I don't anything gundam wing! I do own Janice.
*WARNING!* GRAFIC CONTENT! *WARNING!* OOC
Ch. 1 Haunting Memories
He stood, staring at the door, his inner war slowly consuming him, tearing him. Part of him accepted the finality of Quatre's decision, while the other part screamed to go after him, drag the blond back, make him understand. Instead he stood stock still, utterly lost as to what was the right strategy for the situation. He lost all track of time then, didn't even acknowledge sinking to the floor. All he knew, all he felt, was pain; pain and fear. That dreadful, sickening feeling crept over him, filling him with darkness. His heart ached and he longed to rip it from his chest and throw it across the room. His insides were twisting, wrenching, knotting; tearing him apart. If he had thought almost losing Quatre before was painful, this, this was worse.
There was nothing but pain and emptiness like he had never known. The world faded away from him as he receded into himself. His whole world had just been obliterated in one, life long, moment. The one person he had come to trust and depend on, cared for, he had pushed away, gone. The gaping hole left behind was slowly consuming him, and he didn't care. Life without Quatre was meaningless…
(O)(O)(O)(O)
Quatre pulled the door shut behind him, then leaned against the cold, hard panel. It had been the hardest decision he had ever had to make. He had been living too long without the love, affection, and all the basics of a normal relationship. However, Heero had provided those things to the best of his ability, no matter how warped they may have been. Even with that knowledge, he couldn't stay with the man. Not only was it not physically healthy for him, but emotionally as well.
He sat down on the stairs just outside Heero's apartment, contemplating the consequences of his decision. Heero was, and in some ways, still is, a perfect soldier and while this would be hard on him, he would go on like he always did. For a brief moment, he thought he heard weeping coming from just beyond the door, but shook it off as quickly as it'd come. The perfect soldier did not cry. He stared down at the expensive tile on the stairwell; they were no longer lovers, but they could still friends, he hoped…
With a heavy sigh, he stood up and head out the front doors, pulling his cell from his back pocket to call for a car to pick him up. As the car pulled to a stop at the curb, Quatre cast one last, long glance back at Heero's apartment, before stepping into the car.
(O)(O)(O)(O)
Heero no longer slept, having horrific dreams of past memories that he couldn't seem to stop having. He had to have white noise running in the background twenty-four hours a day to keep from seeing the images behind his eyes. The reoccurring nightmare of Quatre's near death move to save him the other year….
It was clear as day, haunting him; the sound of the bullet leaving the barrel of Kain's gun, the soft thud of impact as it passed through Quatre's back, tearing skin and muscle, chipping bones to puncture through his lung and the fragments embedding themselves on the inside of his rib cage. The disgusting smell of seared flesh, cauterized by the heat of the bullet and hot barrel of the gun, punctuated by the horrible gurgling noise from a collapsed lung. Quatre's normally beautiful face, suddenly ash white and contorted in surprised pain, his gorgeous blue eyes going wide with fear, knowing the inevitable, then dulling as they lost focus, life fading from them. His failed attempt to cough up the blood now draining into his remaining lung, slowly suffocating him, what little had made its way into his mouth, slowly dribbled through the corner of his mouth, leaving a crimson trail down his chin. The way his body crumpled at his feet. Even now, he could still feel the dead weight of his limp body in his arms. The blood, there had been so much! It was everywhere, staining his shirt, drenching his hands and pooling on the floor.
Over and over it played! He couldn't hear it, feel it, see it, smell it! There was no escape; the images, tormented him day after day. And when it wasn't his death, it was the rape. That blood curdling scream, stopped his heart and made his blood run cold. That man's face would never leave his memory. The pure pleasure of it as he plunged into gentle Quatre's unwilling body, tearing him, abusing him! His soft, delicate skin, marred from the man's rough handling. The fact that he had been touched at all by someone other than him, made the nightmare worse. And on really bad days, he would find himself in the rapist's shoes doing unforgivable things to his lover's body.
His reaction to that sight frightened him almost as much as the rape itself. He had grabbed his lover's assailant and thrown him into the wall, repeatedly smashing his head into the wall, hearing, feeling, the bones giving way in the back of the man's skull. A feral instinct demanded release, that he provide the man with a slow, agonizing death. The slight satisfaction he had been graced with after he had twisted the man's head, snapping his neck like a twig, did nothing to appease the beast within. Quatre, strung up on the bed, no way to escape, no way to protect himself…
Quatre's many nightmares afterwards, screaming for him at odd hours of the night. Even his offered embrace of comfort triggered memories on Quatre's bad days. Their love life had been awkward at best for the longest time, Heero often the submissive in bed so that Quatre would have the control he needed to get deal with the lingering effects of his rape. At least Quatre had been able to deal with his, Heero had never really dealt with his own ordeal. Instead, he had chosen to leave Quatre to prevent him any further danger, and pain, that had obviously failed miserably.
Now, without Quatre to keep away the darkness, the outside world became nonexistent, curtains were closed, lights always off, his cell battery died, and his land line was disconnected from the socket. There was no concept of time and eventually, reality; nightmares becoming so vivid they BECAME his reality. They were there, always, sleeping or always, the images never left.
Heero knew he was slowly slipping into madness. The only thing holding him to what small amount of sanity he had left glinted maliciously against the white porcelain bathroom sink. Sanctuary. It scared, yet intrigued him.
Gently, he picked it up and ran the thin, sharp blade along the inside of his left wrist. His blood flowed slowly, pooling on the counter top, a sharp contrast to the white marble. He stood staring, in sick fascination for a moment, reveling in the sudden feeling of freedom. His tormentors, disappearing immediately as the blade touched his skin, again and again.
When he had sufficiently relieved himself of his burdens, he cleansed and dressed the wounds, then succumbed once again, to the darkening madness of his world. The never ending rape and torture, his and Quatre's alike, blending one into the other, one in the same, and eventually, there was no distinguishing one from the other, he lived through both.
(O)(O)(O)(O)
Days, weeks, months, he didn't know; everything blended into the same drawn out day. A one small link to the world came every once in a while in the form of a knock on the door, with no one there but a bag of groceries. He never knew who it was, or how much time had passed between visits, he just knew that someone, came and went.
Part of him started to resent Quatre; hate him for doing this to him, to them; but his own self loathing for being 01, the "perfect soldier", was far worse. He took it out on his flesh, carving daily reminders of how he had failed. He ate little to nothing at all, and drank even less.
It was odd, he didn't want to kill himself, but at the same time, didn't care what happened; just existed without existing. At some point, he vaguely wondered if anyone cared for him, but since there had been no contact from the other pilots, he squashed that thought immediately; however, once that thought had entered into his head, he couldn't stop dwelling on it.
His daily ritual continued as more and more of his flesh became disfigured. They weren't all on his wrists; many had migrated to his thighs, upper back, and in rare cases, his rib cage. It reminded him of the hell he suffered at the hands of Callum, but it was a lot less than the suffering Quatre had endured. The torture, rape, death, how did he ever deserve a man like that? The slow agonizing torture of his personal hell!
Then, one day, it all changed…
The customary knock on his door sounding alerting him that food had arrived, not that he ate much of it, but when he opened the door, Janice stood on the other side, her face torn between desperation and tears.
"Quatre is missing…..
(O)(O)(O)(O)
Ok, so I decided to make this one a trilogy! LMAO Ya I know, I said the last one was it, I lied. I should be fleshing this one out some more in the coming weeks if time allows. On to the next one!
