|Author: Sita Seraph
See part 1 for pairings and warnings.
This + Part 3
Most people, like you I guess,
would tell me to forget the past and move on. Yeah, it sounded pretty
logical. But that's like telling somebody who had just been raped to go
fuck someone else and tell him or her that will make it better. There's
just no fucking way I was going to let go of the past. I couldn't. It
was all I had left.
Back in the days I remember when I held Quatre long into the night. I
think those were the best times in my life, being with Quatre, at the
end of the war. I wasn't just some fuck buddy to him. I was a friend and
he was my friend and... we just happened to wind up in bed together. But
it was just when I realized I'd want to spend the rest of my life with
Quatre, more then anybody else I screwed around with, that I began to
notice the looks and caring words Trowa said to or about Quatre and vice
Why didn't I fight back? I dunno. I just didn't. I think... maybe it could
have been the thought that just knowing I was never going to be good enough
for Quatre that I pushed him towards Trowa. 'Cause, I knew, that no matter
what I said to Quat or what I did, I was never enough. And Trowa could
give him more.
I was never enough for any of them. Oh, fuck. You know how hard that is
to admit? Knowing that your very best doesn't stand up to what they want?
Knowing that you're just a worthless bastard in the end and meant to be
alone for the rest of your miserable life. Yeah, its hard to admit...
and beyond true.
I stumbled across my living room, days after the episode with the fellow
Gundam pilots, and I conveniently tripped over a pizza box. Sailing across
the room in my unbalanced fashion, I crashed into a side table next to
my couch and knocked over the flickering light. I was howling with laughter,
my beer bottle clinking against the wooden furniture as I tried to straighten
my swaying body. I was a little tipsy tonight... ah, hell, I was dead-ass
drunk. There is only one way to avoid a nasty hangover in the morning!
And that's drink tons and tons of beer! See, you're too wasted to get
a hangover! Genius, ain't it?
After my laughing fit was over, I thumped on to my favorite couch and
took another swig of the bitter liquid from the glass. I had been sleeping
here more then in my bed, which was still nicely made since the bastards
left. Compliments from Quatre, I suppose. Don't do me any favors, bakayaros!
I can do it all by myself!
"That's 'ight!" I slurred to no one in my drunkard speech impediment.
"I don't need no 'ne! I can 'alk the 'alk and 'alk the 'alk by meeeeeself(1).
So -- " I produced my middle finger out into the air, flipping
off the innocent TV in front of me, and grunted so I could act a bit tougher
since I was having trouble producing my words. "So, sit on it and
spin, motha fuckas!"
You're probably thinking I was drowning out my sorrows. Yeah, you're right.
I was trying to drown everything out. I was trying to flood out the memories
of my explosion with the others, how I just couldn't stand to be in their
presence for much longer then a minute. Trying to forget the way I acted
and how it led up to this by drinking my life away.
I was trying to engulf the very root of how it all started, from the very
moment I met Professor G. When I was trained and skilled with multiple
personalities and masks to play around with in my very grasp. To confuse
the enemy, to use him how I wanted, and to find out exactly what made
him tick. I did that to Heero. To comfort a pilot while sending subtle
hints of the battle on the horizon and that he or she was needed. I did
that to Wufei. To forgive a warrior for their mistakes while correcting
them. I did that to Quatre. To take control of all situations and force
them into play against all wishes or protests. I did that to Trowa.
