Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction / Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Symphonys of Roses and Pain ❯ Broken Glass ( Chapter 3 )

Broken Glass

 

It had been a few days since he'd been admitted into this place he called a hell hole, and frankly, he was getting tired of being here. Oh sure, the nurses waited on you hand and foot, but after so many days of complaining, they got hostile. Sometimes, they got scarier than looking down fifty mobile dolls while you were crippled in the legs and running out of ammo.

 

“Come on young man! I have to change those bandages!”

 

It was his favorite nurse, although he would never tell her so. When she came in every morning, her blonde hair was in a nice and tidy bun on top of her head, nurses' uniform pressed, shoes clean. She looked like the ideal nurse, and at the beginning, she was.

 

But after ten minutes of dealing with him, she changed. Tufts of hair falling out of her once nice bun, frustrated features on that once smiling face. Talk about a lamia and her ability to change from a beautiful woman to an evil half snake half woman who'd eat you from your dick up.(1) It reminded him of the changes people could go through when they pick up a gun. Kill or be killed. It changed everybody. But she wasn't quite ready to kill him, at least, he hoped not.

 

The only nice thing, he decided, about being in a hospital was the drugs they stick you with. The morphine for the pain, the-what-not for the bladder problems, the what-chyah-ma-call-it for the burning eyes. Oh, and that pretty blue stuff just because they can. There were times he was so high on medicine, he couldn't tell anyone if it was night or day. He was sure there were some anti-depressants in those things that he was given, but after he took them, he really didn't care anymore.

 

Yeah…real smart

 

But they did keep the dreams away. And they made it so that he didn't have to talk to his fellow pilots. He'd take the drugs the rest of his life just so he wouldn't have to see the pity in their eyes.

 

Blinking as he looked up from his lap, he gave his favorite nurse his best puppy-eyed look. “What did I do now?!” He asked, alarmed that he hadn't noticed she'd stopped screaming at him.

 

He'd been losing his mask more and more lately. He hated when that happened. It let him know two tings. That either he was getting too comfortable with the people he was around, or his depression was taking another turn for the worse. He betted on the later.

 

Sheryl, his nurse, was a good sized woman, with kind hands and a kinder heart. Sometimes, it hurt him a lot to make her so mad. Everything about her was kind when she wasn't in a screaming fit, even her eyes. Said orbs were now looking at him with something akin to worry as she asked. “What's wrong Hun?”

 

“Nothing.” He said, shaking her head and grabbing his right hand again. He hated it when people called him names like that. Not her though, it was strangely uncharacteristic of him, but he didn't mind when she did it.

 

He didn't try to resist again, watching as she slowly unraveled the bandages around his wrist. He caught himself tugging at them constantly trying to get at the stitches that held his healing skin together. During the war, he'd never worn anything on that wrist, and now, having both bandages and stitches were driving him insane.

 

Shivering as Mrs. Loveland ran her thumb over the said evils, she frowned in thought. “They'll be able to come out in a day or so…” It was a faint whisper, but his excellent ears caught every word. You couldn't survive on the streets or be a seasoned assassin without good ears.

 

He cheered in joy, moving his left hand left to right over his head. A sharp tug on his arm made him look at the nurse with confused eyes. “Just because I said they'll come out, doesn't mean you're free to go!” She fumed as he pulled clean bandaged out of a drawer next to the bed and set to work rewrapping his wrist. She wasn't really mad, he knew, but just worried that he might do it again, but this time succeed. They'd had this discussion before.

 

Placing his free hand over his heart, he mocked a pained look. “But my dear woman! I never dreamed of leaving! For I would never leave you, the only person that makes this place bearable!” His voice was full of mock chivalry.

 

It was the truth, he was glad that they could take the stitches out, but being in the hospital had been better than in his own apartment, alone, with his dreams. There was also the fact that Quatre and Heero hadn't come to see him. Quatre would no doubt tap into his feelings with his empathy, something that he didn't want, and then there was Heero. Duo was putting off seeing Wufei more than Quatre.

 

It was the shame of being found by the perfect Wing pilot that cut deeper than anything else. He didn't know what Heero was thinking now that he had seen so deeply under his mask. The Japanese man had seen past years of barriers and hard training. He'd seen the abused and lonely little boy that he hid. They all had when he had been found on his bedroom floor covered in his own blood.

