AN: Hi everyone. I've just revised this short fic after I found a
gazillion errors in it. I hope you all like it. Please review.
Aim for the Heart
Not everyone knows what it's like to be surrounded by people yet still feel like the loneliest person in the world. I, unfortunately, am one of those unlucky few. My whole life I've felt alone, but this is the path I've taken whether or not I had a choice in the matter. Those I have loved and cared about have been taken away from me or have distanced themselves with their own lives. Sure I have Milliardo and Noin and sometimes the company of a few other friends, but that's not the type of companionship that has got my heart twisted in a struggle to escape the road I've taken into this dark, mysterious forest. I feel empty inside, like there's a void in my heart that is stealing the life from my frail bones. I'm walking through life with my eyes closed, and I'm bound to trip and falter along the way.
It always seemed to me that the Fates were against me- those Greek goddesses of destiny: Clotho, the thread of my life spun by her feeble hands, Lachesis, the determiner of its length, and Atropos, ever ready with her crooked scissors to cut the thread and end my life. It seems that they hold some kind of resentment for me, compelling them to torture me in their subtle yet heart-wrenching ways. Maybe, in the fickle way their hearts work, they were envious of my position in some distorted sense, although I hardly know what they could possibly find desirable in my life. They never wanted me happy, and I have to wonder if they ever will. They are slowly wearing me down, and I've grown weary of the fight. It's hard work fighting against them, so much so that I've come to a point where I feel like giving in to their wretchedness, giving in to their continuous persecution, and letting them have their way.
But I still carry on with my life one day at a time, no matter how hard or stressful it may seem. It is all I can do. I put up my walls and don on my mask that only hides the painful truth of my aching heart. No one must know the torment I must endure. I must stay strong for the people. I must put the welfare of them before my own, and I must make sacrifices for the ideal that I have constructed with my own hands in order for it to flourish. They are all that is important in this world.
Furthermore, I am only one woman, and a young one at that. I'm so young, yet I feel so old. I know I have so much more to learn in this life, so much more to grow before I fully realize who I am. I haven't neither the wisdom nor the experience that my seniors have over me, but I have the will to stand up with them and fight for my beliefs just as strongly as them with my persuasive words and my determined mind. Some of them admire me, some respect me, and others downright loathe me. It's a risky game we politicians play and the rules are always bent and changed, so that one wrong move could mean disaster for one side. It was always hard to tell the outcome of each turn, but I always play to win. I have yet to see the one who can beat me at my own democratic match and come out the victor.
At this point, I sighed. Government officials were one thing and boys were another. They were a game that I didn't think I would ever understand. With all my knowledge of the world and its intricacies, I had yet to figure out the art of men. Twenty years, and I still don't understand them- the way they move, the way they think, the way they feel. It's all so different from what women do, so strange, and yet so alluring. Sure we can manipulate them and mold them to our liking but they will still be the biggest mystery to me.
I sat there, looking at myself in the mirror, its plane of simple melted sand showing me a glimpse of the world from another perspective. It doesn't lie; the truth is right in front of me. I didn't remember exactly when my appearance began to change, but I guessed it had, only slightly. I was no longer trapped in the body of a fifteen year old. I had grown taller, my honey blond hair had lengthened, my breasts had developed (much to my relief), and my face had lost its childlike qualities. I was a fully grown woman, physically at least, if not mentally.
Tracing the lines of my face with my eyes, I pointed out the little lines and imperfections here and there, unnoticeable to the wandering eye, but easy for me to see. They didn't worry me too much, rather I thought of them more as the proof of my long work days and late hours. I didn't believe my looks were pretty, but others believed me to be beautiful. My former dates were quite fast to say so as if it was some casual thing they said in everyday speech. I guess you could say that I'm attractive by standards but nothing close to Helen of Troy. I would hardly belief it ever possible for a war to start over my outward façade.
Along with my changing appearance, my feelings began to transform as well. I have needs and desires just as everyone else does. I want the house with the white picket fence and the family of 2.5 kids, not now, but eventually. Those are the trivial wishes of a teenager that play in the back of my mind. But, most of all, I want to feel alive, something I haven't felt in a long time. But fully realizing that longing is difficult when my life is scheduled for me daily with delegations and conferences, charity events and grand openings.
