Dear journal or notebook or whatever,
I don't usually write in these things, it seriously cramps my style. But I have a really bad secret that I don't want to tell anyone, not Quatre or Heero or any of 'em. See, my big secret is….I cut myself.
Slowly and cautiously, Duo searched the dark apartment he and Hilde were sharing at the time. Noting with satisfaction that she was not home, he made his way back to his room, holding something in his hand protectively. Taking a seat on the edge of his bed, he unclenched his fist to reveal a switchblade, it's black and red handle glittering in the moonlight that came in through his uncurtained window. Duo flicked the blade out and admired it, one of the few material things he kept with him. With a soft and almost sad sigh, he brought it to his wrist, sharp edge down. Quickly, he made a narrow surface slash across the width of his arm. Almost immediately, he felt relief. He saw more than felt the blood slide in a thin stream from the cut to his elbow, the fresh pain washing over him. Every thought, every mind-clouding emotion was swept away, the sharp physical pain replacing the dull resonant ache he felt mentally. One by one, the drops of blood slipped from his elbow and stained the thigh of his blue jeans. With this cut came cerebral freedom, all reflections of the war and its delicate and mind-consuming intricacies left behind. Duo felt himself falling into his mutilation, his body accepting the slow blood loss. And he felt whole.
I guess it is kinda my little escape. When I cut, the world slips away. Replacing pain with pain, but it doesn't last. Soon the world comes back and leaves me there, trying to come down from my high. If I told them, I know people would ask why a happy-go-lucky guy like me would cut myself. I cut for my own reasons. I do it out of frustration. I do it for the thrill of that intense high. But mostly I cut for the escape from reality, like after a bad day at work or school. Or a bad mission.
Time flew for Duo as he made more and more cuts across his wrists. Soon his clothes and hands and arms were all the same hue of rusty crimson. His blade gleamed red as he made cut after cut, trying in earnest to forget what had happened that day. Forget the hurt faces, forget the mangled bodies; to forget the screams of anguish. And for a while, he did. For a while, it all faded away.
The worst thing about cutting is that it doesn't last forever. Heck, it doesn't even last for very long. Right when you're starting to forget, all the sweet calm ends and reality comes and smacks you in the face. It's also bad when you get your clothes dirty, but that's just small stuff. I can never get over the let down afterwards, it's depressing sometimes.
Hilde returned to their shared apartment at her same time of 7:30 PM, L2 standard time, with her usual bright smile. Going from one end to the other, she searched for her braided roommate, to no avail. When she didn't find him raiding the kitchen or lounged in front of the TV as he usually was, she went to check his room, to which the door was closed. After knocking several times, she let herself in and gaped at the boy before her.
I really hope nobody ever finds out about this. I mean, after the wars are over, sure I'll tell someone. But, ya know, a guy should have some secrets, right? And he has to keep them too. I don't think I'll even tell Hilde until after the war times, even if I do live with her. She doesn't need to worry about me. I don't want to make her upset.
There sat Duo, his jeans and t-shirt stained with his own blood. His head was tilted back and his face contorted into a mixture of pleasure and suffering. His arms and hands were soaked red and a bloodstained knife was poised above one wrist, ready to make another incision. And as Hilde stood in the doorway, mouth hanging slightly open, Duo made another cut, this time cutting into a major vein in his wrist. What looked like liters of blood to Hilde poured from that cut, pooling on the linoleum floor below him. Duo's eyes opened and in their violet depths, Hilde saw a grief stricken and war weary boy, stripped of his fleeting chance at innocence. He stared at her blindly for a moment before collapsing forward, his face landing in the scarlet puddle below.
I almost hope I die in some battle, just so I won't have to explain to everyone that I used to be a coward. That I used to cut myself to escape reality. Guess I've been hanging around Wufei too much, I'm starting to pick up his honor and justice talk. But it's true, I would rather just disappear than have to live with the memory of being such an escapist.
Duo was rushed to the hospital; transfusion attempts beginning immediately. And so, Hilde and the four remaining Gundam pilots were forced to wait. Gathering up her courage, Hilde asked the stoic one, Heero she thought he had said, about what had happened that day. Heero told her about the mission, about how it was one of their last ones, about the military base, and about the suburbia surrounding the base. The blonde, Quatre she believed, filled in how Duo had failed to prevent a shot gone awry, a shot that destroyed a section of the neighborhood and how the normally chatty pilot had been quiet for the rest of the mission. Hilde had nodded her understanding. Several minutes after this conversation, a doctor came from the emergency ward, a clipboard in one hand. In hushed tones, he told them that their friend and comrade had died from excessive loss of blood, and that all transfusion attempts had failed. Nothing more could be done, he said. All four pilots and the girl took it in the same way; remaining silent and letting their faces betray no emotion. The pilots left then, and Hilde never heard from them again.
I sure as hell hope nobody reads this until I say something about all of it. Anyway, I'll probably stop cutting soon, the war times are passing and the missions are slacking off. Our next mission is to destroy a military base right here on L2, should be a breeze, a simple smash and go. Wish me luck you crazy journal. How bizarre, I'm talking to a notebook. Heh, well this is Shinigami, out.
-Duo
Later, Hilde went in to look at Duo one last time. They couldn't afford a funeral, so the hospital agreed to bury him on their land. His prone form lay on a white hospital sheet set, starkly contrasting his carmine stained body. For the first time and the last time, she saw him at peace. No inner torment behind that smile, just simple serenity. His eyes shut softly, long lashes lying across his cheeks and his mouth slightly agape, as if he were calmly drawing breath. As sad as she was at his death, Hilde never cried for him. She had seen suffering in those eyes far too many times to be sorry that he no longer had to endure his hurtful life. For the first time, she also saw his cuts. The new ones and the scars of bad days gone by. She realized that the scars measured his torment, his misery. His lower arms were fully covered, each strategically placed so it wouldn't draw too much blood. Giving a small sigh, she kissed his cold and lifeless forehead and went home.
She kept his things in a box, and when she moved, they moved with her. On top of the pile of things in that box were an old composition book and a red and black switchblade. The composition book only held one entry, as that was all that was written and the switchblade had been cleansed of it's rusty coloring. She never did tell the other Gundam pilots what caused Duo's untimely death. She had read his composition and understood his wishes. He had wanted an honorable death, and she made sure it turned into one. She made sure that the press knew that the Gundam pilot from L2 had left on his own, or something to that effect. In the end, Duo disappeared just like he wanted to.