My Salvation
Author: Nyneve
Okay, I said I was going to call this "Rose", but.I CHANGED MY MIND! *thinks* I have a tendency to do that, don't I? Oh well. Anyways, this is my cute little romancy thingy for Valentine's Day. *sob* *sob* I don't have anyone to spend Valentine's Day with. *sob* *sob* I guess I'll just have to watch Tenchi Muyo in Love a couple of times. And eat lotsa popcorn. But anyways, here's the story. Don't own the anime.
-Nyneve
************************************************************************ He sat in the corner of the smoky apartment, huddled into his trenchcoat. Despite the intense heat of the room, he kept it on, as well as a heavy sweater beneath. One of his emerald eyes was watching the people at the party. The people injecting themselves with their life source. The other eye was hidden behind a curtain of bangs. Hiding. Just like him.
The hazy people were dancing wildly to the tormented music, giving praise to the burning deity throughout the room. The god that manifested itself in needles and syringes. The god that drove them mad, that stole their lives one by one.
He never thought he would fall to this. However, he understood that it would be no surprise if he did. In truth, there was nothing left to him. His mind was dedicated entirely to the training that had stolen his youth. His soul was shredded, destroyed by the endless lashes of the battles he had fought. And his heart, his heart still belonged to her.
It may have been she was his adopted sister. But she was the first and only person he had ever truly loved. His rare and valuable peace was found in the time he spent with her. She was his drug, his obsession.
And then she was gone. He could remember it so clear.the blinding lights, the squealing tires, her last gasp of fear as her life ended.
The doctors said she hadn't suffered at all. As soon as the car had hit her, her spinal cord snapped and she went unconscious. No. She felt no pain. She left that as her last gift to her beloved.
Ironically enough, the driver of the car had been under the influence of drugs. And he, unlike the innocent woman going for a walk, walked away with barely a scratch.
Wasn't it strange now, that the man sitting alone, mourning his emptiness, would give himself up to the needles? The weapons that caused him more pain than any wound he could've received piloting his Gundam.
The man sighed, then walked outside into the hallway.
What was the point? Was there something he was waiting for? Some last duty that he had to fulfill? If so, it would've been cruel for someone to ask any more of him. Even now, as he reached for the gun in his jacket, he struggled to not just let go of his few shreds of life.
A woman stepped out of the apartment at the other end of the hall. She waved to her friend inside, then closed the door. She sighed. It was a shame that her friend had to live in a shabby apartment complex like this. Drug addicts, prostitutes, and gang members all dwelt there. If hell had a manifestation on earth, this was it.
The woman herself though, did not belong there. No. A graceful tree like her did not take root among the dead grasses and moss-covered tombstones of the graveyard.
Her hair, like the finest and greenest vines, feel to her knees, swaying as she walked. Her serious, maroon eyes, still glittered brightly. They reminded one of the sky at late sunset, as the first few stars were coming out and all of the pink and orange had faded. Her olive skin was covered by a long coat, and a pair of leather gloves to protect her from the cold February nights.
Then, she saw him. And he saw her.
He had turned the gun and pointed it towards his head. However, the drugs in his veins had slowed him down so much. All traces of his quick, catlike reflexes were gone.
All he could do was stare as the woman wrenched the gun out of his hand, with surprising strength. Maroon met emerald as she clutched the gun.
"What are you doing?" her low, wise voice asked. It suggested that she was older than she looked. Or maybe, she was younger. Young and old. Beautiful and plain. Happy and sad. Wrapped in an enigma that no one could solve.
He didn't answer. He couldn't. What would he say to her? How cruel she was to make him live longer?
Her face softened. "Are you all right?"
"No," was all he could manage to say. The woman studied his ashen face closely. She sensed he could no longer hide all of his pain and suffering. That people had hurt him for it.
She stowed the gun in her coat. "Please, come with me."
The man raised an eyebrow. There was no reason to trust her. But still, he realized something. For the first time in months, someone was trying. He had a small light in the darkness, a rope at the bottom of his ravine, a hand to hold onto.
