flesh It is a cross of blood.
I hear the door creek open at that moment. Turning, I face a pair or furious Prussian blue eyes, ripping into the very depths of my soul. In two steps he is at my side, grasping the knife by the blade and tearing it from my hand. He throws the blade aside, and I watch as it clatters into the bathtub, splattering my blood onto the tub. I look back at Heero, and he glares at me, then grabs my wounded arm tightly. I hiss out in pain, seeing my blood ooze out between his fingers. "Baka," he whispers, reaching for the first aid kit under the sink. He slams the kit down on the toilet seat. Turning on the water, he forces my bleeding arm underneath the stream, rinsing some of the blood off. Then the water is replaced by rubbing alcohol, and I wince with pain each time it touches my wound. I'm still bleeding. I'm still bleeding, but he keeps working, ignoring his bloody hands and his own cut. He reaches for the gauze, and wraps it very tightly around my arm and palm. Eyeing his work, his eyes meet mine again. "Baka," he mutters, cleaning up the sink and placing the kit away. Exiting the bathroom, he forces me to sit on the bed, then just stands there, glaring down at me.
I can't stand it anymore. "I'm not Japanese, dumb-fuck. What the hell does `baka' mean?" I growl, frustrated and lightheaded. I don't even see his arm move before the flat of his palm collides with my cheek, sending a sharp, stinging pain to my jaw. "It means you're an idiot! What the fuck were you thinking!? You could have died!" He yelled at me, his voice rising until he finally screamed the last word, face red with anger. Barely comprehending what he said, I held my hand against the stinging flesh on my cheek, shocked that he struck me. I look up at him, tears falling down my face. "Did you ever stop to think that that's what I wanted..?" I whispered. "Did you ever stop to think about how I felt!?" Now, I yelled, more tears joining the other. He glared at me as hard as possible, his face straining to look angrier. Then, in a low, vicious tone, he replied.
I stared at him in shock. "You you selfish bastard!" I moved to strike him, but he's faster. He always is. Holding my wrist in a vise like grip, he hissed at me. "I'm not the selfish bastard, Duo. You are! You're being selfish by trying to kill yourself! Out of all the Jesus, Duo! Why the fuck did you pull such a stupid stunt!?" I yank my wrist away, glaring at him through tears. I will not cry. Boys don't cry. "Because of you!" I emphasized the last word by jabbing my finger into his shoulder. "You hate me! I know you do! You just keep me alive for the mission! That's all you ever care about. The fuckin' missions! I can't live without you, Yuy! What about you, huh? Can you live without your precious missions? What happens after the war? What'll you do then!?"
"I don't plan on being alive after the war. I'll die an honorable death in battle."
"Jesus, Yuy! You aren't Wufei! What about-" He cuts me off, putting a hand over my ever-moving mouth. "Shut up, Duo. You will live, I'll make sure to it. So don't try any more foolish stunts." He glared hard at me before turning around, leaving me. Alone. I'm all alone again. Alive. There's no escape for my misery. I'm trapped in my own personal hell.
Unrealistic, isn't it? Life, I mean