Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Melancholy ❯ Melancholy ( Chapter 2 )

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December 20, AC 199

I've been doing some research on suicide. Ironic, isn't it? I should be the expert on the subject considering the number of times I tried to self-destruct during the wars. But then, I don't consider that to be the same thing that Quatre's going through right now.

I went with Duo to visit him today, but I could only manage about five minutes in his presence before I had to leave. I've never felt such rage before. It was coming off his body in cold waves, soaking through my skin and burying itself into my very bones, and after a while it was either scream out loud or leave the room.

Several times in my reasearch I've come across the word 'melancholy'. Such a poetic word. It sounds like it refers to a gentle type of sadness, or quiet introspection. It's not a word that I would have associated with that cold rage I felt back in that sterile white hospital room. But then I came across the original (and now archaic) meaning of the word: An emotional state characterized by sullenness and outbreaks of violent anger, believed to arise from black bile. [1]

Duo is in the chapel now, praying. At times like this, I wish I could believe in God.

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December 21, AC 199

Quatre spoke to me today. Apparently no one had bothered to ask him the most obvious question: Why are you so angry?

"My job here is finished, Wufei. Why can't you selfish sons of bitches just let me go?"

"I don't understand. What job are you talking about?" I asked him.

"I've been looking after you guys for the last four years. I've fought to protect you. I've seen to it that you never have to lift a finger for the rest of your lives if you don't want to. I've hidden your identities as Gundam pilots. I've given you a home. I've given you each other. I'm finished. I'm tired. I want to GO!"

Rage had twisted his face into an ugly, frightening mask, and I took a step back. "Who are you?"

My thoughtlessly blurted question stopped him cold. The red rage drained from his face, and he seemed to shrink in front of my eyes. "I don't know anymore, Wufei." I could tell by the look in his eyes that he was being sincere. He honestly does not know who he is anymore. Quatre Rebarba Winner has destroyed himself in every sense save the physical.

Writing this down has made me feel sick. I need Trowa.

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December 21, AC 199

Wufei got Quatre to talk today, apparently. He told us about it after dinner. I'm glad he waited, 'cause if he'd told us about it before dinner, I doubt I'd have been able to eat.

I'm pissed. I'm sad. I'm upset. I'm…I don't know what the hell I'm feeling. It's all mixed up inside me and it's all I can do not to twist the end of my braid off. God, why didn't I see how that little blond monster had been manipulating my life for the past four years? Or should I call him an angel instead? No, he's a fucking monster. An angel wouldn't hurt me like this just when I'm starting to think my life has some meaning.

I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I HATE HIM!

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[1] Definition taken from Dictionary.com

Intelligent criticism is welcomed at asb_prime@yahoo.com.