Chapter Eight: Your Joys are Counterfeit

Disclaimer: Don't own GW, and the chapter title is from a song by the Manic Street Preachers.

Notes: Wow, so sorry for the long wait! I've had major writers block, plus I've been busy beta-ing two stories and applying to colleges and looking for a job. -sweatdrop- Been extremely busy. Oh, and Selene, you were asking about the timeline a while back, and I completely forgot to answer. In the first chapter I said six months previously, but I decided to change it to a year, maybe even more, before the prologue.

IMPORTANT: Please see the second chapter's A/N, as I don't want to waste disk space by repeating it. ;]

Duo awoke the next morning to the gentle prodding of his shoulder. Eyes opening slowly, blinking as his vision adjusted to the fluorescent light, he took in his surroundings. Suddenly, as the fog of sleep cleared from his mind and images of the night before came forth, Duo realized with a start that he had fallen asleep on the bathroom floor… While cutting. Taking a deep breath, preparing himself for the worst, he glanced up to find Heero staring down at him, eyes boring into Duo's own, asking wordless questions, making silent accusations.

Shit, he thought. Silently berating himself for being so careless, Duo casually checked his arms, relieved to find that, in his sleep, he had pulled a bath towel over his body, and because of this his bloodied clothes were hidden from view. Letting out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, Duo's mind raced, buzzing with lies, excuses, and denials.

Battle plan forming slowly in his mind, Duo stretched his covered arms above his head, yawning loudly, then looking back at Heero with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"'Morning, Hee-Chan! Man, I must've been really out of it last night, huh? God, of all the places to fall asleep…" He looked around the bathroom in mock-disgust, wrinkling his nose as he pulled himself to his feet and stretched again, taking care to discreetly hide his left, stained sleeve under the security of the towel as he reached above his head.

"What time is it anyway? Man, I'm starved! Are you going to cook for me this morning, huh Hee-Chan?"

As Duo knew it would, the mentioning of food took Heero slightly by surprise, and instead of questioning Duo as to what he was doing sleeping on the bathroom floor, he merely shrugged his shoulders, attempting indifference.

"Hn. What would you like."

"Hm… How about toast!" Balking slightly at the glare he received, Duo continued quickly, "with eggs."

Nodding curtly, Heero quickly walked out of the room, agitated and, though he wouldn't admit it, frightened. He had walked into the bathroom that morning, intending to take a quick shower before breakfast, and had been shocked to find Duo curled up in the corner by the sink. So innocent, so beautiful… Blinking rapidly and shaking his head, he tried desperately to rid the images of a peacefully sleeping Duo from his mind.

Lately, the American had been invading his thoughts more and more, and Heero found that he was beginning to genuinely care for Duo's well-being – something that scared him far more than any battle ever had. Though the war had ended well over a year ago, emotions were still a foreign thing to Heero, and though he felt them, he could not distinguish between them, and most of the time, was not even consciously aware of their presence. There were the physical signs: The tightening of stomach muscles and the rapid heartbeat when he had found Duo passed out months ago; the warmth that spread through his chest last night as he gazed upon his friend looking healthier than he had in weeks; the slight twitch of the facial muscles when he discovered Duo asleep just minutes ago. These things he recognized, but he could not match a word – joy, happiness, contentment, fear – to the sensations. He knew, though, that Duo affected him far more than any thing or person ever had, and this frightened him to the core.

Shaking his head once again, Heero made a resolution that he would rid himself of these unwanted feelings, and as quickly as possible. He had no room in his life for such things, no room for the complications brought on by care, concern, worry, love. Eyes widening slightly at the last word, Heero mentally shook himself, as he quickened his pace to the kitchen. Once there, he hurriedly prepared the breakfast Duo had asked for, and proceeded to call the man down for the meal.

Walking into the kitchen, Duo sighed quietly and prepared himself for another force-feeding, and was greatly – albeit happily – surprised when Heero simply walked away after placing the full plate in front of him.

"Not gonna keep me company this morning?" Duo joked, then immediately bit his tongue, swearing silently to himself.

"Hn."

For the second time that morning Duo was shocked, and just a bit hurt, when Heero made no move to elaborate, instead walking out of the room.

Duo gave himself five minutes – exactly 300 seconds, as he counted by the ticking of the clock – before pushing the kitchen chair back, its wood scraping against the floor, and quickly dumping the entirety of his breakfast into the trash.

For the first time in months, Duo found a real, genuine smile gracing his face. The expression held, even as he practically skipped up the stairs and into his room, grabbing his sneakers from underneath his bed.