 

Falling back onto his pillow after Sheryl had tied the gauze off; he grabbed the remote and flipped on the T.V, searching for some good music. They had so many channels here in the hospital, he would never be stuck watching something that he didn't want to. He didn't know if he could stand watching soap operas all day long without rotting his brain.

 

And it was all because he hated the silence, and he wasn't in the mood to talk. He got irritable when this happened when he was only with the pilots during a mission or something. It made him realize just how little the others talked without him to strike up conversation.

 

Absorbed in the search for his music, he didn't notice the sad look the blonde woman gave him as she left.

 

Finding a station that played soft rock, he set the volume on medium and relaxed. This was about the only thing he could do, relax and fall asleep to music. He deftly wondered if he was going to end up like one of those lazy, house cat type people who slept all day and night. He doubted it though. He was just had too much energy, even without his mask. He blamed it on being a street rat before meeting Howard. Living with very little food and needing to move constantly.

 

Still, that was a very scary thought.

 

“All I can do is grin and bare it…” He murmured to himself, his shocking violet orbs hidden underneath his lashes. In truth, he could imagine sleeping all the time if his depression got to be too much. That little fact irked him to no end.

 

He was about half asleep, swimming happily in a pool of color as the sound of a door opening sharply and slamming against the back drop brought him back to earth. It was a quick descent, his hand going to his hip where he should have had his gun and his body snapping into full soldier mode. It was a case of dejavu, he'd found himself doing this quite a lot the past few days he'd been here.

 

He was met with a very sheepish looking nurse wielding nothing more than a lunch cart. The older nurses and a few of the younger ones knew the reaction for what it was. A defensive action only seasoned soldier did when they felt threatened or startled. He'd never met this particular nurse though.

 

“Hey!” the nurse said happily after he'd gotten over his own abrupt iterance. “My name is Watari, I'll be your server today!”

 

His cheer was sincere; something he'd forgotten existed in this world. Relaxing, he took this time to look over the other intrigued by this unfamiliar face. Long blonde hair pulled back into a loose horse-tail, warm golden eyes behind thin framed glasses. Yet there was something there that made him want to run away, to hide and never come out into the sun again.

 

It was as if he knew this nurse. That was ridiculous, he knew. If he'd ever met someone before with so much life then he would have held on and never let them go. He knew it was selfish of him, but he couldn't help but feel this way. He was tired of being everyone's sun, when he was left with only darkness himself.

 

Dismissing that thought, he came back to the real world just in time to hear his whole menu for the day spouted at him in fast forward. After it was over with, he had to go back and put spaces in-between the words. Porridgelookingeggsandtoast became porridge looking eggs and toast. He was surprised someone could talk that fast. They beat him, hands down.

 

“So you don't like hospital food either?” He blurted out before he could stop himself. That was another thing he found himself doing, and he needed to get that guy who made him think before he said anything back to work.

 

Watari stopped in his ranting and looked at him in a surprised manner. “Why would I like eating here?!” He huffed, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at the food like it was infected. “I've eaten in some of the finest restaurants in Japan!” He had this incredulous look, like what he had said was insulting.

 

The nurse's brave exclamation made him lean his head to the side in confusion. Did nurses even make enough money to go to the expensive places? `He must be thinking of those middle classed restaurants.' He decided mentally. Although he'd never been to the nicer restaurants of Kyoto, but he liked the food that some of the shabbier places provided. He knew that the more expensive restaurants could cost hundreds of yen just on the appetizer.

 

Opening his mouth to tell the nurse so, he was cut off when the door opened again, this time revealing Trowa. The change in Watari was as fast as a bullet coming out of a gun. From Happy go lucky Watari, to nervous and confused Watari and then back again. It made him do a double take of the nurse, wondering if his first impression of the blonde man was wrong, and that he was using a mask just like everyone else in the world.

 

If Watari was wearing a mask, he decided that he needed lessons from this particular nurse on hiding so well.

 

“Hello sir!” The hyper active nurse hooted, making some of his normal wide arm movements. He saw Trowa arch an eyebrow at his direction as Watari started rattling off things he needed to get done. But he ignored the Heavyarms pilot. What Watari was doing sounded like making excuses so that he could make a hasty retreat.

 

With a parting wave, the Watari-sunshine was gone, and the room seemed to fall back into a dark depression. The change was so fast, he tried to imagine the room with the nurse there at all, and he couldn't. The dark that weighed down on him was just a little too thick.