He nodded, then followed her out to her car. The black sports car parked away down the street, far from the apartment building. He supposed it was to keep anyone from the building from trashing it. Still, it was a miracle that it was still there.
After he entered the car and heard the woman start the engine, everything stopped. He didn't remember the drive past the mansion of his friend, down the side road where his beloved was killed. He didn't remember entering the small, but still clean and smoke-free condo. He didn't remember the woman laying him down in her own bed, and falling asleep.
The first thing he did remember was the sound of music coming from somewhere. After that, he opened his eyes and looked around the room. It was a rather large bedroom. A TV sat in the corner, and there was a balcony with a table and chairs set on it. A desk with a large pile of papers on top stood in the corner.
And a woman sat on the window seat, sipping tea and sketching in the sunlight.
He blinked as he watched her. This wasn't the beautiful woman he had seen last night. No. This woman had dull green hair swept into a messy bun at the top of her head. Her face had a gentle expression, but it was still rather plain. Tortoiseshell glasses framed her maroon eyes.
It was at that moment, the woman noticed he was awake. Setting down her sketchpad, she walked over.
"How are you feeling?" she asked gently, touching his forehead.
"Fine," he managed to say.
"Would you like something to eat or drink?" she asked, standing up. He too, tried to sit up, but found he wasn't completely awake.
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked curiously, looking outside. The sun was shining brightly, and the light blanket of snow on the balcony sent shimmers of white light all over the room.
"I brought you here about one o'clock last night. It's about three in the afternoon now," the woman replied. She paused, and stared back at him. "I hope you don't mind that I brought you here."
No. He didn't mind at all. For some reason, he kept thinking maybe he had died, and this was what happened. This was his paradise, strange as it may be.
But it couldn't be. Looking closer, he realized that the sketching woman indeed was the same person who had taken his gun last night. She was the reason he still was alive.
The drugs were gone now. Not that he truly felt addicted to them in the first place. It seemed odd, but it never seemed bad. He had seen the people in the park, begging for drug money because they were so hooked. But he wasn't. It hadn't taken him. Had he held onto something, something that was protecting him from falling into the darkness?
Just then, the phone rang. The woman darted over to the desk, moved a pile of papers, and picked up the phone.
"Hello? Yes, this is Setsuna Meioh speaking," she said.
Setsuna Meioh. So she was the famous fashion designer.
He didn't know what she could've been doing in the same building as he had been rescued from. He didn't care. At that point, she could've been God, and he wouldn't have cared.
To him, she was nothing more than a ray of hope. In some people's eyes, that may have been nothing. But had she known that she was slowly giving him life, she would've been happy.
Her phone conversation ended. She turned to look back at him, then smiled. "Would you like to see the rest of the condo?"
He nodded, then slowly climbed out of bed. He was still wearing the same clothes from the night before, but she had taken his jacket off, and his shoes.
She showed him the brick-walled living room, with paintings on the wall. Her friend had painted them for her, just like she had cut the CD that was playing on the stereo. Also, on the coffee table was a small clay vase. It looked like it had been created by a little girl, unskilled in art, but who had put love into it instead.
Next to the vase was a photograph. It was of a bunch of women, a man, and two girls, all together in front of a Christmas tree.
"Who are they?" he asked quietly, looking at the photograph.
"My family," she answered simply. Now, he knew she didn't mean they were all directly related. They all varied in height, and looked as different as could be. But they were still, her family. Like the one he had had, so long ago.
"I can make you a sandwich if you like. Or I have tea." the woman offered.
"Tea, please," he answered, sitting down on a stool in front of the bar in the kitchen.
As she set the kettle on the stove, she glanced back at him. "So then, Trowa."
He blinked. "How did you know my name?"
She held up a small card. His driver's license. "This was in your coat. I know I shouldn't have pried into your things, but I did want to know who I was letting sleep in my house."
He searched her face for any sign of sarcasm or annoyance. There was none.
How could this be? A stranger, who had just shown up, stopped him from committing suicide, and letting him sleep in her house? There were people he knew well who wouldn't even do that.
