Meant to be?
I am never going to forget him. It has been a year now and still he haunts me. I can not go anywhere nor do anything without some memory of him rising up to remind me of what I never had, yet have lost.. of the time we were together & what he unknowingly taught me.
I saw him for the 1st time at the Inter-Colonials and mistook him for a girl. I remember turning and finding myself fascinated by the way the light seemed to reflect and shimmer off long copper strands held up in a high pony-tail. It was gorgeous, he was gorgeous. His sudden turn gifting me with my 1st glimpse of his beaming smile, and laughing deep violet-blue eyes set within his delicate yet strong boned face. He was mystery, danger, freedom, unbridled joy all contained with in the strong frame of a mortal god. He left me breathless, heart pounding in my chest and longing. Longing to hear the sound of his voice, for the touch of those slender fingers, longing to be over whelmed, consumed completely by the burning essence of his life energy. Yet, I didn't meet him there; I just stood motionless watching as he walked away.
I wouldn't see him again till the party, having been convinced to go by a friend who wanted me to meet some new crush of theirs. I wasn't really thrilled but went to humour them, and in the end I was glad I did. I walked into the room, and there he was laughing away, his eyes merry despite the evil look he was receiving from a ranting Chinese man. I remember nothing about that night aside from those eyes and the way they seemed to burn a hole right through me, making me feel naked, and helpless before him. I can still feel his hand in mine as he dragged me to the dance floor asking my name and yet not offering his own. Masterfully weaving an aura of mystery around him, drawing question filled veils up between us.
He was death he told me when I insisted upon a name. Yes, he was my nameless God of death, my absolute downfall. He haunted my thoughts after that night, keeping me up and yet biding me to dream ever present within the recesses of my mind.
His image constantly nagging at the strings of my heart.
I wouldn't see him again for a month, and by then I'd nearly given up on seeing him all together. That was until I heard a knock at the door and opened it to find him there. His hair plastered against his head by the heavily falling rain, black clothes sticking to him like a second skin outlining the plains and contours of the body I so dearly admired. He bid me hello, and swept back into my life in a rush. He was still perfect, handsome, and sensitive, perhaps that should have tipped me off, or the way he never looked at me with more than a passing interest, but of coarse I was too infatuated to notice, blinded by his kindness, the seeming devotion to me, to us. Perhaps if I'd looked closer I would have noticed before it was too late. I was blinded by his care-free attitude too blind to notice the deep pain which occasionally slipped past the mask to appear in the depths of his eyes. That is of course until that fateful day, when I walked into the apartment to the sound of running water and the site of a wide open bathroom door.
"Hello?" I called, as I walked across the living room to the bathroom, I knocked once, before cautiously looking in. Where I saw him lying in the bathtub, the water from the shower falling upon him like a freezing rain, a deep cobalt blue shirt cradled in his arms, as his right hand lay almost limply at his side, the shiny black gun slipping from his fingers to fall by his side.
"Oh god! What are you doing?" I demanded, reaching out to grasp his chin in my hands forcing him to look at me. Those normally cheerful eyes were red-rimmed and tear stained, haunted by some inner evil. He stared blankly at me for a moment before those shimmering periwinkle orbs drifted blankly shut, as a peaceful smile settled upon his face.
"Wake up! Wake up!" I demanded shaking him in a desperate attempt to rouse his limp figure, but my shaking had no affect other than to cause the shirt to fall away, revealing the dark red river of blood as it flowed from the shot wound in his stomach.
"oh god!" I breathed dashing out of the bathroom towards the phone frantically calling for an ambulance as I ran back to the bathroom to check on him. I informed the operator of his condition as I went.
The ambulance arrived and took him away, leaving me standing on the door step wondering why?
Why would he do this? Why? I wandered the house aimlessly trying to figure out what I could have possibly done. I continued to come up blank. Why? Why? The question haunted me, I needed to answer it, and in a split second decision I found myself back where I'd found him, his blood still pooled in the bottom of the tub, I couldn't look at it, that diluted red liquid still draining. I felt faint as I stumbled back out of the bathroom, and into our bedroom, burying my nose in the sheets breathing in his scent. I still didn't get it, why? What was so bad in his life? Had it been something I'd done? Why? Why now? Three months together then this… Why? Oh God why? The question continued to gnaw away at me, until I could no-longer sit still, as I found myself leaving the building, and heading off to the hospital.
I remember the stark blankness of the never-ending white walls, the people sitting there waiting, waiting just like me for news of loved ones. I remember the way the nurses sent pitying looks my way, when I told them whom I was waiting for. The way the balding doctor rushed through the waiting area into the place I most longed to go and yet was denied. How could I not have noticed? How could I have been so blind? Why? Why? Why? The ever haunting why? It ate away at me with its insisting urgency.
I recall the way the minuets seemed to last forever, ticking by slower than they'd ever past before, and still I waited, refusing to leave, deigning myself sleep as I desperately awaited news of him.
I recall the way the nurse gently told me that he was through the worst of it, the way she informed me that he'd have to be placed somewhere under constant surveillance to prevent a repeat. The doctors and physiatrists informing me that he'd been serious, and how lucky it was that I'd found him. Yet… had I done the right thing? Stopping him?
