Yami No Matsuei Fan Fiction / Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Symphonys of Roses and Pain ❯ Red Roses for the Devil's Whore ( Chapter 2 )

Red Roses for the Devil's Whore

 

 

He couldn't open his eyes. That was the first thing that made him worry. But as soon as he grasped that thought, he was hit with feeling in his body. He could feel his limbs, but they were heavy, as if they were made of rock. He could feel his head, like a Mobile Suit was tap-dancing in his skull. He could feel his forearms, itching under massive amounts of bandages and tape.

 

He was cold as hell.

 

Not the type of cold you get from staying out in the snow for a long time, but the kind of cold you get when you know something bad is going to happen. Something so bad that it is going to shake the very foundation of your life, a numb feeling that spreads through out your soul and changes everything.

 

Forcing his eyes open after taking notice of the fact that he felt like shit, he snapped his eyes closed again as the sun from a nearby window hit his pupils. “Someone needs to turn the sun off!” He moaned in agony before he could stop himself. His voice was scratchy and shot.

 

He vaguely wondered if he'd been screaming.

 

It was a stupid thought to have; he knew he had been screaming. He had been screaming ever since he had been pulled out of his mother's womb. Who ever she had been. He had screamed and cursed when Solo had died, he had screamed and swore to avenge Sister Helen and Father Maxwell when the church had burned down. He had screamed and laughed as he had cut down mobile dolls and enemies that had been in his way. He had screamed and spit at the people who had tortured him. And he would forever scream at the demons who haunted him.

 

Trying to pull his arm up to rub at his sore throat, he whimpered as it refused to move even a millimeter. Fire laced up his arm, moving through his elbow and reaching up in tendrils to his shoulder. It felt like someone had taken a white hot poker and had seared the inside of his veins.

 

He gave no shout in alarm as someone came into his line of sight suddenly, making his violet eyes dart over to the figure. The arm he'd just been trying to move not a moment ago shot to his hip, before he could recognize who was standing there, his once immobile fingers clamping down where he usually kept his gun.

 

Lady luck wasn't on his side, and the gun was missing. “Goddamn it Chang! Try to make some freaking noise when you walk! You almost gave me a goddamned heart attack!” His voice was strong and firm this time, making it quite clear that he was irritable and prone to giving anyone around a piece of his mind. He had been in a momentary state of panic, having bad experiences with hospitals in his past; from G to those OZ bastards in white lab coats.

 

After taking a moment of studying the Chinese man's face, he looked back down at his arm and swore under his breath when he realized, regretfully, that it was refusing to move again.

 

There was a moment of tense silence as he tried to ignore the other male and flex his fingers; he could see Wufei out of the corner of his eye, opening his mouth to try and learn to speak again. He must have shocked the Shenlong pilot with his behavior, because the usually dismissive and angry expression that the other male wore was replaced with something akin to worry and confusion.

 

He pulled his head up again from where his chin had been laying against his chest as the door opened again. He absentmindedly wondered if there was some sick joke about him going around the hospital and everyone was coming in to see the freak attraction. It made his blood boil just thinking about the fact that people were laughing at him behind his back. He could just imagine it, all those people he had once called friends standing in the hall, cracking jokes about his hair or the fact that he was so depressed that he had tried to end his life.

 

Automatically fighting back that anger and plastering his jester mask on as he saw Trowa, he skillfully hid the clenching of his teeth as he saw those eyes. Those eyes that haunted him almost as much as that silver haired bastard. They reminded him of someone he loved long ago, but the face and name eluded him like his blood running through his fingers after he had cut too far in and fucked up his tendons. He hated when that happened.

 

It was like chasing Muraki.

 

He had never been close to Trowa, but Quatre had kept the Lion Tamer around and so they had gotten to know each other semi-well. He had soon found out that the only two people he could not hide his true self from were Wufei and Trowa. And sometimes, it pissed him off to no end. They could see his mood shifts and suicidal thoughts as easily as Quatre could. Though, just because he couldn't hide from them, didn't mean that he wouldn't put on his Cheshire mask just to annoy the hell out of them.

 

“Hey Tro~wa!” He chided, dragging out the syllables in an annoying way, grinning his award-winning `fuck you' grin.

 

He mentally screamed `Score!' as he saw the irritation glimmer through those oh so familiar eyes for a second. He loved it, the annoyance he could cause Trowa sometimes. It was so easy to push the Heavyarms pilot away. It was also disturbing to realize that if Trowa wasn't taken by Quatre, he would have had to face some feelings inside of himself that he had desperately tried to hide. Feelings that would have made him a little less lonely and a little more dependent on someone.

 

He knew he was hiding the thoughts he was thinking from his two comrades when Wufei shook his head and walked out of the room. The Chinese male had been silent the whole time, standing back to watch the proceedings. Wufei must have seen too far under his mask for his comfort. He was glad that Heero and Quatre didn't know about his ability to shove down his more, extreme moods, and fake sunshine and daises. Then they would have some problems.

 

But some days, he just wanted to rip Heero's head off.

