Disclaimer: Nah. I don' own it. That okay with you?
Oh yeah, it's kinda angsty, so be forewarned.
Tired Of Being Blonde
A lithe blonde haired woman lifted herself stealthily from the bed she shared with her boyfriend. She walked unmindful of her nakedness to the elegantly furnished bathroom where she let the almost scalding hot water wash away the weariness that she felt. When her skin was almost a lobster red, she slowly turned the shower knob, lifting her face towards the blast of ice-cold water. No ,she thought idly, a half-smile on her lips, I'm not tired because of our . . . physical exertions. Quatre being the best damn fuck I've ever had aside, I'm, she sighed, soul weary. Grimacing, her hands flopped down her sides, the water running in little streams down her back and arms, before ending their journey on the shower floor free to pool and escape to the bowels of the space colony's sewer system.
Like you have one. Her brain added sarcastically, spoiling for a fight. Dorothy sighed resignedly. You're right, I used to have one but, . .I . . I no longer have it.
Like hell you did! Her mind spat back. Where was your soul during the Eve Wars, huh? Where was it when you allied yourself with Treize, plotting against your own grandfather? When you made Relena an unknowing opponent in a game that only you understood, then later poisoning her brother's mind to wage war against the Earth and it's people? Oh, and were you with soul that day long ago, that day, you stabbed your most beloved Quatre with a fencing sword? Maybe you loved him so much that you just had to stab him didn't you now?! Admit it 'Doroko'! You're just another little spoiled girl seeking attention, nothing more! Not the illustrious and untouchable power player you wish other people to see!!!
Dorothy came out of the bathroom and dressed in faded denims and a red vest-like tank top. All her stuff was already in the car. She turned, sweeping the room with a glance. She stiffened as the figure on the bed shifted his position. But the occupant continued to snore softly, unmindful of the eyes that watched even the most minute bit of his perfection.
She smiled and reached out a hand--but caught herself mid-stride. No. She shouldn't. Else I'd lose the will to leave.
The blonde turned around, shoulders slumped down, and quietly made her way out of the bedroom.
It's time to leave.
"She left the credit cards under her goodbye note
'all of these are yours. Goodbye' and that was all she wrote"
Dorothy slipped behind the wheel, leaning her head for a moment against the seat's headrest. Tears coursed down her pale cheeks, but she didn't do anything to stop them. Memories of the past, her dislike of the present and her doubts of the future clouded her mind. After a minute or so of remaining in that position, she composed herself and collected her thoughts.
She leaned forward and having thrust the car key in, turned it, away from her. The battered old Dodge coughed to life, awakened by it's mistress. Her left hand took a firm grip on the steering wheel while her right hand brought the gear stick to reverse, before releasing the handbrake.
She twisted her body so that she could have a clear view of the car's path, one hand resting on the back of the passenger seat beside her, as she had seen Quatre do many times. She flinched at the pain she felt, from simply remembering his actions, her tears misting her eyes.
She numbed herself from everything and blinked the tears from coming, willing herself to breathe. It seemed that she had been doing that all of her life. Her left foot eased the pressure it exerted upon the clutch pedal slowly as Qu--No! I won't . .stop. . .I have to. . She bit her lip until it bled, relishing the feeling of pain for it took away all other thoughts, or semblance of thoughts.
The light blue car that she was backing out of the building's underground garage was something that she bought for herself a few years back. She had bought it from her own earnings which she acquired while working jobs. The car was a bit old and it's chrome no longer gleamed, but to Dorothy, she loved it beyond all her possessions. Though the car looked ugly on the outside, it responded well to it's mistress' touch, and was the one thing that she owned.
Even my life isn't my own. She grimaced. God, I have so much excess baggage.
"Keys to the Porsche she dropped on the floor in the den
Left in the '70 Dodge that he drove her in"
She leaned her head towards the open window, her left hand resting in place of the glass, while nodding her head to the beat of the music. Since the car's radio was busted, she had grabbed the stereo on her way out. She glanced at the thumping monster of a contraption sitting beside her on the passenger seat, which she had promptly fed Pink's cd, Mizundaztood, while the guard at the exit was listing her in his logbook. She grinned, I don't think Quatre 'll mind anyway. What with all his money. Her grin widened even more at the absurdity of her situation.
