A Test of Strength
By – DreamHeart
A/N:I am writing again. Stone Ashes is still under revision, but it is still coming along. I still love the idea and how everything is going. does seem to be a chapter short . . . so I'm adding the fifth chapter for you while I'm still working out the kinks. For now, I hope you enjoy this little piece about Kunzite.
Disclaimer:I DO NOT own Sailor Moon or any of its characters. I do however OWN the story and I will hunt you down.
Alone in his chambers, Kunzite sat in the suffocating darkness – with a bottle of whiskey in one hand and a glass of ice in the other. Alcohol was an indulgence that he had seldom succumbed to, but tonight, tonight he just didn't give a damn. After pouring himself his second shot of the night, he slowly brought his choice of poison to his lips once more.
Yes, alcohol and drunkenness were a weakness and weakness was something that Kunzite could not tolerate. But today had been an especially rough day, not physically, but mentally and emotionally. Physical exhaustion he could handle but nothing could have prepared him for today, though heaven knows that he tried.
The Shitennou had been discovered and revived after the Great Freeze. The Neo-Queen had presented them to her husband and to her guardians. They had knelt before the Neo-King and awaited their judgment. Time screeched to an excruciating halt at the moment. No one dared to breathe. But Endymion surprised them – with a smile he embraced them as brothers. Relief coursed through their veins at that moment as they remembered how to breathe.
Breathe. Just as he thought he had remembered how, she stepped forward. In her senshi form, she was nothing short of a goddess. She had always been his undoing and once again time stood still. Frozen in that moment, her eyes held nothing – no kindness, joy, compassion or love, as he had foolishly hoped. No, those cool, hard, sapphire eyes held nothing but hate.
And in that moment he felt his world shatter. Yes, he had known, he had expected this moment, this cold hard truth. He told himself that he had no right to hope, to expect anything less – but nothing could have prepared him for that moment. The moment when she crushed him, them, under her heel demanding that they not be trusted. A stab to the heart would have been less painful – no matter how deserved. And no kind, confident, and reassuring words from his liege or lady could quell the feelings that had once again been brought to the surface.
He understood, though, they all did. Doubt, it was the price they would have to pay for their sins. But it was not nearly as high, as the price that shone within those crystal eyes, hatred. He had earned her hate.
Only a lifetime's worth of practice had kept his stoic expressionless mask in place. But now alone under the cover of darkness he didn't care, he didn't have to pretend. Draining his glass, all he cared about was forgetting; if only for tonight.
As he poured himself another, those painfully beautiful cornflower blue eyes haunted him once more. He closed his eyes against them, willing them away, only to have her image come to his mind's eye unbidden, and certainly unwelcome. Mina.
His eyes flew open and he had the sudden desire to throw his glass against the wall. He didn't of course, but the urge was so strong and so sudden that it almost overwhelmed him. It was unsettling, to say the least, because it was so uncharacteristic. Frustrated, Kunzite ran a tired hand through his long silver locks.
'It wasn't her fault,' he silently reminded himself, only to feel the weight of guilt and self-loathing settle into his chest. His gray-lavender eyes hardened in determination, as he swirled the contents of his glass. Yes, tonight he would forget.
Downing the shot quickly, he reveled in the burning sensation in the back of his throat. It meant freedom, blissful freedom from those damn eyes. Pouring yet another, he prayed for release. But it only made him recall the silky feel of her honey wheat hair as it danced beneath his fingertips. And suddenly he recalled the screams, screams that would haunt him forever.
Covering his ears against the sound, he reminded himself that they weren't her screams. Thank the heavens for that. She had been too proud, too stubborn to scream for him in the end, and for that he was eternally grateful. No, the screams that haunted him now were the screams of another blonde. Jadeite.
The Shitennou were en route to Earth when they were captured, returning from negotiations with the Silver Alliance. Endymion stayed behind to make wedding preparations with Princess Serenity, while his comrades had been captured by the enemy. Beryl.
Beryl was furious that she had failed to capture Endymion, but seized upon her chance to make the Shitennou her strongest generals. They struggled at first, but her magic was strong and her methods of torture were extremely convincing.
Jadeite struggled the hardest, and because of that Beryl was determined to break him, to make him an example to the others. No one knew exactly what she had done to him. All they knew was that alone in the darkness of their own private hells his screams were ever present – until the one day she finally broke him. After that he was never the same, none of them were – because after that no one dared to struggle. After that, they were merely shells of the men they once were and it was easy to prey upon their doubts, their fears, until the ones the loved were the enemy.
Downing shot four quickly he pushed the sound of Jadeite's screams from his mind. 'They're not real. They're not real,' he silently chanted, praying that the words would banish his fear, banish the taste of bile in his throat as he fought the urge to vomit. It was all encompassing and he struggled to regain control over his shot nerves as he reminded himself that Jadeite was safe, that they were all safe.
Cornflower blue eyes danced before his mind's eye, offering some semblance of comfort as they haunted him once more. Pausing to take a deep breath, Kunzite poured himself shot number five. Bringing the liquid to his lips once more, he thanked the gods that he wasn't truly rid of her yet. But with those damn eyes came a wash of memories, and he once again found himself begging to be rid of her. Because he wasn't rid of the way her kisses made him want to drown, drown himself in her kisses, her eyes, her smile, her love. He was drowning in her now, in a sea of painfully wonderful memories. Bringing the bottle of Jack against his forehead, he cursed as a single tear trailed down his cheek.
Why couldn't he forget? Was it some twisted form of penance that he was being forced to serve? All he wanted was to forget just once, was that too much to ask? Just once, he didn't want to see those gorgeous eyes lose their spark as he approached her on the battlefield. He didn't want to see her raise her chin in defiance as those blue eyes hardened, her soul dying just beneath the surface. He didn't want to see the shock, the betrayal, the hatred that burned within her sapphire orbs as he plunged his sword deep within her abdomen. Just once, damn it, he didn't want to see her blood on his hands, didn't want to remember the way his heart had swelled with pride at killing her.
But it wasn't just the pain of that fateful night the tortured him. It was her smile, the smile that made him feel weak at the knees.
Chucking his glass against the wall, Kunzite opted for the more direct approach and brought the bottle to his lips for a long hard swallow.
It was the way her hair billowed out beneath her as they made love. It was the way her hair felt beneath his hands, the way his name rolled off her tongue, and the way she looked when she said 'I love you.'
It surrounded him. Everything, everything about her, every memory – the good and the bad, it surrounded him, suffocated him, and he prayed, prayed to forget. But perhaps what tortured him more was what could have been.
And so with glazed tear-filled eyes, Kunzite threw the bottle of whiskey against the wall as the tears began to fall. Here, alone in the darkness, strength was not a matter of self-control, not a matter of hiding his feelings. Covering his face with calloused hands, Kunzite sank to the floor. Despair, guilt, and self-hatred enveloped him and he was just drunk enough to let go of that pain as the tears fell like rain. Yes, tonight he wanted to cry.
This fic was inspired by Keith Urban's song "Tonight I want to Cry." I have no rights to that song, but I hope you have enjoyed this piece. R/R - DH