 

It wasn't like Wing's pilot was hard to get along with. But sometimes, he got the feeling that there was a part of Heero that was secretly laughing at him, waiting for him to fail so that he could come and gloat as he took over. That bastard was the reason he had even made it through the damn war and kept going afterwards. Heero was also the reason why he had hidden while he had cut himself. Why he had refused to send out a letter to Quatre about what he planned to do.

 

Leaning his head to the side like an overactive puppy, he put enough feeling in his body to bounce up and down a few times. It made him look immature, and more like himself. It also hurt like being shot up his tail bone, but he grinned and bared it like the good little whore that he was. “How is everyone?” He asked cheerfully.

 

He hoped that the heavy arms pilot wouldn't ask too many questions about how he'd been found. He really didn't know if he could answer them truthfully and not sound crazy. There was no way in fucking hell he could do that. Inside, he wondered idly how that conversation would go. Especially with someone like Wufei; good old practical Wufei. Not a believer's bone in his body.

 

`Why did you hurt yourself you stupid idiot?!'

 

`Oh you know `Fei, I had to ask the pretty man why he kept touching me in my sleep.'

 

Oh yeah, he would be in a nut house then. Jet express, no amount of talking would get him out of that one. Consolers every hour on the hour. He shuddered mentally.

 

“We're worried about you.” Came the real reply from Trowa, his voice as deep as always. You had to love a voice like that, deep and husky like he was constantly craving sex. But there was something else that tinted that voice. It struck something deep inside of him. Something that he had hidden from everyone, including himself.

 

It sounded like fear.

 

He was struck speechless. Had what he'd done really affected them all that much? Those cuts in his arms, did they actually make more problems than what they fixed? He didn't doubt it. He seemed to be fucking up more than usual lately. A little blonde Arabian came into his mind. He had to think of the one he knew would never turn his back on him. Or at least he hoped would never turn his back on him. “Is Quatre okay?” He asked his voice almost dead.

 

At that moment, he didn't care about playing the fool for everyone. He just wanted to make sure that the little empath was alright. He could see it, a tear streaked face and shaking hands holding himself up as he emptied his stomach into a toilet. It broke what ever he had in his chest that had replaced his heart, making the guilt and sorrow rise sharply.

 

He was in a little paper gown, lying on a little paper mattress, and he was worried about someone else. He was so selfless sometimes. Bitter resentment also welled up inside of him, resentment towards everyone else. Mainly to those who had been plaguing his dreams.

 

There was a hesitant intake of breath from Trowa, and in that short moment, all he wanted to do was rip the other pilot limb from limb. He couldn't stand suspense. It made his gut clench in fear and he had never been the one to wait for anything.

 

“He's fine, for the moment.” Came the answer at last.

 

He physically relaxed, his head falling back against the pillow he had been given. At that moment, he was more drained than if he had just ran ten whole miles without stopping. “Can you all just leave me alone now? For a little bit? I'm tired, and want to get some rest.” He was back to his voice sounding scratchy and shot. It was irritating how weak he sounded right then.

 

`Yippe.' He thought bitterly. `I've come full circle.'

 

Closing his violet eyes, he let out an exhausted sigh and slumped his shoulders on the bed. This was just what he needed. He was looking weak in front of another pilot, and yes, there was going to be hell and, he was going to have to spill his whole life story to the other four if he wanted to get them off of his back. He just hated fucking living sometimes.

 

`Life just keeps getting better and better…' He grumbled at himself, finally hearing the sound of a door opening and shutting. He hadn't pretended to be asleep, but he was grateful that his wish had been granted.

 

`Now just what to do…' He thought, pondering how he was going to explain this crazy little situation he'd gotten himself into. Scrunching his face up into a frown, he rubbed his bandaged wrist against the sheets. The damned things itched! If anything, he was going to remove his bandages and stitches before he did any explaining. He couldn't stand them, it wasn't his fault that his skin had gotten so sensitive ever since he had gotten off of the streets and had started taking care of it!

 

Forcing open his eyes, he brought both arms up, much to his complete and total happiness, and scratched as far under the bandage as was allowed by the tightness. It did make it feel a little better. What was alarming was that once he started, he couldn't stop. It was like the urge to lay there and scratch until his skin came off had come over him. Pushing that morbid thought from his head, he cursed softly.

 

Frowning as he dropped both of his hands, he sighed, this time angrily. He really didn't have to tell them anything. It was none of their business. Curling up in a fatal position, he closed his eyes again and decided to get some sleep. He felt some what safe in this position, leaving little unprotected. His limbs were still heavy, and his eyelids were starting to get that droopy feeling.

 

The last thing he saw before he drifted off to the wonderful world of sleep, was a glass vase full of long stemmed red roses. They were on the bedside table, almost hidden from his view by the machines he was hooked up to. But they were there, mocking him with dreams and memories he couldn't remember.

 

A little note was attached to the roses, starting to get blurry by the fact that he was falling asleep. However, he was able to fight it for a moment longer and read in inscription.

 

“Good night and sleep tight my little monster, my little Shinigami. I'll be watching over you.”