I was trying to submerge the past in a drugged haze so I couldn't see
beyond the fog, so I couldn't see all the stupid things I had done. Like
when I tricked Heero into taking his anger out on me. How I seduced Wufei
into letting go of his past and join with mine. How I kissed away Quatre's
tears which led to his lips and then the floor. And how I had out-right
forced Trowa into my bed, promising him more then I thought as I offered
my body. I was trying to blur out all of that so I wouldn't remember,
wouldn't look back and see all those empty promises and love as I cried
out into the night. I was trying to make all the facts disappear as suddenly
I had no control over the creations I had made. They had turned against
me and in the end; in the first place, I was no match for them. I was
used against for what I willingly gave them. My hands were now forced
to skim their backs, my nails clawing at their skin. My legs were forced
to spread across the terrain of a bed, or across the floor, or the slippery
tiles of the shower, or the dirty ground with prickly grass scratching
at my feet. My mouth was used to kiss and lick away their sweat, their
cum, their bodily fluids as soon as they appeared. My tongue was made
to pleasure their mouth, their bodies. My ass became a stress reliever,
my little puckered hole an entryway to paradise and sometimes stained
with blood when they pushed in too hard, too fast, too eager to reach
that heavenly plain. And my dick was my one true betrayer, standing stiff
and erect in its ecstatic glory, showing emotions that I, myself, did
not feel but my body did. The one true symbol of my whore wanting. My
own body was used against me and I was powerless to stop all the proceedings
with the stronger males. In the end, I had only one equal... and he, at
last, ran away from me as well.
I was trying to saturate my very name, my very existence, so I wouldn't
even know who I truly was anymore. So then I would wake up the next morning
and look in the mirror and just wonder whom that pathetic person on the
other side of the mirror was. Why did he look so tired? Why was he so
thin and weak? Maybe if I just drank more and more, I would lose all memory
of Duo Maxwell and be someone else. I could go to school and be innocent
again. I could walk down the street and not be weary of who was watching
me as I went. I could talk with strangers and not be afraid of who they
would run to. But best of all, I would be able to stand with the other
Gundam pilots and never remember what happened between us. And then...
maybe I could begin to forgive them for throwing me away like an old doll.
Maybe I was suicidal. Each day when I woke up, either on the couch, the
floor, or the bed, I wondered why I went on. Why didn't I just put a gun
to my head and pull the trigger? I was always tired nowadays; an expression
of my ever-lasting depression. But why didn't I let myself die? Was I
truly afraid of death?
No. Not death.
I was afraid of hell. There, they would know all my secrets and exploit
their depths for eternity, torturing me in purgatory like a demon whore.
Worst of all, it would be just my luck that I would be screwed for all
infinity by either the devil himself or Gundam pilot look-alikes. Either
way, no, I wasn't looking forward to death. My second reason is that I'm
not a coward. I may run from my problems a lot and I might hide the truth
to a lot of people (and equally myself), but I wouldn't make my life so
simple as to bring the knife to my throat.
Or maybe I was still just hoping that the past would be forgotten.
Okay. Lets face it. I'm screwed up. Really, really screwed up. I mean,
what normal person would be sitting on his couch, wearing week old clothes
that were suspiciously smelling of grease, sweat, and piss -- the
piss from when I didn't make it to the bathroom in time to empty my alcohol
the old fashion way. So sue me. I was drunk off my rocker and you expect
me to leap up and go to the bathroom when I could barely even see out
of my own eye balls?
If you said 'yes' to the question, maybe both of us have lost a bit of
It had to be hours later when I finally rolled off the couch. My apartment
had gotten steadily darker until I couldn't see anything but the ant races
screaming off my TV set. My beer bottle was nearly empty and my vengeance
hangover was creeping closer from the obvious tension growing on my forehead.
I was in quick emergency for another drink and some music. Some old shit
perhaps, blasting out of my stereo in their innocent fashion. So when
I finally got my bearings, I fell around my apartment like the whole thing
was rockin' wildly like it was hit by a meteor and was spiraling out to
space. Kicking empty beer cans around didn't help much either. But eventually,
I made it to the kitchen and back before I realized I really, really,
really needed to piss. But before I made my way in that general direction,
I hopped over to my radio player in my drunk stupor and flipped on the
nub. I was greeted with the drawling teenage voice, a bored college boy
that had no sense of humor or anything really intelligent to say. I should
be on there! I had TONS of things to say. I had TONS of things to teach
people. Like... don't screw your friends. And if you do, do yourself a
favor and come over to Duo Maxwell's house so we could get drunk together!
It was about five minutes later and I was still standing there. Or squatting
anyway. My legs were intertwined with each other and I was bobbing up
and down to keep my pee from spurting out or praying to God my bladder
didn't explode. And the guy was still ranting on about... what was it?