I remember the way he looked at me with his vacant eyes and cried two days later when I walked into the room,
The way his voice came out choked, yet strong as he asked me the same question I wanted to ask him "why?"
I stared at him for a moment, waiting as he continued to look at me, those deep pools of liquid violet burning into me
"why'd you stop me?"
I swallowed hard, what was I going to answer? Because I cared? Because I loved him? It sounded pitiful even to myself, he must have known how I'd felt, and if that hadn't been enough then how would saying it change anything?
"why did you do it in the first place?" I shot back instead.
I watched as he shook his head, "you wouldn't get it" he whispered some time later settling back into the cushions, "you just don't get it" he muttered again, as the blankets slipped down revealing a single tattoo as he attempted to re-position himself. I stared at it in wonder, as I had a million times before still wondering what it meant.
"why?..." I began my question dying upon my lips as he shook his head slightly
I sighed, "well I hope you feel better" I remarked, inwardly weeping at the obvious difference between us now, then walked out the door.
I didn't return, didn't see him again until the day he departed for the re-habilitation centre, his belongings in hand.
I remember the way his eyes refused to shine for me, they were dead eyes now, not the ones I'd fallen in love with. Dead, lost, revealing the darkness of his sorrowing heart. The way he'd reached into his bag, taking out a slender locked book and handed it to me.
"hold onto it for me" he whispered in a voice which good as told me he wasn't planning on coming back.
I nodded what else could I do? I had banished him, signed the papers, and authorized his treatment without his knowledge, and through all that time, I'd convinced myself I loved him. Loved this being that I didn't even really know, and so just as easily as he'd drifted into my life, he left, seated in the back of a taxi.
He didn't call, neither did I.
I heard nothing from him, it was to be expected, and he heard nothing from me.
What was I supposed to say?
"I'm sorry for sending you there but what else could I do?" not to mention I was frightened, frightened to call and find out he'd died. Yet still he remained in my mind, in my prayers.
A month later a stranger appeared on my door step. His dark raven hair a tousled mess blowing in the light spring breeze as he leaned casually against the railing. I didn't know what to say, nor what to think.
"Can I help you?" I asked. He turned to look at me, with eyes of the most startling cobalt. It was like looking down into the depths of the ocean, and yet never really getting anywhere.
"he said to come here" he stated his voice perfectly calm, with out any infliction.
I just looked at him for a moment, puzzled, and yet I knew whom he had to mean, yet I had no idea why he'd be here.
"he said you'd have something for me" he tried again.
It hit me in a flash, as I raced back into the house, and procured the slender journal still locked.
He looked at me for a moment, and then he to was gone, my one reminder in hand.
Three days later he called me, to say he was out of rehab. And still I hadn't received my answer.
I still didn't know why?
I could only guess that the secret was locked away within that journal that I'd unwillingly handed over to a stranger.
A month later he just showed up on my door step, back to his old smiling self, once again the embodiment of mystery, joy, and freedom, greeting me with a joyous hello, as he bounced up to the front door with seemingly renewed energy. Yet still I wondered that ever lurking question why? Haunting me, begging to be let out, all through his chatter, until I could no longer hold it in,
"why?"
he looked at me for a second "I was falling" he stated; Confusing me even more.
"what?"
He simply shook his head as he had so long ago in the hospital, before he plunked himself down upon the sofa, slender fingers coming together. I stood for a moment watching him, and as he lifted his hand to push a strand of hair back behind his ear, the light shimmered off a metal band that decorated the third finger of his left hand.
"falling" he repeated "I fell in love, yet didn't want to. I'd even convinced myself I'd fallen out of love again, yet all that I accomplished was a lie. I was lying to myself. I ended up hurting the one I cared for most." I nodded my head as he looked at me with hopeful pleading eyes, begging me to understand. I didn't yet nodded anyways as he continued,
"the pressure of the lie just kept pushing me down, until I no longer had the strength to fight back." he voice dropped then till it was no more than a whisper, so soft if I hadn't been paying such close attention I'd have missed what he was about to say altogether.
"I became empty, totally ready to return to my kingdom."
He was speaking in riddles, yet I somehow understood the very base of what he was pleading with me to comprehend. We sat in silence after that, neither too sure what to say until he spoke up once more,
"I'm sorry, sorry for everything"
I stared at him for a moment. Yes he was asking for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what he'd done to me, and yet…. It was already forgotten in my mind. I shook my head stating,
"already forgiven" he looked as me as if to speak.. but the doorbell rang, and I somehow knew that was the most I'd ever get out of him. Yet it was answer enough, to settle the ever hungry why.
I remained where I was on the sofa, watching as he answered the door, the sound of male laughter drifting to my ears over the sounds of footsteps, as the door closed. I swivelled, on the sofa, watching as he walked away down the drive, hand in hand with the stranger. Watching them kiss, I knew what he had been trying to say, and I finally understood.
I'd guessed then that I'd never see him again, and I was right. As much as I wished he'd appear on my door step some day, I knew that he wouldn't. He'd found his happiness, and now it was time for me to forget, to move on and find happiness for myself, only this time I'd make sure the guy was really interested before giving my heart away.
Well… should I do a re-write from a diff. POV? Give Heero and Duo's side of the whole story?
Let me know…
Aislinn (previously Sugargurl)