Title: The Unwanted

Author: Cannibaljello at yahoo dot com

Rating: PG-13

Disclaimer: I don't own Capcom or any of the characters including those mentioned here. And trust me, no money could be made off of this shit, even if I was open to the offer.

Notes: Draining wounds again. David does it best.

Here I am sitting, staring, holding a room temperature beer in hand. It's meant to be warm but all it feels is cold.

Why is this? I've wondered both inside and out, loud and quiet. Every instance, the answer is the same, as if I'm nothing more than a mocking bird. It's because you're not with me.

I have no warmth. There's no energy to create it. Still, somehow, there's enough to melt the remaining ice. How long had it's liquid been gone? The taste had never really hit my tongue. It had not been translated into bitterness. Compared to my life...how we had become...it was not bitter at all.

I'd turned to alcohol in search for what you had found in it, wondering what healing medicine it had held. I found it was nothing but a mystery to me. Maybe when drinking...I had tried to become you, wondering what words would be spoken to me by its intoxicating charms. I had tried to become something I was not and could not be.

I must have hoped to hear what thoughts you had acted upon. To understand, somehow, that I, as David, did everything...and still couldn't add up to be enough.

It wasn't alcohol that took you away from me. It was me. I, unlike the beer, was not addicting. I, unlike the beer, was not worthy of your attention. I. unlike the beer, was not worthy of your love.

Three months I spent wondering what you were looking for in me and found it impossible to find. Three months I spent drinking, drawing in what essence of you I could. It had been more than three months I'd spent for you and more than three months I was willing to give up just to see you. Just to be besides you, giving so readily what you had pleaded for when you had been here: Love.

One time, you had come back. One time, with that one last hope. And you gave up again on me to remind me how I wasn't enough to keep you. As if the pain-ridden knowledge I'd always had wasn't enough, either.

My mind had passed from one state to another, finally settling on sadness and on loss when I realized that I would never have you back. Whatever you found, whoever you have now...they were better. Somehow, they were better, though they can give you nothing compared to what I would give and do now...waiting for you though I'd been killed twice by your heart.

I thought, once upon a time, that you weren't worthy. That you were happier with someone more attractive, someone less male. That you were satisfied, having nothing that mattered.

Maybe I'm still here for me, demanding answers to put my mind at ease. I was left with nothing. What in the hell did I do to deserve this suffering? How in the hell did you have the right to do this to me, to make the choice for me to be miserable for the rest of my life?

I was happy with you. I was complete. I'd have changed nothing to have what I had. I'd chance everything to get it back.

All I have now is the water in my glass where the ice had been, liquid now like the tears trailing down my face. Like the tears that had been there since three months before, and even prior to that when I knew I'd lose you. When I knew I would never be enough to keep you.

The world might as well be the water in this glass. You can see through it, but I cannot see through this. No matter how hard I try, there is nothing to see on the other side but a distorted background that I could never be and had never been a part of.

That, I can see. That, I can feel. And it makes me wonder how one we could be so unequal, as you make up the most and best of me and I, nothing of you.

You've ruined me for other people. You ruined me for myself. A man is meant to have confidence and here I sit, having none. It is not only me who sees it...but everyone else. They, too, hear it in my voice, though it is so rare now that I find the strength to speak.

One instance had I tried, thinking desperately that maybe Mark would come close to understanding me. He knew death all-to-well, thanks to the war. He knows how it is to suffer. To see every day as another doubt.

But he didn't know how it was to lose you.

In the end, I lost the only one I could talk to. You. You really were my everything.

It's my fault. All the torture and inner turmoil I'll live and die with every single day...I deserve it. What's ridiculous is that I don't know why. Why is it that you left me? Because I'm not beautiful enough? Not smart or talented or ignorant enough? Or was it because I loved you too much?

Sometimes I sit and fall apart. I cry to the point that when I open my pink eyes and wonder how they remain there. Why there aren't wide and wet sockets shining back blindly at me in the mirror.