She was Dorothy Catalonia. A famous figure during the war, well, to those in the know. She was Duke Dermail's grand daughter and Treize Kushrenada's niece. She came from a wealthy and prestigious family. Her father though had veered away from politics and instead took to business, much to the dismay of his father and wife. He had all the right qualities, he had an unbelievable charisma, immense wealth, a political history, supporters, hard work and a brilliant mind. And yet he had chosen business.
He was a genius, a troubled genius.
He was great with numbers and foreseeing the market's movements. But he still didn't seem to feel self-worth. He could be the sweetest person in the world, loving his daughter without reserve, showering his family with gifts, cool and funny. Yet, every coin has two sides. Along with those traits, he was also arrogant and ill-tempered sometimes, impatient even with his family. He was a logical man, and often, Dorothy wondered if his affection was true.
Her mother was the same. She was beautiful, held power in the business world, was graceful and sophisticated. Their family's presence was much sought after amongst all social circles, both in the aristocracy and in the world of finance.
Whereas her father was impatient and often lazy and happy-go-lucky, her mother was the epitome of patience and hard work. But she was also quite a self-centered person, with high expectations of her daughter since, as she had said, "there is no more hope for your father", and saw the world as a highly-competitive place, where everybody's imperfect and no one can be trusted, unless beneficial to you.
Dorothy herself was a major power player. She was both feared and coveted. Feared for her connections and reputation, and coveted for her beauty. She had naturally pale skin, as fine as porcelain, and long soft locks of white-gold. Her nail blue eyes plus her curvy body were also part of the charm. Only her eyebrows prevented her from being a conventional beauty.
Her boyfriend was like her. He too came from a good family. He was in a word, a god. A Greek god, complete with matching body. But his face was so angelic and gentle. He had pursued her relentlessly, showered her with lavish gifts as well as unbounded adoration.
"She wasn't angry, she wasn't sad
She was just leaving a life a lot of women wish they had"
But she was sick and tired of it. She hated her life.
Fucking social status!
NO. She didn't like what fate's hand had dealt her. Everything has a price after all.
Her life wasn't hers anymore. It was shaped by her position in life, her responsibilities, the war. Belonging to the jet-set ain't much fun. It's completely tiring. My life seems to be composed of non-stop plane rides. And the balls . . .she shuddered. People dissing out each other behind their backs. Cruel, evil men and women hiding behind their false politeness and miles of cloth. Those in the aristocracy had a different set of social rules. She could no longer count the number of times she had put her foot in her mouth, embarrassing both herself and her family. She could still remember the first time she had been presented, she was in 7th heaven with joy, until she had heard a couple of ladies laughing with each other about who's wife was cheating who, which husband was good in bed, that the North's were wallowing in debt due to gambling . . .This was a far comparison to the balls she had imagined, where there were lovely lords and ladies and her dashing prince.
Her family annually donated to charities of her father's choice, and yet she was scolded and frowned at for giving money to the beggar on the street. As member of the dignified Catalonia family and lone heiress to their wealth, the people she got acquainted with were chosen and very few. Some of them were okay, but others were all-time bitches.
Being who she was, her family constantly held her in high expectations, the masses feared her, society envied her. Hers was a world where . . "Remember, you can trust no one else but yourself . ." her mother's voice reminded.
There were times when she had found good friends, but she had distanced herself from them for fear that her family would embarrass them, and the people who envied her might use them to blackmail her into submission.
Is it any wonder why I can make strategies easily? Her life seemed to be populated with them after all.
* * *
"Dorothy, you are the only child of the Catalonia family, never forget that. It's about time that you acted like a woman of your age and position should. You're no longer a little girl, you've wasted enough of your life already! I'm not doing this for me, I'm doing this for you, Would you like to be humiliated in front of everybody?" her mother's eyes bore into hers.
I don't care mother, I'd even be happy if they left me alone and outcasted me. But she couldn't tell her mother that, for she knew her mother wouldn't accept it. So, she just gazed at her mother's face, willing herself to quit thinking.
Patricia sighed at her daughter's lack of response. "You should begin to act like a lady, you're already 14 years old . . ."
"But mother! Please understand, this is my decision, . ."I don't want to be a lady! never!, she thought.
"I'm not asking you to be a spineless, homebody, I'm just asking you to fix yourself, you know we always have visitors and yet you keep on prancing around the house, you're hair mussed up . .All I want you to do, is keep yourself presentable, brush your teeth, tie your hair . ."
But I don't wanna. I like myself this way, unfixed, natural, childish, . ."Mother, I am trying . ."