 

He was going to go nuts; and if he didn't get some release, he was going to go on a bloody war path. No one would survive. He tried to ignore the evil cackle that sounded in his head.(1)

 

Closing his eyes, he didn't try and stop the smile from fading from his lips. There was no need to pretend with Trowa, the one with those deep, soulful green eyes. After the first day, he didn't care anymore if it was Trowa. The said man would see through it anyway, but was too polite to say anything about it. Brownie point for him.

 

The smooth sound of metal against metal was heard, and he brushed it off as Trowa taking off the lid to his breakfast. He was proved correct when a sound of a disgusted snort left the standing pilot's throat. “They call this food?” It was soft, but it made him smile none the less. It was a small, microscopic smile compared to his Cheshire grin, but this one was real, not forced.

 

“Yeah…” He whispered back. “Even the staff complains about how horrible it tastes.” He was referring to Watari, but Trowa didn't need to know that. Maybe the green eyed man would take pity on him and bring him some real food. Nah…

 

It settled into a comfortable silence as Trowa sat down on the chair next to his bed, using his almost silent movements. The music was still thrumming along in the background, making him think of a porn movie. That particular thought brought on more thoughts, some disturbing, and others that made him want to shift incase he had a tent in his paper gown. One particular thought of Trowa straddling him made him want to bite his lip and shudder. Though, if it was a good shudder or a bad shudder was beyond him.

 

The man sitting beside him wasn't that bad looking, but it was the little blonde that came with Trowa that made him worry. If Quatre was unhappy, Rashid was unhappy, and that made everybody unhappy. A very bad unhappy. He could see himself in a relationship with both of them, he liked Quatre, but in some ways, not as much as Trowa. But then, he remembered these were thoughts that he didn't want, and hid them in a little black box in the back of his mind where he kept everything that he liked to hide. It seemed to have gotten quite a bit bigger lately.

 

Opening his eyes, he looked at the object of his thoughts. Trowa was sitting there, watching the T.V. as if nothing was going on, as if what had happened only a few days ago never transpired.

 

It made him want to scream, cry, and jump the man just out of pure sexual tension.

 

Pushing away those emotions, yet again, he closed his eyes and missed the formally known 03 check his watch in a worried manner. “I'll be right back.” Trowa said firmly, standing up using his cat-like grace. “Wufei and I have a surprise for you, but they don't seem to be here yet.”

 

His violet eyes snapped open and he looked at Trowa, anxiety rising up inside of him as he thought about who all Trowa and Wufei could be bringing by. There were only so many people, and none of them seemed like a good idea at the moment. He had just gotten into his routine and he didn't want to change it. It took him a moment to realize that Trowa's hand was on his shoulder and he was talking quietly to him while he hyperventilated.

 

He really didn't like surprises; they always seemed to do more bad than good. However, he calmed his breathing and gave Trowa a head nod, signaling he was okay. The Heavyarms pilot only gave him a worried look, not suppressed at all, before heading to the door. It was unlike Trowa to show his feelings to openly, but he shrugged it off as the man left.

 

Forcing his sore body to move, he slowly got out of bed. He needed to stretch his legs before Wufei and Trowa brought him whatever they had planned. Being internally grateful that Sheryl had gotten him some actual pajama pants to wear, he took some time to stop and touch his toes. He didn't know how his body could become so sore after only slitting his wrists, and he had even voiced his complaints to his nurses and doctors. They all said that it was because of stress put on the body and the fact that he never slept unless he was fucked over with drugs. Stress, yeah.

 

He was just coming up when he heard voices out in the hall. Trowa had obviously forgotten to close the door all the way. However, before he could go back down for some more stretches, he heard the worried voice of Quatre. Shit.

 

Freezing up like a deer in headlights, he listened intently, trying to prove himself wrong. But what he heard next made the need to run and hide almost unbearable. There were only so many voices that could make him rethink every other person he had a crush on and wonder what the hell he was thinking.

 

It was Heero.

 

It took a second to make his legs work, but as soon as he did, he was off towards the bathroom. His flight or fight response had kicked in, and he was opting for flight. He wanted to be nowhere hear them at the moment. It was funny actually, during the war he had ached to be with at least one of the other pilots at all times, bit now, he could hardly stand to be around any of them. He knew that he could start a relationship with any one of the others, and it would work. They all had bonded like that.