Heero, who was busily typing on his laptop, barely glanced up as Duo entered the room, though he was acutely aware of his presence. His heart skipped a beat as he saw Duo pulling on his running shoes, but he pushed the fear aside, assuring himself that Duo was a smart boy, and knew what he was doing, knew not to push the limits and make himself ill.

Duo felt just the slightest bit hurt as he finished dressing and walked downstairs, and out through the kitchen door. He had hated the past few months, when Quatre and Heero had not let him out of their site for more than a few minutes at a time, but somehow, this was even worse. The knowledge that Heero, at least, didn't care anymore, didn't see through his mask (or didn't want to), couldn't see that he was still in so much pain.

As he picked up his pace, breaking into a slow jog, Duo quickly blinked back the few tears forming behind his eyelids, and yanked up his sleeve, giving himself a few quick scratches with his fingernails, opening up the wounds he inflicted upon himself the night before. The feel of the blood once again beginning to well up and drip lazily down his arm comforted Duo. There was still this one thing that made him feel better. Better about himself, the treatment he had received from Heero this morning, and the world in general. There was still this. This, and the diet, which he swore he would resume once he was sure that the others were off his back once and for all.

. . . . . . . . .

It was a little after 6:00 in the morning when Duo pushed open the main door to the estate, newspaper in hand. Slightly out of breath, he walked into the kitchen and flopped down into the first chair he saw, placing the newspaper on the table in front of him.

Hearing a quiet giggle to his right, Duo jumped, startled to find that he wasn't alone, and turned around to find Quatre sitting on Trowa's lap, arms thrown around the other's neck. He nearly gagged at the sight.

In the past three weeks, both Quatre and Heero had taken to ignoring him once again, overlooking the fact that he had gone right back to his old pattern of behaviors, the ones which his "friends" had protested so strongly against only one month before. Quatre caught up in his growing relationship with Trowa, and Heero simply uncaring, as far as Duo could tell.

Shoving away from the table angrily, Duo stormed out of the room, and soon enough was followed by a concerned looking Quatre. Glancing back, Duo realized that Trowa was leaning against the doorframe, apparently not wanting to involve himself in the argument he was sure was coming.

"Duo?" Quatre asked tentatively, sitting beside his friend on the overstuffed sofa. "Are you all right?" Placing a hand on his shoulder, only to have it thrown off by a still-angry Duo.

"Just fine," he threw back in a tone that implied he was anything but.

Quatre remained silent, giving Duo the chance to continue on his own. When he didn't, the Arabian finally said, "Duo, if there's anything wrong you know you can always come to us… right? We're always there for you, no matter what." He took a chance and again placed a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder.

Duo glared at the hand before looking Quatre in the eye, intending to start on a rant about his friends were never "there for" him anymore, but one look at the sincere expression on Quatre's face ended the argument before it had even begun. He merely sighed and resigned himself to the fact that he was alone now, and that perhaps it was for the best.

Plastering a smile on his face, Duo nodded. "I know Quat, thanks. I'm just tired, that's all." Without even giving his friend a chance to respond, Duo quickly stood and fled from the room, the familiar phrase once again coming to mind. I run, I hide, but I never lie. Except that his whole life, personality, and mannerisms were one huge lie, every word he spoke a denial or an excuse. Hiding and running from the truth that even he himself couldn't see.

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Duo looked around the room he now found himself in. White tiled walls, mirror reflecting the picture of a man with desperate, violet eyes, overflowing with pain, hurt, anger, need. Shoulders tense, arms shaking violently by his sides, breath quickening as the moments passed, face flushed, and beads of sweat forming on the too-pale forehead. The mirror had seen the picture many times over the past month, and the man behind the reflection knew all too well what was coming next. When he got like this, it was inevitable.

His hands were shaking so badly that he could barely control them enough to reach into the front pocket of his jeans, and when he did, had trouble grasping the cool and familiar piece of metal he found there.

His breath was coming in short gasps as he hastily grabbed the end of his long-sleeved shirt and yanked it up to his elbow.

Calm down, he told himself, Calm down, don't do it yet, deep breath. Listening to the words, Duo sucked in a shaky breath, letting it fill his lungs before slowly exhaling. If he didn't do this, he knew, the results would be terrible, and something he could not handle by himself.