"Trying!" Patricia bellowed, "You've been telling me that for years now! I've given you your freedom, but what have you been doing?"
Dorothy's temper rose. "Mother, you haven't noticed, but I am no longer just planning things. I'm actually applying them, I keep myself in shape, I watch what I eat . .", she answered coldly.
"But the moment I turn around you quit! Ok, you wake up early for two days, then you go back to your habits. . A habit is difficult to break . ."
For a moment, Dorothy had almost decided to quit, but she calmed herself. So many players . . .so many expectations . . . but none of them know me or want to share my pain. Fuck! Why does mother always think everything revolves around her?
* * *
That was something her mother had never understood. She never wanted to be the belle of the ball, hated her in-born coquettishness. She considered admirers as distractions, she had actively avoided them and relationships. she had never wished to be a lady, she wanted to keep herself an untamed spirit, childish and free.
The wind whipped her hair across her face. She had exited to one of the lesser traveled freeways which led to the pseudo-countryside, picking up her speed, thus causing wind to rush through the open windows.
Pink bellowed out on the stereo: " . . Where I can run just as fast as I can to the middle of nowhere . . ."
"Tired of being blonde
Tired of running around with the usual guys and gals
Tired of being blonde
Tired of living up to all the expected
Tired of being blonde
Tired of living a life that had only been planned by one
Tired of being blonde
Tired of letting her dreams go neglected"
Pain clutched her chest as her mind drifted to the sleeping body that she had left. Quatre . . .God, I love you. Her boyfriend was Quatre Raberba Winner, a gundam pilot and heir to the Winner fortune. He was incredibly polite and warm-hearted. Dorothy, or Doroko as he loved calling her, which in Japanese meant she was Dorothy his love, loved him with a passion. Even now as she thought of him, her heart seemed to burst with love. She thought him as an angel. He was warm and affectionate, incredibly handsome . .
And incredibly uncontrollable.
Quatre was a great lover. A satyr. Dorothy knew of his infidelity even though he thought she didn't. But Dorothy didn't know what to do. It pained her a lot for she was an incredibly jealous person, but she feared that Quatre would leave her.
She had kept her cool. She understood that Quatre had not held even a single grain of feeling for those women but it still nagged at her and made her feel . . .inadequate.
* * *
Quatre had woken in the middle of the night. Dorothy had not been able to sleep and was lovingly running her hand against Quatre's soft blonde locks. His blue green eyes opened wide and blinked at her.
Thrice.
Dorothy couldn't help but smile at him, suppressing a giggle. He grinned evilly, a gleam that Dorothy positively feared entering his eyes. [watch the gleam enter and shake hands with the evil grin. .eh . .kidding, uh, nevermind this insert okie?]
"So you ain't sleepy yet, eh?" Quatre asked, throwing his arm across her, preventing escape. He moved his body on top of hers, without losing eye contact. "Well, I ain't yet, too." He looked down at Quatre Jr before returning to her eyes. "Wanna see what comes up?", he smirked.
Dorothy giggled, love for her lover lighting up her eyes. But deciding to tease, "Nah. I don't think anything can come up. Wanna bet?" she challenged.
Quatre growled and gave her the evil eye. "Don't be so sure, woman." His voice holding the promise of punishment.
She couldn't help but laugh out loud. She could already FEEL his punishment, pressing against her. And yet, she couldn't bite back a retort.
" Oooh, I'm so scared Wufei." she referred to their Chinese comrade, who called women . . er, well, . .women.
Dorothy threw back her head in laughter. Quatre took the opportunity to latch his mouth onto her neck in an open kiss. His tongue flicking out to tease her skin. She was extremely tickled whenever he did that, not to mention, turned-on. She mashed her body against his in an effort to get closer to him. Quatre laughed and proceeded to lick a trail down, before taking a quick detour along her shoulders, nipping at her soft skin with his teeth.
She wondered of he ever did that to his other lovers. Suddenly, all her thoughts of her inadequacy, her insecurity of herself and her body came spilling out in a torrent of doubt.
"Um, Quatre . . ." she looked away as his hands stopped toying with her nipples, watching every inch of her body. She had the sudden urge to cover herself from his hot gaze. Which she did.
Quatre frowned at her arms' sudden intrusion upon his view. His eyes flickered up to her face, trying to catch her eyes which continued to avoid his. He watched her face for a minute, before sighing and crawling up 'til their eyes were on a same level.
"Doroko . .", he rested his palm against her left cheek, brushing his thumb back and forth. "Why are you hiding from me?"