 

He was the problem; he didn't want any of them to die because of him.

 

It was unfortunate for him, just as he was opening the bathroom door and stepping in, his friends were walking through the other door. It was a panicked moment when he turned around to lock himself in to see Wufei and Heero coming after him. Heero looked as angry as ever, that scowl a crossed his face. Wufei, on the other hand, looked confused as well as surprised.

 

Shutting the door just before they got to him, his fingers were already working on the lock. He heard them both hit at the same time, shoulders banging against the flimsy wood. He heard Wufei call out to him, but he was desperately trying to hold back a bubble of helpless laughter that was coming up his throat.

 

He felt betrayed as he backed away from the door. He knew Heero was knocking on the door, as Wufei continued asking him as kindly as he could to come out, but he couldn't `hear' it. He could only see and move his body. However, on a second try to raise his hand and wipe at the falling tears, he found that he couldn't move either.

 

`Boys don't cry!'

 

It was a voice he knew well, the voice of his demons. They hadn't come out during his waking hours for a long time. It was another sign, in a string of them that he was about ready to do something stupid.

 

`Cry baby! Baby!'

 

`Go to hell you monster!'

 

`Killer!'

 

`Murderer!'

 

“No!” He surprised himself with his own voice, driving away his demons. It was one of the few ways he could gain control again. He had to scream as loud as he could. Sometimes one word would work, but other times, he had to scream until his voice was shot and he could no longer even make a sound. The silence was a welcome change for once. Leaning against the wall a crossed from the sink, he concentrated his breathing to make it slow and regular.

 

There was no more pounding on the door, but if he strained, he could hear voices coming from the other side of the thin wood. Bottling up his dread and fear, he shoved it into the back of his mind, near the demons. He knew that Quatre wouldn't look there. After all, they each had their own problems to face, and the empath had promised not to invade their mind.

 

Deep inside though, he could imagine them talking about him, about how he had screamed at them. He could almost hear Heero's mind making plans on psychiatric help that he would be forced through, or even a padded room that he would spend the rest of his life in. Heero had always waited for him to fail, he would never quite change. It wasn't oppressive, and he often liked to see the scowl of surprise on the Wing's pilot as he did things correctly. This was no different.

 

His eyes were caught on his reflection. At least, he thought it was his reflection. The hair was all wrong, short and darker brown. The shape of the face was all wrong too; instead of what people called `a heart shaped face' it was narrower, older looking. He vaguely wondered if he was thinking about Heero too much, the whole form looked vaguely oriental.

 

The only thing that was remotely similar was the eyes. But the eyes in the mirror were not his own even then. They were happy and hopeful, the eyes of someone in love. They were all that, with a tint of darkness under them. This person had tried to move on, but was reminded of the dark past. Yet he was still happy. That did make him laugh, a dark twisted sound sliding through his lips and filling up the silence if the small bathroom.

 

He'd never gotten his soul to heal. His eyes only showed the darkness.

 

Even as his face contorted in anger, hating the way that face mocked him, the image in the mirror didn't change. Letting out a shriek of outrage that stopped his laughter, he lashed out at the glass, trying to shatter the face that laughed at him, that showed him things that he could never have.

 

Pulling his clenched fist out of the shattered mirror, he barely registered the deep cuts that split open his right hand. They came all the way up to his bandage. Stepping backwards, he smiled in content as his back hit the wall and he slid down. The face was gone, and he hoped the bastard in the mirror would never come back. The imposter was everything he wasn't, and that made him angry. He liked to get rid of things that made him angry.

 

His form slumped in a semblance of contentment. He was tired again, tired of being here, tired of seeing faces and people he knew, but didn't. It made him think that maybe he was crazy, and that everything that was happening was what he deserved for letting Sister Helen and Father Maxwell die. They had been good people, and they had died because of him.

 

His eyes slid closed, his ears hearing but not understanding the pounding and worried voiced behind the bathroom door. He was going to sleep, and if he had his way, he would never wake up. That thought both relaxed and disturbed him greatly. Thinking at the moment was too much work though, so he shoved that aside and welcomed the world of pretty lights again. Pain was great.

 

~0O0O0O0~

 

(1) Devil May Cry 3 moment. Got it from the manga. -Grins-