Don't Cry For Me

Hushed footsteps resounded through the small apartment, their quiet presence an irritating reminder of the sweet morning's existence. Heero groaned slightly, having acquired an aversion to early morning wakings. Too tired to even open his eyes, he lay, basking the indolent first light.

Azure eyes scanned the scantily clad young man, making sure to run over each detail – lest she never see it again. Then those blessed eyes began to tear, liquid crystal falling down porcelain cheeks. But they were whisked away with the quick wipe of the hand. This had to be done.

Relena ran her finger across the dress hanging on the closet door, amusedly tracing the intricate designs with her finger, noting the white lace. The dress... That was how it started.

With a last gaze in his direction, the sleeping form still between dreams and daylight, she grasped her small suitcase and sighed. Her chest rose and fell, the moment lost in an elongated time only meant for love. However, anything but love was present in the small room.

Relena pulled her coat tighter around her body, clasping the button tightly. Before, she couldn't have fathomed a life without Heero. But things changed – and so did people.

"Don't cry for me, Heero." She whispered, the last fragrance of longing lost in her sorrow. With the words fresh off her lips, she staggered towards the door. Her feet seemed unsure, but her heart was willing. And so, she exited the silent room, and left with only a suitcase and a familiar click as she closed the door behind her. She was gone.

It was then that Heero began to join the land of the conscious, forsaking his dream-ridden sleep for a more productive morning. Still, the prospects of him getting up, as opposed to that of him waking up, were very slim. With a sigh of deep resignation, he lifted his tousled head from the cotton pillow and began to untangle himself from a web of blankets. At that point, he realized that, instead of sleeping next to Relena, he was sleeping on the couch.

A slightly puzzled frown came across his features. What happened? Trying to remember exactly what had taken part the night before, he pulled himself up into a sitting position. Usually when he woke upon the couch, there was a faint aroma of alcohol or a haze from a smoldering cigarette. But neither of these crucial factors were present. It made him wonder.

Groggily, he swung his legs over the side of the couch and rubbed his eyes. With a groan of dissatisfaction, he let his midnight orbs fully adjust to the oncoming day. Looking over at a forgotten clock, he placed the time at thirty after five. Much too early.

What had made him awake at such an early hour? Usually, his body told him to awaken at seven each and every morning. What was different about this one?

With a hurried glimpse about the room, he realized exactly what was missing – Relena. On a regular day, she would wait for him to wake her, and then set out to prepare for the day. It was routine – almost tradition. But today, the cycle was broken – everything was different.

A quick search of the little apartment showed no signs of her ever having been there – nothing except for a small picture he kept in his sock drawer and the dress. Why the dress? However, larger things plagued his mind. By the state of things, you would never have known that a princess had lived in his home. But he still had to wonder – how was it possible?

As per his regular habit, he opened the refrigerator. Inside was a jug of orange juice and a note. He picked up both objects, and placing them on the counter space, he shut the door with a slam of foot. Heero opened a cupboard, and grabbed a glass. While pouring the citrus liquid, he stared at the small letter. Though he was hesitant, his curiosity overpowered any doubts he may have had.

Dearest Heero,


I have to leave

I just can't stay

No need to cry

I'll go today

Please don't cry for me, Heero.

Forevermore,

Relena




Taken aback, Heero stared at the paper a few minutes longer, trying to make sense of her little poem. Things just didn't make any sense. Yes, they do, Countered his mind reproachfully, you've known it forever. There never was any sense.

His stunned sadness turned to anger in an instant. His fingers tightened into a fist, and his temple pulsed heatedly. So many pent up emotions – so many sleepless nights. The stress built, swelling to proportions unknown. You saw it coming... Heero smashed his fist against the countertop. How did things escalate to such necessary proportions? Sure, it was little in the beginning, but now it was near irreparable. How?

The rational side of his mind stepped in, taking control and easing his troubled mind. Relena would be back – she always came back. However, with this new assurance, his heart became uneasy. What if this time, she didn't come back? What would he do?

All these questions irritated Heero's nature. He needed to let off steam somehow. He glanced over the apartment, spotting his usual counsel for an apprehensive heart – his punching bag.

With every bit of care, he began to wrap his hands, following a pattern he'd always used. Gently, he covered his fingers and wrist. Usually when experiencing a reckless nature, he would do without the hand wraps, but, for some reason, his mind seemed sluggish and tired – almost mournful.

Lazy eyes looked the length of the room, searching for some comfort. But all he could stare at was the white dress. It shone in its glory, hanging from the exposed closet door. It seemed out of place in the room. Or maybe it was just that the gown had always stood out in his mind.

As he rethought his actions, he sat back down on the couch. His life seemed a wistful reverie – as if he wasn't truly present in it. In a languid sort of manner, he noticed that he was only wearing a pair of jeans, and therefore groped under the couch in search of more clothing. There, he found a t-shirt, which he pulled on.

Strangely enough, Heero felt a strange prickly sensation upon his chest. Furrowing through the folds of the shirt, he felt a small object. At first, he did not recognize it, but as his mind cleared, he felt a strange feeling of déjà vu. The Japanese youth cocked his head to the side in thoughtfulness. It was the flower he'd given to Relena the night before. Relena always loved cheery blossoms.