Oh... Oh yeah. About a fight with Godzilla and... Pee Wee Herman?
Okay, that was enough of THAT.
The next thing I know, I've dialed the phone number to the station. I
started bouncing up and down to keep all my contents inside. Which didn't
help my body parts any as I felt that familiar cramping sensation of bladder
overload or the stinging commotion in my lower regions as it became infected.
Nor did it help my balance as I stumbled and crushed beer cans and nearly
did a back flip as I stepped on and slipped on a bottle of wine. I squealed
and maintained balance by grabbing onto my stereo for dear life, which
cranked up the volume another kilo. Just then, the college guy finally
Together, the radio technician and I screamed bloody murder, followed
closely by dirty language.
"'oly Fuckin' Shit!"
After the mutual greeting, I hastily reached over to my stereo, on the
floor now from where I threw myself where I was molested in the ear, and
whirled down the volume button before that annoying squeal from the college
boy's microphone damaged even more of our heads. "What the fuck do
you think you're thinking!?"
Well... at least he sounded interesting now...
Taking another swig of my beer, I fell back to my floor, crushed cans
and bottles biting into my back. I hiccupped a couple times into the phone
before finally barking out...
Perfect timing for my hiccups to come in.
"Okay, whatever, man. What do you want?"
"Are you drunk?"
"Yeppers!" I laughed then promptly hiccupped my way into another
"Let me guess; this is Duo Maxwell and you want to listen to 'You
Don't Own Me', right?"
"Yeppers!" Gosh, he must be psychic or somethin'...
"Dude, stop calling here! You call every day with that song! Why
don't you just buy it!?"
... Then again, maybe not...
"I donst 'ave the money! Byeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee," I said cheerfully
into the phone and lifted it away, waving happily towards the white cordless
communicator before clicking it off. I sat up slowly, slipping on the
beer along the way and turned up the radioagain. He was already playing
I sighed happily and forced my cramping body up from the floor. It was
time to go to the bathroom.
I never thought pissing would be so painful before. I was ready to die.
I leaned against the cool tiles of my bathroom, the drilling of pee emptying
itself into the toilet. I was beginning to sweat. Heat rushing across
my skin and the cool tile was something I wanted... badly. And this pain,
this agonized stinging in my pelvis wouldn't be missed too much. It was
like an internal burning sensation that was ripping my lower regions out.
Ah, hell, I will NEVER pee again if this is the result...
"I'm 'oung, I'm 'oung," I sang with the radio, my voice mixed
with pain and my drunken slur. "And I 'ove to be 'oung... "
Even after I was finished refreshing myself, the pain didn't go away.
I was wincing with agony, tears in my eyes, but I still managed to fumble
with my zipper and roll it up. The room was spinning a little faster now
and I swayed by my forehead against the white tiles. It was a good thing
I could hold my liquor or my head would be in the toilet right now. But
either way, my hands were beginning to shake, quite noticeably in fact,
as I flushed the toilet. The whirl of flushing water seemed to echo in
my head. Something was seriously wrong with me.
Groaning, I tried to push away from the wall but it was like my muscles
had turned into jelly. I pressed and pressed and pushed with all my strength
(at least, I think with all my strength) but it was like my head was glued
to the tiles. I was beginning to lose my footing as well and before I
knew it, I was on the floor and my head clashed against the sink on my
"... o. Duo... ?"
I was coming to. I sighed slightly, clinging onto the darkness a little
bit tighter. I didn't want to wake up quiet yet. I enjoyed being unconscious
for once. I really didn't dream anything then. I could dream... blackness!
Space... those kind of things.
But god damn, who could sleep through that insistent beeping... ? I thought
I broke my alarm clock...
Groaning in half-sleep, I waved my hand around for my bedside table and
encountered nothing but air... well, that is for awhile I did. Then my
fingers touched something... soft... and fluffy... and then that fluffy
thing began to crawl up my leg...
