Dangerous Desires
By Akasha Ravensong

Part Two

I could not forget the past. I could not forget the pain. All the mistakes that had been made haunted me, taunting me with their memory. Mocking me in my failures, for there were so many of them. So many choices that I had made that had been the wrong ones. So many things that I had done that I could not undo. So many people had been hurt because of my foolishness, because of my stupidity.

I was a failure. I was nothing but a failure. The future that should have been bright and promising now stood in front of me blocking my way. The future that should have been so easy for me grasp stood just beyond my reach. I could see that future clearly but I was too afraid of my failures to take it into my own hands and shape my own destiny.

I had failed so many times, what would happen to me if I failed one more time. I could not take the disappointment of the pain. Emotions were a dangerous thing. If I allowed myself to feel anything I opened myself to the possibility of being hurt again.

The fear and pain crawled inside my skin just beneath the surface consuming me from within until that was all that was left. I carefully constructed walls to protect myself from pain. To protect myself from everything and everyone I allowed nobody to get close to me. If there was nobody to trust and nobody to love then I could not be hurt by them.

I doubted myself and my abilities. I was weak. I was nothing but a failure. I had no self-respect left, no self esteem. I was an empty shell that only just barely managed to survive each day and keep on living. Duo hid behind this mask I had created and was almost no more. Only in the silence at the end of the day in solitude did he reappear to dream of what could have been if he had no failed so miserably over and over again.

During the war I hid behind a mask of infallible good moods and happiness. I forced myself to be happy when inside I was screaming and wishing that everything would just end. I pulled pranks and hid my fears with laughter. I pushed them away by lying to myself about everything. I told myself over and over again that I was ok, just so that I could make it through another day, another mission, without failing.

Every time I went on a mission I went hoping to never come back. I craved the danger. While I never did anything stupid to try and get myself killed I was always secretly hoping that I would not be good enough, that my skills were not as developed as they should have been, and that I would die.

I would not kill myself, for that was the absolute weakness that I would not allow. For if I killed myself it would mean that I had lost and I would not be allowed the chance of redemption. It would mean that everyone else was right about me and I was nothing but a failure. I did my best every time. And as always I hoped that this time, next time, my best would not be good enough.

The danger kept me alive. Whenever there was some outrageous stunt to be pulled I felt so alive and complete. It fully occupied my mind leaving absolutely no time for anything else, no time to doubt and hate myself. I was very good at what I did. I knew that. Yet I always had that lingering desire to no be good enough.

Every stunt I pulled was another opportunity to the release that death offered. But the peace of mind that death would bring me was always denied. I was strong. Stronger then I wanted to be. And so unfortunately, time after time again, I survived. I survived another day to hide myself from the pain.

At the end of the mask of happiness became too much for me to keep up. The danger was gone. The pranks weren't enough, and eventually I gave them up too. I retreated into myself completely. I removed myself from the world hoping that my time to die would come soon. I longed for release.

The day ended and I walked out of the office and towards my flat. The streets were crowded and people bustled about. I hid within myself ignoring them, and for all the notice I paid everyone around me they may as well have been silent or not even there at all. Once at my apartment I fumbled with my keys and opened my door.

It was a simple abode, and undecorated. It contained no mark to make it my own. No personal touches to make it more home-like. It contained only the bare essentials in the kitchen. In the living room was nothing but a plain but comfortable couch, a simple lamp, a coffee table, and a television. In the bedroom I had a nightstand, a small dresser, and several bookshelves. There was also a stereo and a CD rack.

The bookshelves and the CDs were perhaps the only thing in the apartment that gave any hint at all about the person that I was. Both were filled to the brim. I had books of all kinds, well almost all kinds. There were absolutely no romance novels on those shelves. That was an indulgence that I would not succumb to. The music that I listened to was mostly metal and rock. But in between all that lay a few classical pieces hidden carefully.

I occupied myself during most of my spare time by reading with music in the background. Books were an escape too. In books I could pretend that I was somewhere else, that I was someone else. I could be anybody but the complete and utter failure that I was. I could forget my pain for a time. I could forget the past.

And when the past overwhelmed me, I would take a CD and blare the music as loud as I could. The lyrics showing me that I was not alone and that others felt as miserable as I did. And if I cried to myself in that apartment there was nobody to know, and nobody to laugh at my weakness. There would be nobody to mock me. Nobody except myself, because I knew. And I hated myself even more for succumbing to that weakness.

Today I did followed the same boring routine and grabbed a book off my shelf. Blood Price, by Tanya huff, the latest novel in the series I had been reading. I picked up from where I had left off and immersed myself in the pages. Loosing myself in the story able to forget how much a failure I was for a time.

When I finished the book a few hours later and I put it down, staring at the blank television. I thought about my past and how things used to be. I remembered a few times that I had been truly happy. I remembered a few of the pranks that Solo and I had pulled before his death. I became lost in the past. Tears escaped from my eyes and fell silently down my cheeks unnoticed. I almost didn't hear the knocking at my door.

I peered through the peep hole and saw Heero Yuy on the other side. I unlatched the chain and opened the door. I stared at him expectantly waiting for an explanation. I didn't get visitors very often.

"Duo we need to talk."

Authors Notes:

I decided not to keep this as a one shot, and I finally got around to writing the second part. It's still going to be a short fic, with one maybe two more parts depending on how many reviews I get. Please let me know what you think!

Blessed be,
Raven Lynne