"I . .I'm not . I'm . ."The floodgates were unleashed. "God, Quatre . . .yo . you're so . . so beautiful, and loving . .and . ." She twisted her body away, away from his warm touch.
He embraced her body to his, before rolling over so that she was on top of his. His left hand ran through her mane, the other held on to her tightly. Dorothy bent her head to rest against his shoulders, all her doubts and insecurities rushing out in a jumble of incoherent phrases. But Quatre had understood, very well. When her breathing had begun to even out he started.
"Doroko, you're not ugly. How could you think that? And why would you compare yourself with others?" Quatre searched her eyes for the answer. Dorothy met his gaze head on, not letting him see what she knew. Quatre sighed, "Dorothy . . ."he kissed every inch of skin exposed to his touch.
"You're beautiful, if not to others, then to me." His voice was strong and confident. He was so sure that some of it seeped into Dorothy's soul. She blushed. What he had told her had touched a torn part of her soul and brought warmth.
Quatre laughed, his gaze drew down. "So! Your blush DOES reach your breasts! I've always wondered . . ."
Dorothy's skin flushed even more. Damn! How the hell did Quatre get ME to blush? She "thwapped" him on the head with a pillow. "Lecher!!!"
* * *
Now that she thought of it, Quatre had loved her in his own way, no matter that he got it on with any living human female [hah! take that cruel yaois! ugh, gotta take my prozac! gomen ne!]
"She used to love to know she rounded out his world
She used to love to be all he ever loved in a girl"
He had showered her with lavish gifts. To assuage his guilt, she always thought.
Even the penthouse suite she lived in was a gift from Quatre. When he was in the neighborhood, he never let a second pass that he was not with her.
Once, one of her former bodyguards, provided by Quatre, suddenly disappeared from service. When she had asked Quatre about it, he had answered, "You gave him a shirt last Christmas." He pointed out, with a sulky pout and a death glare.
Quatre was over-protective and more prone to jealousy than her.
Her late grandfather had left her his vast collection of Class A cars. It cost far more than what an average employee could ever earn in a lifetime. Her parents constantly strove to add more to their family's vast wealth. They've had some losses but nothing much.
All her life it seemed, she had been showered with gifts. Even now Quatre loved to buy her things. She had roomfuls of stuffed toys, literally. She had a beachfront house by the Pacific Ocean on Earth. A palazzo in Rome. A villa in Saint-Tropez.. Enormous trust funds. Limitless credit lines. Loads of gems. Tons of clothes.
She grinned, a happy content smile, as she raced through the freeway. Hell! What the fuck am I ever going to do with all that?
"He liked to buy her clothes that made her sexy and cute
Guess she'd decided she'd been too long away from her roots."
For the past few years, it felt as though her soul was being weighed down by a strange weight. She could laugh heartily. And yet she felt hollow inside. She rarely wished to be with others, even to talk to them.
Only Quatre . . .
She was happy when she was with Quatre, but as soon as he left, a great sadness would fill her heart.
There were times when she didn't feel anything anymore. When she didn't care if the world gets destroyed. She didn't care if her parents died. She didn't care if she got raped then killed. She didn't care at all. Quatre's presence had provided peace for her troubled soul. But she had to learn to get through her troubles by herself.
Often she felt as though she was wandering in a vast dark place. Where not even a sliver of light existed. It was extremely vast, and cold, and desolate. She shivered from thinking of it alone. She had never told Quatre of how she felt. Often she felt the extreme need to feel . . .feel anything.
Those were the times when she absolutely hated herself. She hated herself for everything she was. She had despised touch. In their long acquaintance, Quatre had helped her accept herself, even unknowingly. Soon, people who passed through her life were leaving their colorful marks upon the vast emptiness that was Dorothy Catalonia. She had read many things, taught many things and yet . . .It's still different from actually experiencing it. Knowing was far, far different from understanding.
Nowadays, she loved herself for what she was. For everything; her mistakes, her past, her fears. These were all a part of herself, a part of what made her Dorothy Catalonia and no other.
No more will I let fear and doubt rule my life. I am me free to be me. Bound to nothing. I will be strong . .I will no longer close myself up because of pain. I know I'm not perfect but I can smile.
She laughed as the wind caused her hair to tickle her. She had often thought the wind was her playful friend . .maybe she still did.
This is my creed, my truth, my life.