Eyes snapping open, I lifted my pain-retched eyes and squinted at the
ceiling. Slowly, I raised by ever-so heavy head and... nearly head butt
a gray cat. We blinked at each other for a couple of seconds before it
decided to crawl off, little bell on its collar jingling like crazy along
"Duo... ? Duo, where are you? I can hear you!" (3)
I blinked sleepily and looked around the nice room. Cream colored walls
with a flowered borderline going along them. There was one large window,
nearly reaching the ceiling and emulsion drapes fell down their sides.
The window was open, the drapes fluttering with the sunlight dripping
across the polished wooden floors. The bed spread, that I conveniently
tore apart in my sleep, was white with golden lining and there were so
many pillows that some had been thrown to the floor... probably special
thanks to me, as well.
Oh yeah... Definitely a girl's room...
And come to think of it, where the hell was I?
"I'm in here, damnit!"
I mean, honestly. Here I was in some stranger's house and they didn't
even know where I was? My god, maybe I walked in my sleep as well...
And just like that, hell opened up with their pricks and thorns... for
all of a sudden, Quatre was filling my doorway with sunshine and flowers.
He was wearing a primp blue shirt and white khakis, running around in
some white fluffy slippers adorning his feet. He looked casual, cute,
and so adorably happy that I wanted to scream. Life certainly wasn't fair...
I groaned and fell back onto the massive pillows, my hair, surprisingly,
in a neat braid (since it was digging in my back). I didn't even smell
that bad either. Curiously, I lifted my arm and took a long big whiff.
Quatre started laughing on his side of the room.
"Let me tell you, Duo. That was no easy task hauling your unconscious
butt in the shower."
I was sure that he was right... But... I didn't quite understand what
happened. Okay, moving back to the basics, I remembered feeling like I
was peeing out blood before collapsing to the floor.
... Oh shit...
He had moved across the room and was currently trying to fix up the girly
bed I had been occupying, humming a happy tune under his breath. I watched
him for a minute, growing steadily envious of the happy expression he
was radiating. I knew, deep down inside, that I could never make him that
"Did... I... O.D.?" I asked slowly. Quatre paused from smoothing
out the sheets, staring at them. For a second, I saw that flash of sadness
flicker in my friend's eyes. And I caused that. I caused that sadness
Quatre always got around me. It made me sick... Or more sick, since my
stomach was beginning to get nausea.
"Yeah, Duo," Quatre answered slowly, finishing his chore before
looking up at me. "It was lucky that Heero found you."
"Well, he came by to give you money... for your door. Remember?"
Wow... that was... nice of him. I guess. But it still was his fucking
When I didn't answer, Quatre continued, "He got you to the hospital
and they pumped your stomach. Since then, yesterday, you've been here
with me and Trowa. We gave you a bath, since you were in horrible shape.
We've also had to give you meds to keep your alcohol poisoning from getting
too bad. How do you feel?"
"Oh... fuck... " came Quatre's answer. Before I knew it, I threw
myself over the bed to its side and began giving up to dry heaves. Dying
would be such a good thing right now...
And Quatre was laughing at me! I felt his hand on my back, soothingly
rubbing it in tiny circles around my spine.
"It'll be okay, Duo. But maybe this will teach you not to drink so
I have two lessons to teach you today. First is never, ever go overboard
with beer. After I woke up, I was beyond crazy for the first day and sick
for the rest of the week. My muscles would have such heavy spasms that
I was forced to have my hands tied to the bed. This was only maximized
by pain in my abdomen area that it felt like I was going through my own
personal menstrual period! Not to mention my bladder was like shit and
kept on ripping my insides whenever I moved or stretched. Plus, along
with having no control of my body, I was having a horrible time at controlling
my emotions. I was always angry. I mean, I was so bad that Quatre begged
Heero and Wufei to move in to help with my 'problem'. I wasn't really
happy about the idea but at least I could keep them up in unspeakable
hours of the night. Am I evil or what?