With these changes came a shift in my perception of sexuality. I began to notice the certain way that men and women reacted to one another, the touch of a hand, a whisper of promises, a kiss of passion. And I started to notice the certain way men would look at me- the flicker of their eyes that spoke of unwarranted lust and yearning. I chose to ignore it at first, but I found myself actually responding to it as if by natural impulse, confusing me all the more. It was all so foreign to me. I began to think about my own amorous desires, trying to understand the incomprehensible.
I thought about men. How different a man is in size and anatomy. How nice it would feel to be wrapped in his arms. How exciting it would be to feel his lips on mine. How comforting it would be to lie in a bed next to him. How simple it would be to hold each other's hand. I thought about sex and what it would be like but it only made me blush to ponder over such an intimate topic. I am far too lost in the world of propriety that I decided abstinence would be best for me.
I thought about all of this, and all of it with one person in mind.
Heero.
I've dated a few men after that revelation- nothing special. They were the usual handsome, rich, educated males of the noble class, courting me to increase their reputations, but I kept them around only for my own entertainment if nothing else. Their antics got old way too quickly and my relationships, if you could call them that at all, ended within a month or so. I even tried dating men of lower class and upbringing in an attempt to experience all options, but in the end, that too failed. I didn't regret ending any of them, and I still don't. There was always something missing when I was alone with them- they just didn't have what I was looking for. And what I was looking for, and still am, is only one thing.
They weren't Heero, and they never would be. I had tried to replace him with someone else, anyone else, so that I wouldn't feel so empty, but my efforts and time were wasted on those useless fools who could never compare to the one person that constantly drifted in and out of my mind. They would never have his unruly mess of brown hair that never seems to stay in place. They would never have his Prussian blue eyes, the color of the deep sea, that always seemed to pierce a person straight through to their core. They would never have his heart, a thing of pure beauty that, although scarred by the blood he had spilt and damage he had caused, still remained true and honest. No, they would never be him.
I wasn't exactly sure what it was I felt for him, but I knew that the feeling was strong. Something about him pulled me to him, like a moth to a flame, something that captured a part of my heart without my knowing. It must have been his eyes, those same eyes that said nothing and spoke a million words at the same time. It was the first thing I saw when we met, and they were all I ever needed to see that there was something special about him. I saw the truth in them, the compassion that he didn't know he held- but I knew. No one could look at me and make me feel the way he made me feel.
It was like he could cast some kind of spell over me so that I was helpless to fight the control he held over my body and mind. It was strange and frightening how he could play with my emotions, how he could spring up such foreign feelings in me. I never knew anyone else who could do so much yet do nothing at all. It was just his essence that permeated from his every cell. He was like some kind of god, born on Mt. Olympus that possessed some form of supernatural power, which he used to seduce my weak mortal heart.
These were the thoughts that frequently plagued my mind before drifting on to peaceful sleep every night. It was the only time I had to myself and I used it to remember the reality I was trapped in. I don't do it to depress myself, or conjure up thoughts of what could be. I do it because I have to believe that there is still hope for my soul and it is this hope that keeps me alive. It's all I have left in this solitary existence of mine. Without hope, I might as well give up living and reserve myself to becoming ashes in the muddy earth.
I took one last sullen look at the creature in the mirror and strolled over to my bed. It was a king-sized bed, far too large for just one person, but bigger was always better to me. The comforter was decorated with silver moons and ornately done flowers of white oleander. The white satin sheets beneath beckoned me as if to bring me safely to the land of dreams. I wasn't one to ignore their sweet promise of sleep from the weary world. I slipped under the covers and let the wave of unconsciousness take over my senses.
***
I don't remember how long I must have been asleep before I was so rudely awakened by a loud crashing sound. My eyelids flew open as I sat straight up in the blackness of my room, the pale glow from the paper moon the only thing keeping my eyes from total darkness. It had begun to storm outside, the lightning flashing and the rain drenching the world below. My heart began to pound out of nervousness or fear I wasn't sure, it was probably a mix of both. I silently searched my shadowy room for any clues to the origin of the disturbance. Images of assassins or masked intruders filled my head, only causing my breathing to quicken. I was being paranoid, but after years of near death experiences and late night kidnappings, I had to be a little suspicious. It was a relief when I discovered the cause of all that trouble.