And I wonder how I can wake each day after so little sleep, with so much of it spent struggling with the sheets in a nightmare I cannot escape, as it stretches into the day as much as it contacts my heart.

I wonder how I can breathe as I write, waking up every time I think of you, trying so desperately to say the words that will bring you back. I've written thousands of them, but not one is made or is capable of magic. They cannot receive the impossible, and they cannot deceive what is reality.

You were my world. I look at the sky and see your eyes, and know that like the air, I cannot live without them. I see the water and with it, the same, and wonder how dry I can become before I die without you, when I thirst so heavily for hope. And I cry a seemingly infinite fall of tears, thinking, how can it be that it never stops? Then I know...that with the force of a waterfall of the extent of this, the water cannot freeze, even though I tremble in an endless, heatless, energy-less cold, waiting and numbing until your embrace enfolds me, holds me, warms me again...

It will never happen. I will freeze in place as I already have, forced to stay by my own frost-bitten, flame-forbidden loyalty.

There comes a time when our outsides die and our insides spoil with the age of emptiness we feel. Inside, we inwardly explode, so full of a mixture of countless emotions that the boundaries of the human body cannot express them all. So we burn out, fall back on a default, and act as the dead, numb and dumb to the world around us when we're so involved around what is inside that nothing else matters. It evolves into a sun greater than that of everyone's, making our universe suddenly revolve around the orb of burning pain.

There, the stars we see are not so beautiful in their fiery fury. They glow like ghosts. They symbolize the only one item that meant anything and had any worth, while the rest of the matter is simply a worthless abyss. It means nothing and would be nothing if not for this single reason of being: to suffer.

I was meant to have you. My only reason was to love you. That you don't want this...that you took away every reason of my being...it left me with nothing. Absolutely nothing. Nothing to live for. Nothing to die for. No matter what I did, I could not and cannot be anything but what you did not want. That is my title: The Unwanted. The Not-Needed. It might as well be my name.

And yours? The Ashamed. Ashamed of me, of what I am, of who...of all we've been through. No matter when it began, the events or when the end came...it was nothing to you, and would never be. Just like me.

You are and will always be my everything. Nothing fails to remind me of this. The day I live through are made of you. Your eyes are the sky during the daylight. The reds and pinks of the sunrise and sunset cause me to see the pleasured tint on your skin when you were inside of me. The violet, too, is within my skin, where you, Kevin, left me bruised and caved in. To this day, I can still feel them, never healing, with the cavities left never sealing, as they are made of scar tissue set in the shape of you.

And the black of night...what about it?

It's the color of your heart.

To think that not even during death will a heart wilt as much as yours...as much as mine... Death, while many may argue, is not the most difficult loss. It's definite, yes...This is the reason why eventually, we move on from it. We come to see that there is no other choice. That there's not a single one to be made, because there is no coming back for the deceased.

But you...losing you is infinitely worse because you can come back. You have the choice and you continually choose to stay away. You find it not worthy of your power, your time - though it is all the same - to return to me as I'm not worth the expense it would cost to bring you back.

Once again, I'm not enough. I would pay with my death, but the sacrifice would still be too small.

Aware of this, as I always had been, I wonder why I've waited for you for so long. I find a little sense of victory when I realize...that I could repay you. That I could make us equal by taking a choice away from you. With it would come the choice that never would I have to hurt again. That I could hurt less dead, never seeing or knowing what happiness you've found, nor who or what had exceeded me. I would never be jealous. I could keep the tiny hope that maybe, when it was too late, you'd come back, look at me...and regret ever leaving. Then you would hurt like me.

By then...I'd know no hurt, because I would know no Kevin. The only loss I would have would be of my own life.

Still, I would be sitting...I would still be waiting for the love I'd both lived and had the devotion to die for, proud forever. That, you could never take away from me.

At least I could die, holding you in my mind.