Anyway, I think the climax was when I was groaning and fighting my bonds
sometime in the afternoon, right after Quatre had to put them on again
because I started getting a little violent with the girly area I was surrounded
in day and night. What can I say? My anger controls my emotions. So, moving
on, it was extremely hot in the room, the window not giving me enough
air-conditioning, and the blankets that Quatre piled on top of me were
giving me a personal sauna. I wanted to scream bloody murder and the blankets
were too heavy (for my drug-reduced limbs anyway) to lift and kick off.
So I chose fighting with the scarves Trowa used on my wrist. This only
frustrated me to no end. No matter what my thievy mind could come up with,
the scarves wouldn't unknot. And my efforts were getting me closer and
closer to blowing my rocket. I was so furious that I couldn't twist my
wrist far enough or stretch my fingers long enough that my anger was fuming
my already hot body up. I could feel cheeks flushing, like they always
did when I got pissed, and making them burn with my red-hot temper. Sweat
was lining my upper lip and I had the biggest itch on my chin that I wanted
to bite it to make it go away. This was perfect fuel to the choking feeling
I was getting in my throat as my enraged feelings bubbled over.
"FUCKING A!!!" I screamed and started thrashing about so I could
pour it all out somehow, on something! The bed started creaking in protest,
springs bouncing my body around like a bouncy ball out of control. I didn't
even realize my covers were slipping off and falling to the floor.
"FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!" I screamed, panting as I stopped bouncing
for a minute to tear at the scarves. I wanted to rip them to shreds! I
wanted to break this stupid bed apart! I wanted to go on a rampage until
I couldn't even stand! AHHHH!!!!
"DUO! SHUT UP!"
"FUCK YOU, HEERO YUY!"
If I were sane, which I wasn't at that particular time, I would have stopped
thrashing about like a spoiled child and kept my lips glued shut instead
of tempting my perfect soldier upstairs to give me a thrashing of his
own. But, like I said before, I WASN'T, so I concluded it to be one of
the worst decisions of my life (like I didn't have enough already).
I paused on my scarf tearing to listen with rising terror at the stomps
that were echoing on the staircase. It sounded like he was taking two
at a time and pounding against the floorboards with each foot just for
my benefit. So when he appeared a second later in all his spandex glory,
I did the only thing a normal sane person would do.
I screamed bloody murder.
I... ahem, screamed. I panted for a second as he flinched and started
coming towards me with rising speed. Maybe if I acted like Relena, he
would turn tail and run like a bat out of hell like every other time the
pink jiggily puff arrived. It was worth a try...
So before he could reach the bed, I changed my voice desperately into
a high squeaky wail. "HEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRROOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!"
And to my massive amusement, Heero not only flinched physically, but he
had this horrible look on his face like he was ready to leap out of the
window to get away from my Relena-mimic voice. I even watched him pivot,
almost bolting for the door before coming back to terms with himself and
turning back around with this half-embarrassed expression on his face
while he tried to look casual and in control of his natural instincts
to run through the wall to get away. So I thought it would be a good idea
to try it again.
I wailed and started kicking my legs around in wild abandonment. And I
think that was all Heero could take. He suddenly leaped forward, got on
the bed, and dodged my wild leg kicking, successfully reaching and covering
my mouth. I blinked stupidly at him and then he did something to make
me hate him even more.
He SMIRKED at me!
I was just about to bite right through his fingers and to his face when
suddenly his hand was gone -- and replaced with duck tape. I think
I went into shock right then and there. Not only had that roll of tape
appeared out of NO WHERE but Heero NEVER duck taped me before... hell,
no one ever had.
They always liked me very vocal...
Heero was grinning again and began crawling off the bed and me. But like
on second thoughts, he stopped, halfway on and off the bed, and looked
at me. He didn't say anything at first, just looked me straight in the
eye before his own began to wander very slowly from my tied hands, my
gagged mouth, my baggy shirt (complimentary to Trowa) that reached nearly
to my knees, and the sheets that covered my naked legs. It was sickening,
that look on his face. I wanted to claw it off his face and throw the
scarred tissue across the room. I remember that look too well, way too
well. It was always that warning glance, the predatory gleam barely surfacing
in those blue pools. He would stand just on the other side of the room
and stare at my body like a hungry man, eyeing the feast before him. And
then all of a sudden, I would be on the floor, on the bed, or shoved against
the wall and Heero would be all over me, kissing me, touching me, using
me... Yes, a hungry man and I was the sweet. He couldn't get enough of
me... and that made me sick.