A framed picture of my family, my Peacecraft family, had fallen off my vanity and the glass casing had shattered upon impact. Most likely the wind blowing in from the open windows had knocked it over. I quietly made my way to the desk and picked up the fallen piece of my past. I picked up the picture among the shards and stared at it for a while. The moonlight was bright enough to make out the forms of my father, my mother, my brother, and myself. It was a portrait done of the royal family in uncomfortable positions with all our formal dressings. Our mother, a regal figure of gracefulness and warmly sensitive in presence, was seated in a fancy chair with me in her arms while my brother stood next to her, looking as arrogant and proud as ever, and my father behind her with an air of command and confidence.
I must have been two and Milliardo no older than six. We looked so young, so innocent back then, but times had done a lot to change that. Our blatant innocence was replaced with the horrible reality of the world. We were forced into lives that had no place for the blind eyes of naivety. We lost our home, our country, our parents, our family, our identities. I found a new home with parents who loved me as if I was born to them, and I was content with the way my life was going. But, my brother, who was old enough to remember the fiery end of our kingdom, was not so fortunate. He went through life angry and resentful, seeking revenge for a wrong done to him and those he loved. He veered from the right path and lost a part of his humanity. It took time and patience to overcome his barriers and break his cycle of vengeance. But, I guess that's what love can do.
I looked at the picture a few more seconds before holding it close to my heart. With my other hand, I began to pick up the shattered pieces of glass, and placed them in the wastebasket. In my hasty cleaning, I accidentally cut the palm of my left hand pretty deeply on one of the pieces, the blood forming a stream of red across the wound. I quickly searched for something to cover the gash with and found a white handkerchief lying on the vanity. I was a bit hesitant to stain the flawless white piece of material, but I'd rather get it dirty than have my blood staining the white carpet. I reprimanded myself in the head for being so lackadaisical as I gently wrapped the piece of cloth around a couple of times. I was having some trouble with tying the ends of the hankie together with only one hand, causing more frustration on my part. When suddenly, my pitiful attempts at tying the makeshift bandage were interrupted by a voice I never thought I would hear again.
"You should be more careful."
That voice. It was as familiar to me as the sound of my own, but it sounded so different. I was frozen in place like I was turned to stone by Medusa and her evil eyes. My heart even felt as if it had stopped beating, and my breath was caught in my throat. All these years I had waited for this moment, and now that it was here I couldn't find the strength to turn around. I didn't need to look at the intruder's face to know who it was standing behind me in the darkness of the room. I swallowed my fear and forced myself then to face him. Slowly turning, I let my eyes drift to the floor until they landed on the thick tan leather of his boots a few feet away. I let my hands drop to my sides, the handkerchief caught in my grip. I imagine I would have felt the sting of pain in it, but in the shocked state I was in, I was surprised if I could feel anything at all. I could feel my heart pumping louder than the booming thunderstorm outside. I gradually brought my eyes up to meet his.
"Heero," I sighed.
His eyes were the same as they always were- cold and steely. They frightened me yet I held my own. I wouldn't let him get the best of me. I watched as the lightning cast shadows on his face and body. His eyes hadn't changed but the rest of him had. He had grown since the last time I saw him. He was taller and well-built. His face had taken on a more angular effect than before, but it only added to his already handsome features. I couldn't help but feel an instant attraction for him even though I didn't know what was going on. He was just staring at me, glaring at me as if he was making sure I was real. I found it uncomfortable so I staggered back, leaning against my vanity for support.
"Why are you here?" I asked barely above a whisper. My throat was dry and if felt course. So many thoughts were swimming around my mind.
"To do what I should have done a long time ago," he responded in his stoic monotone.
What did he mean by that? I tried to think straight, but I couldn't break the hold his eyes had on mine. He was messing with my mind and I could do nothing to stop him. My head was circling when he answered my question.
Heero pulled out his gun, a shiny piece of metal and ingenuity that could steal the life of a person in one blow, and aimed it at me. My eyes widened with the truth that hit me like a strike of lightning. I felt my breathing grow shallow and my heart quicken even further. So this was it. This was how I would die. I would have laughed if I had not been so petrified. It was so ironic how the one person that tied me to this plane of the living would be the one to cut the thread of my life short. Life was a total contradiction. There are so many struggles and hardships that claw and scratch at our wills in an attempt to pull us into the thirsty fires of Hades.