"She wasn't crazy, she wasn't mad
She just knew in her heart they had drained her of all she had"
"I said I'll do it again, I'm just mizundaztood!" Dorothy laughed out loud. She felt giddy with excitement. A new horizon lay before her. She could die her hair, cut it, be gruff as a truck driver. She was free.
"Yeah!" she screamed, before falling into fitful laughter. She felt as she had never felt ever before. She felt . . . invigorated. A car that passed by her honked his horn, before leaving her in a dust cloud.
Dorothy glared at the car and raised her left fist, where only the middle finger stood, straight and tall . . .Just like Quatre's dickie. She giggled and screamed. "FUCK YOU ASSHOLE!!!"
There. It felt soooo unbelievably good to let that out. She smiled. This was true freedom. Not limitless freedom, just the knowledge that a person is not answerable to anyone or anything. There is no right or wrong. There was nothing else except her. Dorothy Catalonia.
I'm not answerable to anyone or anything else except myself. This is me and my life. There are no 'society rules', no conspiracies, just the pure enjoyment of life. My family, nor the world cannot make me do anything that I don't want. I'm no angel, but that doesn't mean I can't fly!!!
"Quatre." Her smile dropped. Fuck! What in hell am I doing? Where am I going? I've gotta come back! She glanced at the rearview mirror. The coast is clear.
She squealed in delight, seconded by the protesting squeal of the tires as she whipped the car in a complete U-turn.
She pulled it off. Unbelievable!
She drove back, planning various attacks for when she arrives back at the condominium she shared with Quatre.
She sang to the song "Respect" while driving, even closing her eyes for a few moments as she rapped out some of the parts. After all, the road was clear. Not a single soul for kilometers ahead of her.
Dorothy closed her eyes and sang. "Back up boy, I ain't your toy, or your piece of ass!"
"Tired of being blonde
Tired of changing her life just to match the color of the sun
Tired of being blonde
Tired of the platinum frustration
Tired of being blonde
Tired of looking like a cutie on the cover of a magazine
Tired of being blonde
Tired of chasing all the latest sensations
She wasn't angry, she wasn't sad
She was just leaving a life that a lot of women wish they had."
Quatre placed the snifter glass of brandy on the desk. His hands rose to massage the bridge of his nose as well as his temples.
He had woken up to a cold bed and an empty room. Whenever he was with her, her security detail was dismissed. So it was with agitation that he held the house phone as the guard rifled through the pages of the logbook. Yes, there had been a Ms. Catalonia who left at precisely 4:25 in the morning in a blue Dodge with plate number BDY 776. He was extremely thankful that the building's guards were efficient in their job. He had calmed himself down but he was still bothered as to why she had left at such an ungodly hour. He was extremely possessive of the people he loved.
Especially Dorothy. He was the self named protector of the girl. He knew she had been seriously messed with. He had the strange sensation that she was capable of extreme love and yet, even as he dueled with her, he saw the loneliness and desperation that shone in his eyes. Only he had seen the flicker of doubt before they had started their match. Only he had heard the call for help that beat steadily from her. Their sparring match was a decided one. It wasn't him that she was fighting with from the start, it was herself. It was her own shadow that she had seen in his place. Quatre knew what he should do, if he was to ever save this . .battered soul. A defeat was something that his pride was willing to bear, for her sake.
After the war, he had pursued her ardently, wooed her shamelessly. He had instinctively felt that she had gone through a lot of pain in her existence.
She had numbed herself. Encased in a coffin of ice. She had lost all feelings. Much like that day he had found her walking in the rain on L2.
* * *
Quatre jumped out of the car he was riding in and chased after the soaking figure passing along with the other pedestrians on the street.
"Excuse me, . .excuse me." He called out to the blonde. "Dorothy!"
No response. A muttered curse passed his lips as he pushed through the pack of bodies between them. After a few moments time, he placed a hand on her shoulder, turning her around. "Dorothy . . "his words faded as he took in her blank look. For a moment he had thought he had made a mistake, that his mind had played a trick on him.
He glanced at her eyebrows. A small smile lit his face. Yep! Definitely Dorothy.
"Dorothy." He shook her shoulder. Damn, why does she seem so thin?
Her eyes flickered to his face. "Quatre . . ."
He smiled. She remembered. "Dorothy we have to get you out of the rain. You're so cold." His eyes took in her appearance, before throwing his arm around her, pulling her into the shelter of his body. "Cold . ."she whispered. Quatre pulled her closer to his body heat and directed her to his car.