Trying to act casual, I closed my legs a little bit more, curling them
under me. His hand was moving closer to my bare feet, his eyes now running
back up the length of my body and back to my eyes. I noticed something
different in his lazy sitting, something more gentle... but it didn't
change the fact that Heero was going to 'do' me right here and now to
satisfy his little thirst. It was a dangerous game to refuse Heero anything;
even dangerous to fall in love with him. But that's where it just turns
ironic. I was in love with someone but I hated his touch, his looks. I
was in love with someone but almost every day I wanted to kill him. And
here he was, a mere foot away, and he was touching my leg, running his
dry hands up towards my thigh... most likely to spread them open so I
could accept his dick. And all I could think about, instead of getting
aroused and excited that one of my lovers was going to pin me to the mattress,
was how much I wanted my leg be to be chopped off. Bile was rising to
my throat but I couldn't let it through my tightly closed jaw, and choked
it back down. My skin was just crawling with his sinful deeds marked on
his hands. I had no way of washing it off, because it was all in my mind.
But it felt so real that I wanted to cry. I wanted SO much to take a blade
and peel the skin away, so I could feel pain and not this ill sickening
feeling twisting my body and my head around.
His hand was now grazing my knee, right where the shirt began and slowly,
his fingers began to push it down. I watched with fearful eyes, tensing
up. He was going to take me like some whore, all over again! And I couldn't
do anything, not even cry out for him to fucking stop. My rage again was
bristled and I shut my eyes, shuddering. I was sick and I was pissed.
I didn't know which emotion was stronger. I just wanted... I just had
to do something! I had to stand up for myself... I had to stop from feeling
so vile all over again!! Suddenly, I jerked my leg away from his seeking
fingers and opened my furious eyes to look at his confused, gentle face.
I kicked him across the face.
I was satisfied to see him stumble then slip behind the bed where I could
no longer see him. My muffled language followed him, telling him exactly
what I thought of his dick and balls, but not even I could understand
what I was saying behind my sealed lips. The little ball of hormones was
just about to jump me, wasn't he? Hah! Not today, asshole!
All thoughts were broken when I found a face full of Heero Yuy and the
coldest glare aimed at my direction that I felt my own bangs freezing
up. I felt myself begin to cower up again, curling up into a little ball...
or worse yet, just let myself open my legs and take in that sinful cock
back up my ass. I hated that look, that cold, distant expression he would
get sometimes... when we were making 'love', when I was trying to get
him to warm up to me, kissing away at his cheeks like a love-sick puppy.
And yet I felt that bristled burning rage still in the pit of my stomach.
I was afraid of him... and yet I still wanted to push my luck and punch
Heero Yuy into yesterday. Who did he think he was? The Perfect Lay?
"I don't understand you at all, Duo," Heero muttered, tight
lipped. Well, Heero, I didn't understand myself half the time. I was really
hoping you'd have better luck.
Then, after the small call from Quatre downstairs, Heero slid off me and
made his way out of the room.
The moral of this first lesson? Never get drunk and vulnerable with one
of your old boy friends.
Okay, my second lesson. Never hold your piss. EVER. When I was under control
of my emotions and body again, I dreaded going to the bathroom more then
seeing Heero around the house. I didn't want to drink anything, just so
I could avoid the hour-worth of agony that would follow after relieving
myself. But Quatre insisted that the only way to get better was to drink
a lot of water... to drain out my system. And I so hated him for that.
The agony that was going inside my body was worse then a bullet wound.
Because I couldn't clean it up or ignore it. This stupid bacteria or whatever
was inside me was like eating away my bladder and it hurt so much that
if I wanted to walk after going pee that I would have to cower around
so my body was compacted together so the pain would go away. It was even
worse when it would go away for a couple of hours and I would forget.