The innocent flower was crumpled into Heero's strong fist. All forgotten but the small broken petals of a lost life. Once more, the anger overcame him. The punching bag was the nearest thing in his sight. When Heero's fist came in contact with the bag, it merely swayed in reaction. Heero wanted to break it. He wanted to hurt it. He wanted to kill it. Just like he did Relena.

Only he couldn't. His lithe form was no match for the bulking bag, and so, resignedly, he sunk to the floor. He couldn't kill her – he never could. And yet, his heart seemed so set on ripping the constant thoughts of her from his mind. Just the way he wanted to rip her to shreds.

The habitual depression started to seep into his mind, springing for a deep- seated sadness and feeling of loss. And he realized that he didn't want to kill Relena – he wanted to kill himself. He didn't want to live anymore. Relena had helped him forget that – she'd helped him to look past the previous hurt and pain. But now that she was gone, it had silently returned.

Get out of my head... he tried, clutching his mahogany hair. This was all too much. He couldn't handle – couldn't comprehend – couldn't live. Too much...

Somehow he made it to the bathroom. His subconscious looked to the medicine cabinet, but his body veered in the other direction, knowing of the dangers it created. Heero had always preferred a more violent death, but it was best not to tempt desperation. Midnight eyes came upon the bathtub, gleaming in its pristine glory. Calm... he just needed to unwind a bit. After all, what would Relena think, hands bruised and scraped – eyes bloodshot and crazed, when she came back? She's not coming back.

With anxious haste, Heero twisted the knobs of the bathtub. Immediately his senses were inundated with the warmth of the rising steam. He felt his body slacken as he gave into relaxation. Forget...

Heero gingerly undressed, taking note of the bruises on his hands, which were turn an awful shade of purple. He tested the water and slowly lowered himself into the warm water.

It was as if, with a single action, he had succeeded in washing away all thought, feeling, and memories remotely pertaining to Relena. Warm suds tickled at his skin, and he couldn't help but let out a sigh. Maybe he could just forget about her – live his life the way he had before their meeting.

You didn't live before her, hissed his mind. And Heero nearly hit himself for being so stupid. How could he bring up the topic when he'd nearly forgotten? You'll never forget her...

As if by fate, a familiar sound met that of the soldier's ears. It was almost like rain – pitter pattering footsteps echoing through the apartment. Who would be there at such a time? With another glance at the electronic clock on the wall, he observed the time as half past seven. The world was barely awake.

A soft voice rang out, but Heero was too far to understand the words. With reluctance, Heero lifted himself from the tub and reached for a towel. He patted down his skin, rushing to find out who could possibly be in his apartment. Not Relena...no, she left...she's gone...I'm not crying.

"Heero?" asked a quieter voice. The young man felt his body stiffen. It was definitely Relena.

He walked from the bathroom, towel wrapped around his slender waist. She was standing by the couch, eyes red with tears and hands folded together with nervousness. At first, she didn't notice him staring at her, but then sensed his intensity, and turned to face him.

"Heero..."

Relena took a step forward, hands finally opening to reveal small ring. She wasn't there for him. She was there to return a stupid ring. She held it out for him to take, but Heero didn't react. He looked straight at her, but didn't truly see her. Heero held out his hand as if to take back the golden trinket, but when Relena dropped it into his hand, she missed, and it fell to the ground.

The crystalline tears welled into Relena's eyes once again. She didn't want to have to end it like this. She didn't even want to end it. But life is all about the new beginnings, and mostly, the endings.

Reaching for comfort, she leaned onto Heero's chest. But when he didn't console her, she looked up into his hard eyes and began to comprehend. She'd already done the unimaginable – she couldn't take it back. It was gone.

"I'm not crying for you, Relena." He said.

Racked with shock, Relena turned away and walked back through the door. She didn't look back. She didn't hesitate. He didn't cry.

In her mind, she'd hoped he would feel just a little more sorry. But it was Heero, what could she expect? In sense, she was almost relieved that it'd finally ended. Their relationship had just been too much. And the wedding... Just too much.

Heero didn't know exactly how long he stared at the closed door. He didn't know at what time he lashed out and broke the mirror. But he did know that at exactly eight o'clock, he pulled the untainted wedding dress from it hanger on the closet door and ripped it until he was satisfied. Deep red blood intermixed with the pure white, creating a delicate masterpiece of tainted perfection. It was eight o'clock.

Just as he had been instructed, Heero arrived at the chapel at half past eight. But no one was there. Trust Relena to have been able to call off an entire wedding in only a few hours. With a half-hearted smile, he recognized the light fragrance of cherry blossoms. She always loved cherry blossoms.

Heero walked down the aisle, staring fixatedly at the ceiling. Everything was quiet – deadly quiet. His loud footsteps seemed so out of place in the small place. He didn't belong there.

This won't bring her back, his mind scolded. He would learn to live. He'd survived wars, hate, and death. He never thought that love was the only thing to ever place a scar upon him. But it did. It caught him and scourged him until he begged for mercy. Even then it was too late. There was nothing more to be done. He would live.

"But I'll never cry for you."

A/N- this one came very unexpectedly. i didn't even see it sneak up on me. well, its not entirely mine, seeing as the plot was taken from a 1tym music video -- "Without You" -- and the characters are not mine. and the parts that aren't from the music video are from a very similar experience of mine. but the words are of my mind. i guess that's what really counts. hope you liked!

How is it? Something I should change? A suggestion perhaps? Then please send a review and let me know!