Title: Just Like A Pill
Author: Shadow
Category: Songfic
Archive: http://gundamgal.envy.nu I think...well....if my sis wants it. My other stuff is there anyway.
Pairing: 1x2..of course.
Warnings: MAJOR ANGST, bad realtionship, Duo POV, deathfic, bastardized Heero
Disclaimer: Gundam Wing? Mine? You're kiding me right? The song "Just Like a Pill" by Pink isn't mine either.


**song lyrics**




**I'm lying here on the floor
Where you left me
I think I took too much**

My body feels battered and broken as I lie here. I ache.

Not just my body but my heart too. I don't think I can even convince myself to actually get up. Sometimes I wonder how I got myself into this situation, or my heart could have wanted something that would cause this much pain and how it still aches at the thought of leaving. It's not just physical pain either, that I could deal with, if it were just physical pain, though I must admit that this last time was raw and it definitely hurt like a son of a bitch. Not to mention I probably have more bruises than I can count. Geez, I hope nothing is broken this time. That's gotta be one of the worst things, as far as the physical goes, when something breaks, because he isn't always cautious or caring about it. He just continues as he would otherwise. Broken, bruised, it doesn't make a difference to him.

I'm fairly certain nothing is broken, no bones anyway.

Bruises I definitely have, but you kind of get used to them. I said that broken bones were one of the worst things, well, another of the worst things is when it's raw, like this time. When he's in too much of a hurry to even bother preparing me, so he just thrusts in. All of it, all the way, and I assure you, he's definitely not small, not in that way anyway. It hurts then. Does it ever hurt. It always feels as though I'm being ripped in two, torn apart. There's always blood afterwards, of course there's blood.

**I'm crying here
What have you done?
I thought it would be fun**

I can feel the tears pooling in my eyes. Usually I would try to stop them, prevent them from leaving and spilling onto my cheeks, but not this time. I don't care to stop it anymore, I don't have the energy to care. As I already said, I could handle the physical pain, if it were purely physical. But once you add in the emotional pain at such an excruciating level, it just becomes unbearable. Sure, I can handle it for a little while, actually I can handle it for quite a long while before I break down completely like I am now. I eventually break down though, I mean, I'm crying. Look at me, I'm crying, I haven't cried since the Maxwell Church Massacre. That was about ten years ago, probably a bit over by now.

Sometimes I wonder how I even got myself into this situation. He wasn't always like this. I mean, he's always been a little rough around the edges, probably because of his rough childhood, but when we first hooked up when the war ended he was so much more gentle and caring. He used to be so gentle with me that it was easy to convince myself that he loved me in return. We used to do things together, have fun, I could even get him to smile every once in awhile. As the peace grew longer things seemed to get worse. I don't think he can handle the peace. No matter what I've tried to help us both adjust he doesn't seem to be handling it very well. He can't seem to deal with it. The peace frustrates him, no, his inability to handle the peace is what frustrates him and I seem to receive the brunt end of his frustration. I'm not sure when it all started to go wrong, our relationship that is, it wasn't a sudden thing. It was more gradual, so I didn't even truly realize what was happening until it was too late.

**I can't stay on your life support
There's a shortage in the switch
I can't stay on your morphine,
`cuz it's making me itch**

I can't stay here with him. Things aren't going to get better, I know they're not. It's been bad for so long that there's no way that it can go right again. I finally have to face the facts and get out of here. Whether I love him or not, staying here isn't right. I don't want to move though. Everything aches and moving just makes the pain flare like hot coals, burning at me. As long as I'm still the pain remains as a throb throughout my body, but as soon as I move it stabs red hot and vicious. It becomes cruel and treacherous.

I have to move though, I have to get out of here. I have to be gone before he comes back, before my resolve crumbles and as whisked away on the winds of despair. If he comes back I know my heart will win, even though my mind has the right answer, I'll end up staying. That's why I have to get out of here before he gets back.

I have to be gone. All I have to do is get my body to actually move. I know this is what's right, so come on, body, move. I have to do this. I have to have the strength to do this.