Then I would go to stretch and with it my bladder would no longer be compressed
and it would remind me of my internal injury... forcefully. It was probably
the worst thing in the world. But when I was finally healed up, I did
a cartwheel in the hallway... and then my alcoholic brain and body demanded
"Good morning, Duo!" Quatre greeted cheerfully when I decided
to roll out of bed around 11 o'clock. I waved in response, not particularly
up to chatting away like the old days and headed straight for the frig.
I wasn't hungry, like every morning, but I did have the craving for the
buzz I'd missed after I collapsed at home. Beside, I had a light headache
for some reason, so I knew a cold beer or wine would take that away after
a few sips.
"Are you hungry?" Quatre asked helpfully, cutting up his gushing
pancake. Steam was rising from his light yellow cup on the counter, the
Arabian pilot sitting at the counter in direct line of the light. Morning
rays warmed up the white tiled floors where it spilled from the many windows
and they seemed very fond of Quatre's hair that lit up with honey dew.
The flashing beam caught the light of the silver lining of the fridge
as I swung it open, looking eagerly inside. I was then suddenly momentarily
distracted by this growing feeling in my stomach and slowly I looked over
Quatre had lifted up his folded newspaper, cup up and tilted towards his
childish lips. He was literally shining this morning, the light clothing
he was wearing sucking in the envious rays of the garish sun. The kitchen
smelled of warm pancakes and the light scent of cream coffee. Everything
I touched was warm, many thanks to the summer singing outside. But there
was this feeling, this certain calm closing in on me. I would always get
these feelings, these certain scents that would only last for a minute
but stay in my memory forever. This was one of them. The way I felt in
this room, watching Quatre read and finish his breakfast was so powerful
that I wanted to hold onto it so tightly... but every time I noticed these
special feelings, every time I tried to hold onto it, it would come apart
in my very hands and shatter into dust, only to live in my memory. And
it began to do just that.
I felt peace. A calm. A beautiful, warming feeling that left me all too
Sighing, I turned back to the frig, reaching in and grabbing a small can
of beer. When I closed the ice box, I looked over to see Quatre watching
me. I raised an eyebrow slightly as he stared at my drink and slowly I
lifted a hand and hooked my fingers under the flip cap. I was about to
pop the cool liquid in my hand when Quatre put down his drink loudly.
"Duo, we have to talk about that."
"Talk about what?" I asked casually, releasing my fingers. Instead,
like on second thoughts, I grabbed the bottom of my shirt and cleaned
off the top of the can in a cool manner. I knew what Quatre was talking
"The doctors suggested you should stop drinking... all together,"
Quatre explained with that inhuman patience, lightly pushing away his
distracting food. "I don't understand why you don't, after that horrible
"I'm an alcoholic," I said simply, about to crack open the drink
"What?" Quatre said, startled.
"Well, its rather simple, Quat," I explain with my own 'patient'
voice. Except I sounded like I was talking to a kid. "It means that
my body needs something to keep functioning... "
Quatre, for a split moment, looked hurt from my attitude and tone of voice.
But like every good Gundam pilot, he pushed away the emotion and folded
his hands in front of him, on the table, like some psychiatrist.
"Your body doesn't need it, Duo," Quatre said calmly. "That's
why, to help you, all of us have decided to go to the cabin for a two
week break from the world."
1. "I can 'alk the 'alk and 'alk the 'alk by meeeeeself." --
I can talk the talk and walk the walk by myself."
2. SQUEAK!! -- I've seen this happen (in a play, though... )! But
its with a crappy system I guess... Anyway, its when you turn the volume
up real loud and then call the stereo for live talk or something. Usually,
only the radio guy will get that high squeak but I think its possible
for the caller to make it go through the whole radio as well. Something
about microphones and shit. I don't suggest you try it though. It's not
3. "Duo! Duo, where are you? I can hear you!" -- Quatre
calling for his cat. Yeah, isn't that sweet? Duo is the gray cat! ^___^
[part 2] [part 4]
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