Warnings: Angst, Spouse Abuse, Future Yaoi, Strong Language. There's some actual violence in this part. o.o
Author Notes: ^_^ I'm so proud of myself! I'm getting this out a lot faster than I originally planned/hoped. Cool, eh? Well, anyway ^_^ In this part the story finally gets started. Actually o.o The next chapter is where I first planned to start this story @_@ Aieeee... it would have saved me some time if I had. Wow, have you guys noticed how much my attitude in these notes have changed since I first started posting on FF.net? Geez. Talk about cold and detached o.x But anyway, this goes out to Ms. Kell-Chan, Ms. Sara-Neko, Ms. Mo, and Ms. Kim as usual ^_^ I love you all! Muaha! *blows kisses*
Additional Author Notes (pretty much for the aforementioned people): If you want an explanation for my more-than-casual behavior, it's late. *grins* I think Ms. Mo and Ms. Kim have an idea what I'm talking about here ... Muahaha! But now this introduction is getting waaaaay too long, and I'm sure none of you wanna read it ^^; So, on to the fic!
Good Enough
(working title)
by: Burn
***
Quatre left for work the next morning as always. Heero was gone when he did. He and his coworkers were all relieved that his face boasted no new bruises, but he went through work feeling more melancholy than he had in a long while. He wasn't sure what to except when he returned home later that day.
His coworkers seemed to notice this, and his secretary eventually knocked on his door meekly, asking to if he wanted to talk. He shook his head, didn't look up from the document he was reviewing. He didn't need their sympathy. She eventually got the hint and backed out the way she came.
He skipped lunch again that day. He was wasting away both mentally and physically. His ribs poked out from underneath his pale skin, and the rest of his body was painfully thin. He hardly ate anymore. Each day he tried so hard to cleanse, but he kept drowning in his pain along the way.
Each day he died a little more and cared a little less.
When he finally came home that day, he was surprised to find a light on in the kitchen. His first thought was: Dorothy's home. His face fell but his heart swelled. This part was always the hardest.
A shiny black thing he didn't know whether to love or hate...
He sighed, opened the back door. Held his breath.
She was sitting at the kitchen table in one of the wooden chairs around it, holding the torn picture between slender fingers. Her pale eyes were looking at the picture, but they were seeing something far beyond her plane of existence. He looked at her for a while, regretful but not, and remained that way for quite some time. Then she spoke.
Unexpected.
"Why didn't you tell me Heero was coming?"
He swallowed, closing the door behind him, took a seat next to her. How had she known Heero was here? He was gone, wasn't he? She continued to stare off into a place he couldn't begin to imagine.
"I didn't know."
She smirked, raising an elegant dark eyebrow in question. Her eyes narrowed, but didn't waver. "You didn't know," she echoed. Mocking. "Well, then perhaps you shouldn't have let him stay."
"Dorothy, you weren't even here, I didn't think ..." his words trailed off and he thought, puzzled: she wasn't even here. Where had she been, anyway? He cleared his throat, deciding to vocalize his concerns.
"That reminds me -- where were you last night?"
Her eyes finally flickered over to his, hating. Crafty. Malicious. He shuddered.
She scowled. "Out."
A flutter of worry. "Out doing what?"
Annoyance. She looked back down at the pieces of the picture she still held in her hands, studied it for a moment, then dropped them. Smiled and looked back at him.
"It's none of your concern," she said, then rose from her chair and moved to the refrigerator, pulling off the picture of the two of them together. Her skirts swished noisily with the movement. She ripped that picture in two, too, and let the pieces fall and sway in the air back and forth, back and forth. They landed on top of the other picture.
She looked back up at him, a hint of sadness and a tinge of regret lacing in with anger and hate. "I promised you so long ago, Quatre. Don't make this difficult."
"Have you ever been lonely, Quatre?"
He winced, inwardly. "What do you mean?"
"But I'll help you, Quatre, as you have helped me...."
He felt like crying. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He was supposed to make up for all the pain he'd dealt, not cause more.... His breath caught in his throat and his eyes misted, clouded over. It wasn't fair.
Fucking ridiculous.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about."
Shocked. "Dorothy...."
"Don't plead ignorance with me." Firm. Angry.
"Dorothy, I don't know what you...."
"God damn you, Quatre Raberba Winner, don't play stupid!"
The sound of a slap bounced against the kitchen walls and echoed in the rest of the house. It rang in Quatre's ears for several moments before he could react, and by then, it was too late. Fire burned in Dorothy's eyes. She hit him again.
"I hate how kind you are, and how I can never be as fucking kind as you are."
Her voice was calm, but her attack wasn't. She punched him in the stomach. He doubled over, closed his eyes. Dropped to his knees.
"Dorothy, please...."
She kicked him, scowled at him from underneath dark eyebrows and pretty blonde hair. She had such nice eyes, but they were so angry now.... He fell onto his side, curling. Another kick. He winced. It hurt.
"Shut up," she said, still calm. There was a crack when she kicked him again. He breathed in sharply, curling tighter around his body. His ribs hurt, and his vision swam in little black dots of pain.
He coughed, and was a little unnerved to see crimson spatter on the clean tiled floor. Dorothy stopped hurting him then, backed away. Ran. He was grateful. He closed his eyes and didn't open them again for a long time.
And alone in the dark corner of her bedroom, Dorothy Catalonia cried.
"And I hate how I can never really hate you...."
***