He started to walk towards me each step adding to the fear that was spreading in my veins. I stumbled around my vanity and back towards the walls that trapped me in place. I would have screamed but I found my voice had left me, and I knew that I'd be lying dead on the ground before a sound could leave my lips. I searched for something to use as a weapon against him, anything to keep him from taking my life, but it was too late. He had closed the distance between us and now he was standing right in front of me. I could feel the cold metal of the gun press against my chest. I was trembling, or was he the one shaking? I couldn't tell now. I could feel myself panic and I knew that is what he wanted me to do. I wouldn't let him have the satisfaction. If I was going to die, I would at least die with dignity. I calmed by breathing and defiantly looked into his eyes that still held an air of cool composure as if killing me was nothing important.
"Do me a favor- aim for the heart," I ordered him, my last wish among the living.
I saw something flicker in his eyes, but it had vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. I knew all hope was lost. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end to come. Seconds ticked by as if a million years had past. What was he waiting for? Was he reveling in his own victory? Gaining pleasure from my slow torture?
I felt his hand on my face, calloused from years of battles but gentle in the way it caressed my pale skin. My eyes flew open in surprise. The skin beneath his fingers burned under his touch. I looked into his eyes and found that they had lost their intensity, and were now gentle and kind. They held a longing in them that I recognized as yearning, the same yearning that I felt in my soul. My heart melted and I knew this was the Heero I believed was real.
"Believe in me," he said, and he released my face, the intense glow of his eyes returning.
My heart froze the second I heard the gun go off. I felt my body fall forward into his arms, and the world grew blurry and faded. Why Heero, my mind asked him. Why?
Only darkness was my answer.
AN: Well, that's it. Short but sweet. It's a lot more similar to my other short fic Promise Me than I thought it would be, but oh well. I think I could write maybe a couple more chapters to this if anything, but I dunno if you readers think it's good enough to be continued. I had a few references to Greek mythology- I've been doing that a lot lately. Just a reminder, I apply some of the Greek stuff from The Penguin Dictionary of Classical Mythology by Pierre Grimal. I'd really really appreciate your comments so please review. Now you can go back to reading A Rose Among the Thorns. It's my baby, and it's taken a lot of time and sweat, so go read it. Until next time.
Aim for the Heart
Not everyone knows what it's like to be surrounded by people yet still feel like the loneliest person in the world. I, unfortunately, am one of those unlucky few. My whole life I've felt alone, but this is the path I've taken whether or not I had a choice in the matter. Those I have loved and cared about have been taken away from me or have distanced themselves with their own lives. Sure I have Milliardo and Noin and sometimes the company of a few other friends, but that's not the type of companionship that has got my heart twisted in a struggle to escape the road I've taken into this dark, mysterious forest. I feel empty inside, like there's a void in my heart that is stealing the life from my frail bones. I'm walking through life with my eyes closed, and I'm bound to trip and falter along the way.
It always seemed to me that the Fates were against me- those Greek goddesses of destiny: Clotho, the thread of my life spun by her feeble hands, Lachesis, the determiner of its length, and Atropos, ever ready with her crooked scissors to cut the thread and end my life. It seems that they hold some kind of resentment for me, compelling them to torture me in their subtle yet heart-wrenching ways. Maybe, in the fickle way their hearts work, they were envious of my position in some distorted sense, although I hardly know what they could possibly find desirable in my life. They never wanted me happy, and I have to wonder if they ever will. They are slowly wearing me down, and I've grown weary of the fight. It's hard work fighting against them, so much so that I've come to a point where I feel like giving in to their wretchedness, giving in to their continuous persecution, and letting them have their way.
But I still carry on with my life one day at a time, no matter how hard or stressful it may seem. It is all I can do. I put up my walls and don on my mask that only hides the painful truth of my aching heart. No one must know the torment I must endure. I must stay strong for the people. I must put the welfare of them before my own, and I must make sacrifices for the ideal that I have constructed with my own hands in order for it to flourish. They are all that is important in this world.
Furthermore, I am only one woman, and a young one at that. I'm so young, yet I feel so old. I know I have so much more to learn in this life, so much more to grow before I fully realize who I am. I haven't neither the wisdom nor the experience that my seniors have over me, but I have the will to stand up with them and fight for my beliefs just as strongly as them with my persuasive words and my determined mind. Some of them admire me, some respect me, and others downright loathe me. It's a risky game we politicians play and the rules are always bent and changed, so that one wrong move could mean disaster for one side. It was always hard to tell the outcome of each turn, but I always play to win. I have yet to see the one who can beat me at my own democratic match and come out the victor.
