I honestly don't know where this fic came from. I suppose it has something to do with the fact that someone pissed me off, but that still doesn't explain where I came up with this. There's no sex in the story, sorry…maybe next time I write something. There are, however, some fairly graphic descriptions of violence carried out by one of our favorite Gundam pilots. Well, read and review. Tell me what you think. Laters.
Primal Needs by Rhiannon
I'm not a very violent person by nature, but if I'm provoked I have no other choice than to act on my most base aggressions. That is the only reason that we're here now and that I'm telling you this story. It's not by choice it's necessity. On a night not so very long ago, I was out. Like most other young people my age, I was out at a club. It wasn't very exciting, but it was something to do other than sit at home and watch another cheesy movie on cable or something like that. It wasn't my fault what happened after I got to the club. The guy came up to me and started hitting on me. It was pissing me off and I asked him to leave me alone. But the stupid bastard wouldn't listen to me. He kept coming back and he kept rubbing himself up against me, the prick. I didn't want for things to escalate with him, so I found the group of people that I had gone to the club with and I huddled up with them. I tried to explain to the prick that I was there with this group of people and I wasn't about to leave their company for his. The stupid little bastard didn't seem to comprehend a word of what I said. He came over to me every couple of minutes to ask if I wanted to dance. I kept telling him no. You'd think that by the 5th or 10th or 20th time that I told him no he would have gotten the message, but the fucking Neanderthal didn't get the hint. I mean seriously, I did what I could to avoid conflict with him but he just kept persisting. I finally got so tired of him hitting on me that I decided to leave the stupid club.
I walked out, completely unaware that the fucking bastard was following me. He came up behind me, quite suddenly. He whispered in my ear something about playing hard to get. I didn't pay the little shit any mind. I let him keep his arms around my neck and a hand on my mouth. I played scared, I figured that was what the sick fuck wanted. Very slowly, so slowly that I barely noticed it; I reached into my pocket and grabbed my knife. He started pulling me away with him behind the club. Once we were in the ally way, I plunged the knife into the soft flesh of his belly. He cried out, a guttural scream of pain and surprise. His arms immediately left my throat and went to clutch the wound in his side. As I've already said, I'm not a violent person by nature, but I was in danger, that was why I acted out the way I did. Then, the expletives he uttered, the names he called me as he lay there bleeding…it was too much for me to take. I bent down towards him and picked him up by the collar of his jacket. I began to slam his head against the hard ground. The first time I heard the sickening thud of his skull hitting the ground, I didn't think I liked it. But the more I did it and the more I felt his grip on my hands weakening, the more I knew that I liked what I was doing to him. He was completely unconscious now, and blood was pooling around the back of his head and on his shirt from his belly. I don't know what came over me then. I stood up and I was walking away. Then my steps slowed to a shuffle. Then I stopped all together. I turned around and ran back. I started kicking him in the ribs and in the legs. He moaned, he gasped, then I sat a top his chest and began to beat his face. He was a bloody mess by the time I was through with him. I was covered in his blood and my own sweat and my breathing was rough and uneven. I'm not a violent person by nature, but something about this man brought out the primordial animal in me thirsting for blood and revenge. I wiped my hands on my coat, stood, and walked away from him as though nothing had happened.
That stupid man had no business pursing me, and all I did was teach him a lesson. He had pushed me to the breaking point. I walked around for a while very satisfied with myself and what I had done. Guilt didn't find me for another few hours, not until the same time that the police found me. It was at that point that I realized the gravity of what I had done. Yet, even then, it didn't seem that big a deal to me.
"Quatre Winner?" The police officer questioned carefully as he neared me.
"Yes, that's me," I replied brightly as I smiled and extended my blood stained hands in preparation for the hand cuffs that they would undoubtedly place on me. The officer wasted no time in reading me my rights and placing the cuffs on me. He was a very nice fellow and it was really too bad that we had to meet under those circumstances, I'm sure we could have been friends and even gone out had it not been for the circumstances. As we drove to the precinct, the young officer asked me a very straightforward question.
"Why did you do it Mr. Winner? I mean, the guy was already down for the count; there were witnesses there that said they saw you take it too far. They said that you escalated the whole situation with the man being unable to defend himself…why?"
"He kept hitting on me, and I didn't want to be with him. If I had wanted to, I would have had my way with him. But I didn't want that. I was there tonight with a group of lovely young women that had me captivated. The guy that I had a confrontation with disturbed my concentration so much that I had to leave. He attacked me and had the nerve to say that I was playing hard to get."
"Wait a minute Mr. Winner," the young officer paused me in my story, confusion evident in his voice, "If you had wanted him, you mean sexually, you would have gone with him?"
I chuckled lightly, and then replied, "In a heart beat. He was handsome, but not what I was in the mood for tonight. He kept bothering me even after I had refused him repeatedly. He pissed me off. That's the simple truth of it, he pissed me off."
We had reached the precinct and the young officer came to my door and helped me out. He led me into the precinct and put me in a holding cell. From there, they photographed me and fingerprinted me. Then they placed me in a room with a table, two chairs and a large mirror.
"And that Detective Maxwell, is why I am here today. You see, if I would have just stayed home, we never would have met." Detective Maxwell sat back and pondered what I said for a moment.
"I find this story very interesting Mr. Winner. You show absolutely no remorse and you act as though beating this man to the point of death is the most natural thing in the world."
"I didn't kill him?" I asked incredulously.
Detective Maxwell's eyes hardened sharply, his mouth was pursed in anger. I could tell it was taking all of his will power not beat the living crap out of me for what I had done. "No, Mr. Winner. You did not kill this man. You injured him to the point of death, and it is a miracle that he is alive at this point. You will not get the chance to hurt him again, and if they don't sentence you to death, they will put you away in prison for a very long time."
"So, what am I being formally charged with?" I asked conversationally.
Detective Maxwell didn't deem my question worthy of an answer. He just got up, left the room, and slammed the door shut. I'm really not a violent person by nature, and I don't see what the big deal is about what I did. The guy attacked me and I had to defend myself, didn't I?
They put me on trial and convicted me of assault with a deadly weapon with intention to murder. They brought me up on all kinds of other charges too. It was rather odd, seeing the poor guy that I had beaten the crap out of on the stand testifying against me. I mean, he was in trouble too, yet here he was testifying against me. He was only charged with a small count of assault for approaching me from behind and taking me behind the club. I really don't think it was fair that I was attacked first, provoked if you would, forced to protect myself and now find myself serving a life term with no chance of parole. I suppose that I deserve it. But I still say that I'm not a violent person by nature. The way they painted me as a sick violent offender during the trial, now that really upset me. I was only defending myself. Although I must say that it felt good to give into my urge to beat the crap out of the guy. I'll probably even do it again some time too. I mean, prison is a tough place, and some of these guys want to get a little too close sometimes…especially when I'm not in the mood. I'm a nice guy most of the time, but if you rub me the wrong way, I won't hesitate to show my displeasure. People have tried to bury their basic instincts to harm others. They say it isn't civilized, they say it isn't morally right. Well I say, give into your most basic, primal needs. I mean, violence, like sex, is necessary for survival. So why not be more violent more often?