The next morning, armed with a few drops of speed in my morning coffee, I smile brightly at the assembled pilots. I joke and force down the required amounts of food as they watch me.
All but one of them, that is. Heero isn't at breakfast. I pretend not to notice his absence, but each time my gaze flickers past his empty seat I feel my body twitch.
Halfway through breakfast, Wufei gets predictably annoyed by my endless chattering and tells me to shut up.
I wonder briefly if he would be any nicer to me if I slept with him. The idea has it's good points, and with a touch of shock, I realize that I'm actually contemplating it. I bet that if I pushed him the right ways, he might even be able to give me what I need.
I find myself weighing each pilot, evaluating their potential as bed-partners.
Trowa, for all of his elegant control, had to have a dark side. I was confident that I could coax it to come out and play.
Quatre would be infinitely easier to manipulate after sex. He would feel obligated to treat me with respect and concern from then on.
And how sweet would it be to see Heero's face when he realizes that I'd slept with all of them but him? He would be furious. In fact, he might just finish me off then and there.
Quatre breaks my reverie by asking where my arch-nemesis is. No matter that it probably has nothing to do with me, I tense. Trowa is watching me now as well, eyes glittering with knowledge.
"Where were you last night?" Trowa finally speaks, voice perfectly devoid of concern.
I don't answer right away because something has stuck my tongue dryly to the roof of my mouth.
"Why don't you tell them, Duo?" Heero says from the doorway, and I realize that's he's effectively trapped me in the kitchen. I duck my head, afraid to say anything.
His laughter is cold and hurts my head.
Forcing a smile that could never reach my eyes, I look up. Lying is so much easier anyways.
"I went for a little ride. I needed some air. Sorry I was so careless you guys. I'll tell you before I go out next time." If I'm being generous to myself, I almost sound sincere. Almost, but it wavers under the intensity of Heero's stare.
Quatre of course smiles, always ready to forgive and forget. "That's okay Duo. We all start to feel a little cooped up from time to time."
I make the mistake of thinking that it's over for now. Heero obviously has other ideas.
"Stop with the pretenses, Duo. You can tell them, or I will. Either way, this behavior ends now."
Even Wufei is looking at me with interest now.
I growl and throw myself at him, hoping to get past and out the door. Instead, I end up pinned to the floor by Heero's full weight. I do the only thing I can think of; thrust my hips into his, grinding against him. He's off me in a second, towering above me, eyes flashing. "You are a shameless whore, Duo," he hisses.
Quatre gasps and I tense up everywhere, a smile still plastered on my face. I know better than to react.
"Where were you really?" Trowa asks for the second time, and I could swear he knows something.
"I was at a club," I grind out through the smile. Trying not to flinch under Heero's gaze.
"And tell them what you did there," Heero spits.
"Fuck you!" I scream, dropping the mask in favor of anger.
"Wrong answer, and unless I'm confused, you already tried. Too bad for you that I won't sleep with the first piece of ass too high to say no." He's pissed now, and I find it amusing.
Quatre's mouth is gaping and it's a wonder his brain hasn't fallen out yet. I have the strange urge to laugh. The situation is hilarious, as much as I'm scared shitless right now.
"Someone had better explain." Wufei says, looking back and forth between Heero and I.
The smile is back, and I let it go chillingly vacant. All of their eyes are on me now. Suddenly, I make a dash for the hallway. Heero isn't ready, and I shoot past him, making it all the way to my room unhindered.
I lock the door and retreat to the center of my bed, hiding under the covers like some scared child.
I wait to hear voices on the other side of the door, to have Heero break it down and drag me back down there, but nothing happens. After a moment, I pull the comforter down and crawl out of bed, locking myself in the bathroom adjoined to my room.
A search under the toilet lid results in a package of already-separated razor-blades and more cocaine.
I test one of the blades to make sure it is sharp enough, and end up with a wound of satisfactory depth after the first try. Very sharp then.
Peeling off my boxers I sit cross-legged on the floor, naked except for a thin gray tank-top. My too-small arms are crisscrossed with old scars. The pale insides of my things are covered in dark gaping lines as well. Some of them were so deep that even though they are healed, if I were to press my fingers against them through a layer of clothing, I would feel thick, ropey scar-tissue through the fabric. Heero has obviously seen all of them, but never commented.
I drag the razor down the creamy white skin inside my thigh, gasping at the sheer cold, exquisite feeling. From the first cut, I'm floating, and there is no going back now.
I press the blade to my flesh again and again, letting the blood flow in tiny rivulets down my body.
When I stand and look at myself in the mirror, I think that the contrast of nearly black blood against my cream-color skin is the loveliest thing I've ever seen.
I don't attempt to stop any of the eagerly bleeding cuts, content to let every single drop roll down my legs and pool on the floor.
As I step, I leave behind a trail of bloody footprints on the white tile, and I think that this too is beautiful.
I am woken from my contemplation of the color red by loud banging on the door.
'Fuck.' And just like that, it all comes back to me, and I think I am going to be physically sick.
"Duo, open the goddamned door or I'm breaking it down!"
I give up on holding back and hurl into the nearby toilet helplessly, trying to breathe with little success.
Behind me there is a crash and then someone is shouting, but I'm still throwing up, over and over again. Dry heaves wrack my thin body and finally, finally a cool hand touches my back, rubbing in small reassuring circles.
Slowly, my breath begins to regulate itself again and the heaves stop, but I'm cold and there is nothing left in me. I start to slump forward and someone catches me. I fall against warm skin instead of a hard floor.
"Duo, what have you done to yourself?" the voice asks, thick with unnamed emotion. I don't answer; I don't have the strength.
"You're killing yourself, Duo. And it's killing me to watch." Although it's possible I've imagined the last part.