At this point, I sighed. Government officials were one thing and boys were another. They were a game that I didn't think I would ever understand. With all my knowledge of the world and its intricacies, I had yet to figure out the art of men. Twenty years, and I still don't understand them- the way they move, the way they think, the way they feel. It's all so different from what women do, so strange, and yet so alluring. Sure we can manipulate them and mold them to our liking but they will still be the biggest mystery to me.
I sat there, looking at myself in the mirror, its plane of simple melted sand showing me a glimpse of the world from another perspective. It doesn't lie; the truth is right in front of me. I didn't remember exactly when my appearance began to change, but I guessed it had, only slightly. I was no longer trapped in the body of a fifteen year old. I had grown taller, my honey blond hair had lengthened, my breasts had developed (much to my relief), and my face had lost its childlike qualities. I was a fully grown woman, physically at least, if not mentally.
Tracing the lines of my face with my eyes, I pointed out the little lines and imperfections here and there, unnoticeable to the wandering eye, but easy for me to see. They didn't worry me too much, rather I thought of them more as the proof of my long work days and late hours. I didn't believe my looks were pretty, but others believed me to be beautiful. My former dates were quite fast to say so as if it was some casual thing they said in everyday speech. I guess you could say that I'm attractive by standards but nothing close to Helen of Troy. I would hardly belief it ever possible for a war to start over my outward façade.
Along with my changing appearance, my feelings began to transform as well. I have needs and desires just as everyone else does. I want the house with the white picket fence and the family of 2.5 kids, not now, but eventually. Those are the trivial wishes of a teenager that play in the back of my mind. But, most of all, I want to feel alive, something I haven't felt in a long time. But fully realizing that longing is difficult when my life is scheduled for me daily with delegations and conferences, charity events and grand openings.
With these changes came a shift in my perception of sexuality. I began to notice the certain way that men and women reacted to one another, the touch of a hand, a whisper of promises, a kiss of passion. And I started to notice the certain way men would look at me- the flicker of their eyes that spoke of unwarranted lust and yearning. I chose to ignore it at first, but I found myself actually responding to it as if by natural impulse, confusing me all the more. It was all so foreign to me. I began to think about my own amorous desires, trying to understand the incomprehensible.
I thought about men. How different a man is in size and anatomy. How nice it would feel to be wrapped in his arms. How exciting it would be to feel his lips on mine. How comforting it would be to lie in a bed next to him. How simple it would be to hold each other's hand. I thought about sex and what it would be like but it only made me blush to ponder over such an intimate topic. I am far too lost in the world of propriety that I decided abstinence would be best for me.
I thought about all of this, and all of it with one person in mind.
Heero.
I've dated a few men after that revelation- nothing special. They were the usual handsome, rich, educated males of the noble class, courting me to increase their reputations, but I kept them around only for my own entertainment if nothing else. Their antics got old way too quickly and my relationships, if you could call them that at all, ended within a month or so. I even tried dating men of lower class and upbringing in an attempt to experience all options, but in the end, that too failed. I didn't regret ending any of them, and I still don't. There was always something missing when I was alone with them- they just didn't have what I was looking for. And what I was looking for, and still am, is only one thing.
They weren't Heero, and they never would be. I had tried to replace him with someone else, anyone else, so that I wouldn't feel so empty, but my efforts and time were wasted on those useless fools who could never compare to the one person that constantly drifted in and out of my mind. They would never have his unruly mess of brown hair that never seems to stay in place. They would never have his Prussian blue eyes, the color of the deep sea, that always seemed to pierce a person straight through to their core. They would never have his heart, a thing of pure beauty that, although scarred by the blood he had spilt and damage he had caused, still remained true and honest. No, they would never be him.
I wasn't exactly sure what it was I felt for him, but I knew that the feeling was strong. Something about him pulled me to him, like a moth to a flame, something that captured a part of my heart without my knowing. It must have been his eyes, those same eyes that said nothing and spoke a million words at the same time. It was the first thing I saw when we met, and they were all I ever needed to see that there was something special about him. I saw the truth in them, the compassion that he didn't know he held- but I knew. No one could look at me and make me feel the way he made me feel.