"What is it you want?" he asked solemnly. She paused, trying to think of the words to say.
"What do I want?" she repeated. "I want to live my life to the fullest, and try and help people."
"So you just accepted a stranger loaded on drugs? I don't understand," he replied.
She reached out, and touched his hand. "Neither do I. I've visited Haruka there tons of times. There's always been people getting high. Or worse."
As the tea finished, she walked over and poured some in a mug. "But you were different."
"Different how?" he asked, sipping his tea. She sighed, then sat down across from him.
"Those other people were gone. All that was left of them was smoky phantoms crying over the loss of their lives. But you, you were still here. Still solid. I knew that if I didn't stop you, there would be one more phantom in the hallway. And no one needs to see that."
They drank their tea in silence. Afterwards, she pointed down towards her room.
"There's a shower down there. I can get out some clothes for you too," she offered. He nodded.
Days started going by. He stayed with her in her sunny, bright condo. So different from the smoky, trashy apartments and hotel rooms he was used too.
She helped him find a job, working for a large business. In turn, he provided her with guidance and friendship. For though she hid it well, she was still afraid. Afraid of being alone.
As they sat on the balcony watching the sunrise, he would put his arm around her shoulders. "I won't leave you."
"I know."
"You will never be alone."
"Do you promise?"
"Everything."
They made the same promise even when she got sick. When she needed the transplant, he was more than happy to give it to her. He could finally be at peace now that he had saved his savior.
They never left the bright condo. Not when she had become rich enough to live in a house, mansion, palace. She wasn't going to abandon her home, and the man she loved. Not until the day she died.
"Setsuna?"
"Yes?"
"I've never thanked you for that night."
"When I found you?"
"Yes. I've never thanked you for saving me."
"But you did. You never let me go. You held on to the last moment."
"Is it over now?"
"Yes. It's over."
************************************************************************ Well, that's the end folks! Sorry if it got confusing. I hope you found this just.*sob* heartwrenching. R+R everyone!
Okay, I said I was going to call this "Rose", but.I CHANGED MY MIND! *thinks* I have a tendency to do that, don't I? Oh well. Anyways, this is my cute little romancy thingy for Valentine's Day. *sob* *sob* I don't have anyone to spend Valentine's Day with. *sob* *sob* I guess I'll just have to watch Tenchi Muyo in Love a couple of times. And eat lotsa popcorn. But anyways, here's the story. Don't own the anime.
-Nyneve
************************************************************************ He sat in the corner of the smoky apartment, huddled into his trenchcoat. Despite the intense heat of the room, he kept it on, as well as a heavy sweater beneath. One of his emerald eyes was watching the people at the party. The people injecting themselves with their life source. The other eye was hidden behind a curtain of bangs. Hiding. Just like him.
The hazy people were dancing wildly to the tormented music, giving praise to the burning deity throughout the room. The god that manifested itself in needles and syringes. The god that drove them mad, that stole their lives one by one.
He never thought he would fall to this. However, he understood that it would be no surprise if he did. In truth, there was nothing left to him. His mind was dedicated entirely to the training that had stolen his youth. His soul was shredded, destroyed by the endless lashes of the battles he had fought. And his heart, his heart still belonged to her.
It may have been she was his adopted sister. But she was the first and only person he had ever truly loved. His rare and valuable peace was found in the time he spent with her. She was his drug, his obsession.
And then she was gone. He could remember it so clear.the blinding lights, the squealing tires, her last gasp of fear as her life ended.
The doctors said she hadn't suffered at all. As soon as the car had hit her, her spinal cord snapped and she went unconscious. No. She felt no pain. She left that as her last gift to her beloved.
Ironically enough, the driver of the car had been under the influence of drugs. And he, unlike the innocent woman going for a walk, walked away with barely a scratch.
Wasn't it strange now, that the man sitting alone, mourning his emptiness, would give himself up to the needles? The weapons that caused him more pain than any wound he could've received piloting his Gundam.