He grasped the metal, his razor, tightly in his clammy hand before sinking it into his flesh and dragging it harshly down the length of his arm. Once he did this, twice, three times, four, and only then did he feel in enough control to let the weapon fall to the floor. He quickly followed the razor's path, sliding down against the bathroom cabinet, his feet collapsing under the incredible weight he bore upon his shoulders.

Closing his eyes, he once again dragged in a deep breath, before opening them to inspect the damage. Small crimson beads, melding together to form long trails of deep ruby, the blood flowing steadily down his arm and onto the floor beside him. So calming was the scene, and so familiar.

The American nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard a hesitant knock on the door.

"Duo?" A small voice called out, and he knew from the tone, quiet and filled with concern, that it was Quatre's.

"J-just a minute!"

Hastily grabbing for the roll of toilet paper, he made a makeshift bandage for himself before pulling down the black sleeve of his shirt and mopping up the stains on the floor. Shoving the mess in his pocket, because he couldn't take the risk of someone finding the bloodied toilet paper in the trashcan.

He felt calm now, the anger from before forgotten as he pulled open the door to face his friend.

"What's up, Q-man?"

"Well, you just seemed a bit upset before, I was wondering if maybe you would like to join me and Trowa for breakfast in the dining room?"

Duo mentally shuddered at the mentioning of breakfast.

"No thanks, I actually ate this morning before you guys were awake. Hey! Did you know your cook could make chocolate chip pancakes?! Man, those things are fucking awesome!"

Quatre smiled at his friend, shaking his head before allowing a chuckle to escape his lips. "Well, I'm glad that you enjoyed them. I'll leave you alone then. But, Duo, if you do need anything, please don't be afraid to come to me. Or any of us, for that matter. Ok?"

The American nodded at Quatre's retreating back, at the same time knowing that the offer was made simply out of courtesy, that he would only be ignored – again – if he told any of the pilots how his life had gone so horribly wrong lately.

A low growl emanating from his stomach served to feed into Duo's guilt over the increasing amount of lies that he told daily. Chocolate chip pancakes? He hadn't eaten breakfast in well over a month. The morning Heero had made him eggs and then walked out of the room, and, Duo thought, his life, was the morning that the diet had begun again, taking on a new force and growing into something even bigger than it was before.

He was no longer disillusioned, starving himself under the pretense of trying to become thin. He had realized long ago that this was something so very, very much more. So complicated, so much more than a diet, the layers of hate, guilt, anger, and shame making up what he now knew to be a full-blown eating disorder.

And he never loved it more than when that realization hit.[1]

He couldn't explain it, and he thought himself despicable to be feeling that way, undeniably proud of himself for becoming sick (and he knew that he was), but still, he couldn't deny the fact that the moment he realized what he was, he was happier than he had ever been in possibly his entire life.

He compared it to the way he felt after winning the wars. The feeling of accomplishment, the relief, the thought that finally, after all those months of working so hard, pushing and fighting and trying, he had accomplished the goal that had for so long seemed impossible. Like maybe he wasn't so fat, such a loser, such a failure, such a good-for-nothing nobody, if he had the willpower to achieve something like becoming anorexic.

He never had a name. Not a real name, anyway, and that had always depressed him somewhat. He'd never had something official like that, and now, for the first time, he did. A label. A diagnosis. He wasn't nobody…

He was anorexic.

No, he corrected, not yet. In his mind, he was not yet there. He still ate, still occasionally binged (he shuddered at the word), still threw up on a regular basis. These losses of control were something that an anorexic would never experience, and he thoroughly hated himself for these weaknesses.[2]

And this was his reasoning for continuing. What Duo didn't realize was that his "honesty" with himself, what he considered to be incredible logic, was nothing more than another unconscious lie he told himself to justify the continuation of his behaviors. If he were truly honest with himself, as he thought he was, he would have seen that he was already thoroughly entrenched in anorexia, and that his decision to continue until he reached what, in his mind, was anorexic, was the same as when he had told himself months ago that he would lose only until he got to a certain number on the scale. Always lowering the number as he reached it, surpassing it again and again. He never thought himself to be "good enough", and a certain part of him knew that he never would. No matter how little he weighed, no matter what the diagnosis or how little he ate.

. . . . . . . . . .

It was one week later when Duo awoke screaming at 1:00 a.m., sheets and body drenched in sweat. Running into the bathroom as fast as his feet would carry him, the American barely had time to close the door before leaning over the toilet and forcing the little he had eaten that day out of his system. Panting, shaking, terrified, he stood up only to find Heero standing, aghast, in the now-open doorway.