It was like he could cast some kind of spell over me so that I was helpless to fight the control he held over my body and mind. It was strange and frightening how he could play with my emotions, how he could spring up such foreign feelings in me. I never knew anyone else who could do so much yet do nothing at all. It was just his essence that permeated from his every cell. He was like some kind of god, born on Mt. Olympus that possessed some form of supernatural power, which he used to seduce my weak mortal heart.
These were the thoughts that frequently plagued my mind before drifting on to peaceful sleep every night. It was the only time I had to myself and I used it to remember the reality I was trapped in. I don't do it to depress myself, or conjure up thoughts of what could be. I do it because I have to believe that there is still hope for my soul and it is this hope that keeps me alive. It's all I have left in this solitary existence of mine. Without hope, I might as well give up living and reserve myself to becoming ashes in the muddy earth.
I took one last sullen look at the creature in the mirror and strolled over to my bed. It was a king-sized bed, far too large for just one person, but bigger was always better to me. The comforter was decorated with silver moons and ornately done flowers of white oleander. The white satin sheets beneath beckoned me as if to bring me safely to the land of dreams. I wasn't one to ignore their sweet promise of sleep from the weary world. I slipped under the covers and let the wave of unconsciousness take over my senses.
***
I don't remember how long I must have been asleep before I was so rudely awakened by a loud crashing sound. My eyelids flew open as I sat straight up in the blackness of my room, the pale glow from the paper moon the only thing keeping my eyes from total darkness. It had begun to storm outside, the lightning flashing and the rain drenching the world below. My heart began to pound out of nervousness or fear I wasn't sure, it was probably a mix of both. I silently searched my shadowy room for any clues to the origin of the disturbance. Images of assassins or masked intruders filled my head, only causing my breathing to quicken. I was being paranoid, but after years of near death experiences and late night kidnappings, I had to be a little suspicious. It was a relief when I discovered the cause of all that trouble.
A framed picture of my family, my Peacecraft family, had fallen off my vanity and the glass casing had shattered upon impact. Most likely the wind blowing in from the open windows had knocked it over. I quietly made my way to the desk and picked up the fallen piece of my past. I picked up the picture among the shards and stared at it for a while. The moonlight was bright enough to make out the forms of my father, my mother, my brother, and myself. It was a portrait done of the royal family in uncomfortable positions with all our formal dressings. Our mother, a regal figure of gracefulness and warmly sensitive in presence, was seated in a fancy chair with me in her arms while my brother stood next to her, looking as arrogant and proud as ever, and my father behind her with an air of command and confidence.
I must have been two and Milliardo no older than six. We looked so young, so innocent back then, but times had done a lot to change that. Our blatant innocence was replaced with the horrible reality of the world. We were forced into lives that had no place for the blind eyes of naivety. We lost our home, our country, our parents, our family, our identities. I found a new home with parents who loved me as if I was born to them, and I was content with the way my life was going. But, my brother, who was old enough to remember the fiery end of our kingdom, was not so fortunate. He went through life angry and resentful, seeking revenge for a wrong done to him and those he loved. He veered from the right path and lost a part of his humanity. It took time and patience to overcome his barriers and break his cycle of vengeance. But, I guess that's what love can do.
I looked at the picture a few more seconds before holding it close to my heart. With my other hand, I began to pick up the shattered pieces of glass, and placed them in the wastebasket. In my hasty cleaning, I accidentally cut the palm of my left hand pretty deeply on one of the pieces, the blood forming a stream of red across the wound. I quickly searched for something to cover the gash with and found a white handkerchief lying on the vanity. I was a bit hesitant to stain the flawless white piece of material, but I'd rather get it dirty than have my blood staining the white carpet. I reprimanded myself in the head for being so lackadaisical as I gently wrapped the piece of cloth around a couple of times. I was having some trouble with tying the ends of the hankie together with only one hand, causing more frustration on my part. When suddenly, my pitiful attempts at tying the makeshift bandage were interrupted by a voice I never thought I would hear again.
"You should be more careful."