**I said I tried to call the nurse again
But she's being a little bitch
I think I'll get outta here**

I manage to get my body to move, raising myself from the floor. It hurts and burns, just like I knew it would, especially my lower regions. Every step is excruciating as I locate my duffle bag and start to pack it as quickly as I can, deciding what to take and what not to take. I seem to have accumulated much more stuff since the war, it won't all fit. That's all right though. I'm used to not having much stuff. I've lived off of the bare-necessities for most of my life, and I do mean bare, so why should now be any different. I can still survive without the little niceties. I get dressed, throw some clothes in the bag, grab my shampoo, conditioner, toothbrush, toothpaste, hairbrush and elastics from the bathroom and add them to the items already present in the bag. Taking one last cursory glance around the room I add a picture to my stuff and leave, grabbing my wallet and jacket on my way out. I hail a taxi once I'm outside, getting in the backseat I give the driver the name of a hotel on the other side of the city and settle back for the ride, pulling the picture out of my bag. It's a picture of the two of us from before everything went wrong, from when it was still good. As I examine the picture I can feel my auto-pilot begin to shut off, returning the pain. Packing had been so automatic, so habitual from the war that it shut down everything else. Now, with that automatic numbness gone, I can feel the pain flooding back, bringing with it the tears of a broken soul. I can feel the wetness on my cheeks.

**Where I can run
just a fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
to the middle of my frustrated fears**

Upon arrival at the hotel, I pay the taxi driver and check in, going immediately to my room. When I go to put my picture into one of the pockets of my duffel I find two bottles and my old set of knives already occupying it. Pulling these contents out I read the labels on the bottles. Painkillers and sleeping pills. Could be useful. Could be very useful, I think as a fresh wave of pain slices through me. Taking the three items, that were previously in my bag, and the picture I go to bathroom to relieve myself.

**And I swear you're just like a pill
Instead of making me better
You keep making me ill
You keep making me ill**

The bathroom is equipped with a full wall-sized mirror, which I find myself staring into after relieving myself and taking some pills. I look like shit and I'm so thin. My cheeks are gaunt and I have most noticeably lost weight. Then again, I'm not exactly sure when the last time I ate was either. I continue to stare at the pitiful reflection in the mirror until my head starts to spin and my vision goes blurry. Realizing exactly how many of those pills I had taken on an empty stomach I move to the toilet and attempt to, unsuccessfully, wretch the non-existent contents of my stomach before passing out on the cold, tile flooring.

**I haven't moved from the spot where you left me
This must be a bad trip
All of the other pills, they were different
Maybe I should get some help**

My head pounds as I wake up. I can't think through the haze. The cold floor is uncomfortable where it presses into my too bony shoulder and hip. Everything hurts and my head is so hazy that it refuses to form a logical thought sequence. All I can think about is the pain in my body, which is dulled now in comparison to the pain in my head, which is demanding my focus, and the merciless roiling of my stomach. My eyes cross from pain as I try to lift my head. My stomach continues to churn as lights dance behind my eyes as I try to focus them. I've got to focus. I have to figure out what to do. I need to somehow draw my focus away from the pain in my head so I can think, I need to be able to think. Finally, forcing my eyes to focus I see my knife sitting on the floor in front of me, along with the two bottles and the picture of Heero and I.

**I can't stay on your life support
There's a shortage in the switch
I can't stay on your morphine
`Cuz it's making me itch
I said I tried to call the nurse again
But she's being a little bitch
I think I'll get out of here**

Slowly reaching out, I grab the knife, my eyes blurring in and out of focus. I open it as I bring it back to me, my movements slow and shaky. I have to take the pain away from my head. I need to focus it somewhere else. A blurry line of red forms as I draw the knife across my arm the first time. Nope, no result, everything's still blurry. I try again, slightly deeper this time. It still doesn't work, my vision continues to swim in and out of focus, mainly out. I try several more slices, all deeper than the first two, to no avail before moving on to my other arm. I have to be able to focus, I need to focus. I continue to cut at my other arm until the knife finally falls from my numb fingers. I'm cold. It didn't work.

Rather than focussing the pain away from my head it just blended it all together to form an impenetrable wall of pain. I'm scared. All I can see through my blurred vision is red, there's so much of it. Oh please someone help me I think to myself as my vision fades to complete blackness.

**Where I can run
Just as fast as I can
To the middle of nowhere
To the middle of my frustrated fears
And I swear you're just like a pill
Instead of making me better
You keep making me ill
You keep making me ill**

"Former Gundam Pilot, Duo Maxwell, was found dead in his hotel room this morning..." The t.v. clicked off and all that was heard in the room was quiet sobs.




So yeah......ummm.....yeah. I'm really not quite sure about this one so...feedback would be sooooo loved! If you like it and would like to see more work by me (yeah right) feedback is definately the fastest way to get it.