The man sighed, then walked outside into the hallway.
What was the point? Was there something he was waiting for? Some last duty that he had to fulfill? If so, it would've been cruel for someone to ask any more of him. Even now, as he reached for the gun in his jacket, he struggled to not just let go of his few shreds of life.
A woman stepped out of the apartment at the other end of the hall. She waved to her friend inside, then closed the door. She sighed. It was a shame that her friend had to live in a shabby apartment complex like this. Drug addicts, prostitutes, and gang members all dwelt there. If hell had a manifestation on earth, this was it.
The woman herself though, did not belong there. No. A graceful tree like her did not take root among the dead grasses and moss-covered tombstones of the graveyard.
Her hair, like the finest and greenest vines, feel to her knees, swaying as she walked. Her serious, maroon eyes, still glittered brightly. They reminded one of the sky at late sunset, as the first few stars were coming out and all of the pink and orange had faded. Her olive skin was covered by a long coat, and a pair of leather gloves to protect her from the cold February nights.
Then, she saw him. And he saw her.
He had turned the gun and pointed it towards his head. However, the drugs in his veins had slowed him down so much. All traces of his quick, catlike reflexes were gone.
All he could do was stare as the woman wrenched the gun out of his hand, with surprising strength. Maroon met emerald as she clutched the gun.
"What are you doing?" her low, wise voice asked. It suggested that she was older than she looked. Or maybe, she was younger. Young and old. Beautiful and plain. Happy and sad. Wrapped in an enigma that no one could solve.
He didn't answer. He couldn't. What would he say to her? How cruel she was to make him live longer?
Her face softened. "Are you all right?"
"No," was all he could manage to say. The woman studied his ashen face closely. She sensed he could no longer hide all of his pain and suffering. That people had hurt him for it.
She stowed the gun in her coat. "Please, come with me."
The man raised an eyebrow. There was no reason to trust her. But still, he realized something. For the first time in months, someone was trying. He had a small light in the darkness, a rope at the bottom of his ravine, a hand to hold onto.
He nodded, then followed her out to her car. The black sports car parked away down the street, far from the apartment building. He supposed it was to keep anyone from the building from trashing it. Still, it was a miracle that it was still there.
After he entered the car and heard the woman start the engine, everything stopped. He didn't remember the drive past the mansion of his friend, down the side road where his beloved was killed. He didn't remember entering the small, but still clean and smoke-free condo. He didn't remember the woman laying him down in her own bed, and falling asleep.
The first thing he did remember was the sound of music coming from somewhere. After that, he opened his eyes and looked around the room. It was a rather large bedroom. A TV sat in the corner, and there was a balcony with a table and chairs set on it. A desk with a large pile of papers on top stood in the corner.
And a woman sat on the window seat, sipping tea and sketching in the sunlight.
He blinked as he watched her. This wasn't the beautiful woman he had seen last night. No. This woman had dull green hair swept into a messy bun at the top of her head. Her face had a gentle expression, but it was still rather plain. Tortoiseshell glasses framed her maroon eyes.
It was at that moment, the woman noticed he was awake. Setting down her sketchpad, she walked over.
"How are you feeling?" she asked gently, touching his forehead.
"Fine," he managed to say.
"Would you like something to eat or drink?" she asked, standing up. He too, tried to sit up, but found he wasn't completely awake.
"How long have I been asleep?" he asked curiously, looking outside. The sun was shining brightly, and the light blanket of snow on the balcony sent shimmers of white light all over the room.
"I brought you here about one o'clock last night. It's about three in the afternoon now," the woman replied. She paused, and stared back at him. "I hope you don't mind that I brought you here."
No. He didn't mind at all. For some reason, he kept thinking maybe he had died, and this was what happened. This was his paradise, strange as it may be.
But it couldn't be. Looking closer, he realized that the sketching woman indeed was the same person who had taken his gun last night. She was the reason he still was alive.
The drugs were gone now. Not that he truly felt addicted to them in the first place. It seemed odd, but it never seemed bad. He had seen the people in the park, begging for drug money because they were so hooked. But he wasn't. It hadn't taken him. Had he held onto something, something that was protecting him from falling into the darkness?