That voice. It was as familiar to me as the sound of my own, but it sounded so different. I was frozen in place like I was turned to stone by Medusa and her evil eyes. My heart even felt as if it had stopped beating, and my breath was caught in my throat. All these years I had waited for this moment, and now that it was here I couldn't find the strength to turn around. I didn't need to look at the intruder's face to know who it was standing behind me in the darkness of the room. I swallowed my fear and forced myself then to face him. Slowly turning, I let my eyes drift to the floor until they landed on the thick tan leather of his boots a few feet away. I let my hands drop to my sides, the handkerchief caught in my grip. I imagine I would have felt the sting of pain in it, but in the shocked state I was in, I was surprised if I could feel anything at all. I could feel my heart pumping louder than the booming thunderstorm outside. I gradually brought my eyes up to meet his.
"Heero," I sighed.
His eyes were the same as they always were- cold and steely. They frightened me yet I held my own. I wouldn't let him get the best of me. I watched as the lightning cast shadows on his face and body. His eyes hadn't changed but the rest of him had. He had grown since the last time I saw him. He was taller and well-built. His face had taken on a more angular effect than before, but it only added to his already handsome features. I couldn't help but feel an instant attraction for him even though I didn't know what was going on. He was just staring at me, glaring at me as if he was making sure I was real. I found it uncomfortable so I staggered back, leaning against my vanity for support.
"Why are you here?" I asked barely above a whisper. My throat was dry and if felt course. So many thoughts were swimming around my mind.
"To do what I should have done a long time ago," he responded in his stoic monotone.
What did he mean by that? I tried to think straight, but I couldn't break the hold his eyes had on mine. He was messing with my mind and I could do nothing to stop him. My head was circling when he answered my question.
Heero pulled out his gun, a shiny piece of metal and ingenuity that could steal the life of a person in one blow, and aimed it at me. My eyes widened with the truth that hit me like a strike of lightning. I felt my breathing grow shallow and my heart quicken even further. So this was it. This was how I would die. I would have laughed if I had not been so petrified. It was so ironic how the one person that tied me to this plane of the living would be the one to cut the thread of my life short. Life was a total contradiction. There are so many struggles and hardships that claw and scratch at our wills in an attempt to pull us into the thirsty fires of Hades.
He started to walk towards me each step adding to the fear that was spreading in my veins. I stumbled around my vanity and back towards the walls that trapped me in place. I would have screamed but I found my voice had left me, and I knew that I'd be lying dead on the ground before a sound could leave my lips. I searched for something to use as a weapon against him, anything to keep him from taking my life, but it was too late. He had closed the distance between us and now he was standing right in front of me. I could feel the cold metal of the gun press against my chest. I was trembling, or was he the one shaking? I couldn't tell now. I could feel myself panic and I knew that is what he wanted me to do. I wouldn't let him have the satisfaction. If I was going to die, I would at least die with dignity. I calmed by breathing and defiantly looked into his eyes that still held an air of cool composure as if killing me was nothing important.
"Do me a favor- aim for the heart," I ordered him, my last wish among the living.
I saw something flicker in his eyes, but it had vanished just as quickly as it had appeared. I knew all hope was lost. I closed my eyes, waiting for the end to come. Seconds ticked by as if a million years had past. What was he waiting for? Was he reveling in his own victory? Gaining pleasure from my slow torture?
I felt his hand on my face, calloused from years of battles but gentle in the way it caressed my pale skin. My eyes flew open in surprise. The skin beneath his fingers burned under his touch. I looked into his eyes and found that they had lost their intensity, and were now gentle and kind. They held a longing in them that I recognized as yearning, the same yearning that I felt in my soul. My heart melted and I knew this was the Heero I believed was real.
"Believe in me," he said, and he released my face, the intense glow of his eyes returning.
My heart froze the second I heard the gun go off. I felt my body fall forward into his arms, and the world grew blurry and faded. Why Heero, my mind asked him. Why?
Only darkness was my answer.
AN: Well, that's it. Short but sweet. It's a lot more similar to my other short fic Promise Me than I thought it would be, but oh well. I think I could write maybe a couple more chapters to this if anything, but I dunno if you readers think it's good enough to be continued. I had a few references to Greek mythology- I've been doing that a lot lately. Just a reminder, I apply some of the Greek stuff from The Penguin Dictionary of Classical Mythology by Pierre Grimal. I'd really really appreciate your comments so please review. Now you can go back to reading A Rose Among the Thorns. It's my baby, and it's taken a lot of time and sweat, so go read it. Until next time.