Gulping, Duo merely shook his head, signaling that he didn't want to talk about it, walking out of the room and dropping into his bed, repeating in his mind, It was only a dream, it was only a dream, it was only a dream…

The American looked up as he felt the bed sink with the weight of another person. A comforting hand running down the length of his back, gently rubbing his bony shoulders, caused him to release the death grip he had taken on his pillow.

Heero nearly flinched as those eyes filled with so much pain searched his own, looking for an explanation for the act of comfort. He knew he had been anything but a friend to Duo lately. He felt bad – and even worse when he felt the bones once again poking through Duo's gray flesh – but the prospect of emotions, the overwhelming feelings of love and concern that washed over him when he saw Duo, had him fleeing from the room every time the American was near.

Shrugging off the feelings of guilt, once again reassuring himself that Duo was smart and knew how to take care of himself, Heero removed the hand and simply stated, "Everyone has nightmares."

Not like this, Duo thought to himself, but said nothing, merely nodding as Heero stood and returned to his own bed. Oblivious to the fact that Duo had made himself sick, that it wasn't simply an aftereffect of the dream, undoubtedly similar to his own about wars and killing and the like.

There was a time when Duo would have found paradise in that gentle hand running across his back and shoulders, but tonight, he felt nothing. His stomach did not leap, as it once would have, when Heero touched him, nor did he feel any sense of rejection or sadness when the man retreated. Tonight, all he could think about was the dream. The horrible, consuming nightmare that haunted both his sleeping, and his waking hours.

On more than one occasion, Duo found himself in the same predicament as tonight. Waking from the images of him sitting at the table, eating and eating and eating, consuming everything in sight and more, running to the bathroom to purge, absolutely positive that he had gained some weight from the dream, sure that his mind had somehow been tricked into thinking that he actually had eaten and taken in calories.

Waiting to make sure that Heero was again asleep, Duo slowly got out of bed and crept into the bathroom again, as he always did after the nightmare. Pulling off his shirt, leaving him in only a pair of black silk boxers that hung loosely from his hips, Duo stood in front of the mirror, picking out the many faults that he found in himself.

1,2, 3… Dammit, can only count three ribs, he thought, frowning, and then scowling in hatred at his reflection – at himself. He ran his right hand down the length of his body, fingers bumping down the three ribs, following the curve below the ribcage as it ended and his sunken-in stomach began, finally coming to rest atop the too-prominent hipbones, delighted that he could grab and hold onto the knobs. Continuing the inspection, he glanced at his arms in disgust. Angry at the scars that laced up and down, the pink outline of healing cuts where the skin was still tender, not open, but not yet healed; the angry red ones from the cuts made last night; the white, barely visible lines created during the war; the brown of the still-healing scabs from weeks previously.

Sighing, he tore his gaze from the mirror, unable to stand the image it projected any longer. He prayed a little as he walked over to the scale in the corner and stepped on, watching the numbers climb, then sink lower, lower, lower, until it finally came to rest on 113.

Smiling just a little, Duo stepped off and again looked in the mirror, suddenly not so critical, not as appalled at what he saw. 113. The grin widened. He thought back to the first time he weighed himself, so many months ago – was it only 4? – It seemed like an eternity had passed. The scale had read 156.

As quietly as he had entered it, Duo walked out of the bathroom, slipping under the covers on his bed, the danger gone, for now. That night, Duo fell asleep with a smile on his face, as he continued to count numbers, calories, weight, seconds, days, weeks, months, in his mind. The calculation pleased him…

He had lost over 40 pounds in just four months.[3]

[1.] Don't hate Duo for feeling that way! Seriously, it will be explained later, but he's not "at that point" right now where he understands his feelings and thoughts about the whole thing.

[2.] Bullshit! Common misconception, one that sort of always pisses me off, lol. Anorexics DO eat [not normally, of course], and binge on occasion, and purge, and lose control. There's not a single anorexic in the world that can fast forever, that never binges. Body always overrides mind. If you want to read a fanfic where ED's are shown accurately, go check out "Anything for the One You Love" by the lovely Dragen Eyez. She mixes bulimia in with the ana, has Duo doing both, and I really love that, because it's the most accurate fic on ED's that I've ever read. -love to Selene-

[3] Originally, that was 30 pounds. But then it was pointed out to me that I had been incredibly lazy in my calculation, and Duo had, according to previous chapters, lost 43 pounds. Uh.. oops? 40 is stretching reality a bit. But I'd have to go back and change a lot of other things to fix it to be 30, so this was much easier. Sorry 'bout that. :X