Dorothy fell asleep along the drive and Quatre hadn't the heart to wake her up. He brought her to his penthouse suite and undressed her, gently so as not to wake her. He dressed her in one of his sweaters and sent both hers and his clothes to the dry cleaners. He had held her as she slept. Wishing he could take away all her pain.
* * *
From that day on, he had taken the job of being her guardian angel. He had lavished her with love and attention, well, at least a slight resemblance to love. He kept her away from the outside world. Protected her from all it's pain and suffering. He had taken great relish in bringing her joy, in watching her spirit return. She had a well developed mind, allowing her awareness about the things around her. She was such a lonely soul, and yet so loving, that he often felt guilty knowing that he couldn't control his hormones.
Sometimes, he wondered if she knew. He had the sensation that she did, but she said nothing of the matter, and Quatre brushed aside his fears.
Quatre ran a hand through his hair. Where the fuck was she? Thoughts of her meeting with a lover flashed through his mind. He stood up and strode into the next room, brandy forgotten. He walked past the dining room. Where's that damn radio when you need it? After giving up hope on finding the stereo, he brushed his hands on his jeans and straightened himself before turning around.
And promptly stepping on something sharp and hard.
"SHIT!!!" he hobbled around on one foot, his one hand massaging the pained area.
When the pain had dulled, he dropped onto his knees and reached for the offending object. He paled.
It was Dorothy's key ring.
A picture of Dorothy running off with a burly looking truck driver filled his mind. Nah . .I hope. He gulped
He brought himself up once again. His eyes falling upon a piece of paper on his desk. He strode over and read the note, which was obviously written by Dorothy's hand. He lifted the credit cards incredulously. How the fuck did the woman think she'll survive?
* * *
Quatre had rushed to the bedroom and called on his security agency and Rashid. They arrived after thirty long minutes in which Quatre had decided that he was going to wipe out every single burly looking truck driver in the planet until he finds Dorothy.
And here he was planning on proposing to her, while she makes plans to run-off with a truck driver.
The team he had assembled met with him and gathered the necessary information. They then made a plan of action and distributed tasks among the members and quickly dispatched. Some others were left in the pent. Quatre sat in the living room, amidst the bustle of activity. He could vaguely hear the TV.
"On the 10 o' clock news: War figure Dorothy Catalonia had died in a vehicular accident this morning when she had passed an intersection along the old Morrison freeway and collided with a large delivery truck. The driver of the truck had reported seeing Ms. Catalonia driving with her eyes closed, causing her to fail to see the crossing truck. In other news . . ."
Quatre blinked. Doroko?
* * *
The last few days had been hell for Quatre. His most precious Doroko had died and yet the world still went on.
He hated the media. Hated them for their intrusion into his beloved's private life. They presented her to the public as the spoiled princess. As a cold and calculating manipulator who had as much to do with the Eve wars as with Treize. They made money off of her life story, selling her to the people as the all time antagonist. They didn't know half of the truth.
He had gone to the morgue, then to the funeral, barely registering what had happened. The Catalonia's accepted him as their son, for they knew of his relationship with their daughter, and what he had meant to her. He watched as they lowered her coffin beneath the sweet smelling grass.
She was the closest thing he had ever felt to love.
He felt as though, he had failed in a way. He wondered what she had thought of. Why she had left. He was constantly bothered by the thought that she had found out of his infidelity.
He had wanted so much to protect her. To keep her happy and safe and loved and cherished. He wished to guard her dreams and hopes and give her strength and all things nice and pretty.
And yet she was dead. Gone. In the blink of an eye. Literally.
He had never felt so pained in his life as he did then. He felt so worthless and weak. For everything he was worth, he still couldn't save his precious angel.
God. Can this get any worse? No, he didn't think so.
"Mr. Winner?" A handsome man in a suit asked him, an unconfident smile on his lips.
"Yes?" he nods. What does this man want from me now?
"Sir, I am Ms. Catalonia's attorney. She has willed that the sum of her fortune will be distributed among the people she had listed, but the bulk of it, . ." Quatre blanched. What did this man think of him? A money grabbing pauper?
"I don't care to whom . . ." Quatre was cut off by the attorney.
"Sir, she has left the bulk of her inheritance and assets to you." The man finished smartly.
Doroko . . .noooooo.
Quatre swung around violently, sobbing unto his hands.
Yay!!!! It's finished! This is the first part in a series of stories. Man! I'm tired.
elentAri