Just then, the phone rang. The woman darted over to the desk, moved a pile of papers, and picked up the phone.
"Hello? Yes, this is Setsuna Meioh speaking," she said.
Setsuna Meioh. So she was the famous fashion designer.
He didn't know what she could've been doing in the same building as he had been rescued from. He didn't care. At that point, she could've been God, and he wouldn't have cared.
To him, she was nothing more than a ray of hope. In some people's eyes, that may have been nothing. But had she known that she was slowly giving him life, she would've been happy.
Her phone conversation ended. She turned to look back at him, then smiled. "Would you like to see the rest of the condo?"
He nodded, then slowly climbed out of bed. He was still wearing the same clothes from the night before, but she had taken his jacket off, and his shoes.
She showed him the brick-walled living room, with paintings on the wall. Her friend had painted them for her, just like she had cut the CD that was playing on the stereo. Also, on the coffee table was a small clay vase. It looked like it had been created by a little girl, unskilled in art, but who had put love into it instead.
Next to the vase was a photograph. It was of a bunch of women, a man, and two girls, all together in front of a Christmas tree.
"Who are they?" he asked quietly, looking at the photograph.
"My family," she answered simply. Now, he knew she didn't mean they were all directly related. They all varied in height, and looked as different as could be. But they were still, her family. Like the one he had had, so long ago.
"I can make you a sandwich if you like. Or I have tea." the woman offered.
"Tea, please," he answered, sitting down on a stool in front of the bar in the kitchen.
As she set the kettle on the stove, she glanced back at him. "So then, Trowa."
He blinked. "How did you know my name?"
She held up a small card. His driver's license. "This was in your coat. I know I shouldn't have pried into your things, but I did want to know who I was letting sleep in my house."
He searched her face for any sign of sarcasm or annoyance. There was none.
How could this be? A stranger, who had just shown up, stopped him from committing suicide, and letting him sleep in her house? There were people he knew well who wouldn't even do that.
"What is it you want?" he asked solemnly. She paused, trying to think of the words to say.
"What do I want?" she repeated. "I want to live my life to the fullest, and try and help people."
"So you just accepted a stranger loaded on drugs? I don't understand," he replied.
She reached out, and touched his hand. "Neither do I. I've visited Haruka there tons of times. There's always been people getting high. Or worse."
As the tea finished, she walked over and poured some in a mug. "But you were different."
"Different how?" he asked, sipping his tea. She sighed, then sat down across from him.
"Those other people were gone. All that was left of them was smoky phantoms crying over the loss of their lives. But you, you were still here. Still solid. I knew that if I didn't stop you, there would be one more phantom in the hallway. And no one needs to see that."
They drank their tea in silence. Afterwards, she pointed down towards her room.
"There's a shower down there. I can get out some clothes for you too," she offered. He nodded.
Days started going by. He stayed with her in her sunny, bright condo. So different from the smoky, trashy apartments and hotel rooms he was used too.
She helped him find a job, working for a large business. In turn, he provided her with guidance and friendship. For though she hid it well, she was still afraid. Afraid of being alone.
As they sat on the balcony watching the sunrise, he would put his arm around her shoulders. "I won't leave you."
"I know."
"You will never be alone."
"Do you promise?"
"Everything."
They made the same promise even when she got sick. When she needed the transplant, he was more than happy to give it to her. He could finally be at peace now that he had saved his savior.
They never left the bright condo. Not when she had become rich enough to live in a house, mansion, palace. She wasn't going to abandon her home, and the man she loved. Not until the day she died.
"Setsuna?"
"Yes?"
"I've never thanked you for that night."
"When I found you?"
"Yes. I've never thanked you for saving me."
"But you did. You never let me go. You held on to the last moment."
"Is it over now?"
"Yes. It's over."
************************************************************************ Well, that's the end folks! Sorry if it got confusing. I hope you found this just.*sob* heartwrenching. R+R everyone!