Disclaimer for this and all other chapters of this fic (as I won't post them anymore) – This story is not meant for profit. I own nothing but the story idea. Don't sue, please.
Faye's Diary, chapter 3: by Phoenix Pinion March 24, 2073Well, it's one o'clock in the morning, and, as has been my wont since he has returned, I'm wide awake. I lay here, trembling, on my bed, trying to drown out his screams…as usual. Though most nights I am immediately at his side when the nightmares hit him, and awaken him yelling into my arms, I feel too drained to hold him, and comfort him, and roughly knuckle my own tears away as he sobs into my shoulder. It hurts too much, to see Spike, the once-formidable, uncaring Cowboy, so troubled and depressed. To see him walking so listlessly about the ship, if he even walks about the ship at all; to see him lifelessly staring at the food Jett fixes us, hardly eating enough to fill a child's portion of food.
Sometimes I wonder if that rapist bastard knows exactly what he does to his victims. He may feel that he does them a favor by letting them survive, but really that is the worst torture of all. When he finishes with them, they only wish they were dead. I know that is how Spike feels. He wishes and hopes for death, to take him out of this living hell and put him in the real hell that he belongs. And I cry with him. Before I finally arise to awaken Spike, embrace him and let him wet my shoulder with tears, I will say one thing.
I earlier wrote that I could at least claim that things were the same.
I was wrong.
Things aren't the same…they can never be the same.
March 28, 2073
Jett and I had to go catch a bounty today, and we got a four-mil one. We did things differently than earlier. We don't want the same thing that happened to Spike to happen to us, so we take a lot of security to make sure it won't. First, we make Ed hack into the bounty head's personal file, to make sure we are fully prepared to face the worst. Then, we come prepared as if we were to face two or three manifestations of the bounty, instead of just one person. And we make sure Ed is on standby at all times on the Bebop.
Even with all of that security, Spike won't even consider going with us…and I honestly can't blame him. I think he feels a bit guilty that he can't help us get woolongs, but if he does he doesn't show it. Now, all that he ever shows is depression.
I think that part of what causes this behavior is his lethargy. All he does is eat, sleep, and live…in the loosest sense of the word. I have a feeling that, if I make him do something, he may feel better about himself. Maybe he should just help with small tasks around the Bebop.
March 29, 2073
Now I'm really scared. I always had thought that, no matter what, Spike would want to go on living. That he would have enough drive to realize that things would get better someday, and that he had to keep on going so he could see that day, eventually. But now I'm beginning to doubt these thoughts…
As I earlier explained, I think that I could help Spike to feel "wanted" by having him help with simple chores around the Bebop. Well, Jett decided to make stew today, as a mish-mash of our abundant ingredients aboard the Bebop. Perfect, I thought.
All I did was lead Spike to the kitchen, hand him a knife and a few carrots, and tell him to dice them and put them in the pot for the stew. Then I turned my back on him to wash dishes. I had no idea that this premise could get so tainted and ugly…
The next thing I knew, I heard dripping noises from Spike's direction. I turned, and blood blocked my vision. It rapidly spurted from a neatly done vertical slit across his wrist. He didn't even seem to notice that his blood was dripping down the counter and onto the floor; it was crazy. Just seconds ago I myself had put the knife in his hand. And now… "Oh my God," I cried out, and quickly pressed a rag to it to staunch the flow, then carefully dressed it before heading to my room to write; I can't believe how stupid I was to provide an easy out for him like that.
The look…of desperation, fucking calmness in his eyes absolutely chilled me. He knew what he had done, accident or not, and maybe, just maybe, he liked it. I really don't like that look that I saw in those eyes (the first emotion that I've seen in them comes from him slitting his own wrist…that is a very bad sign). They said: Faye, I have to do this, whether you like it or not. It's the only way out, and you know it.
But…maybe I'm just reading too far into it. I sure hope that I am.
April 1, 2073
Now that cut that Spike made is an ugly-looking pink welt. I get chills every time I see it…I construe it as a warning of sorts; Spike's cry for help before he does something he'll regret. But…I don't want to think about it anymore. This is the first bath I've taken since he has returned, and I want to savor it.
…Spike's nightmares seem to be getting worse. I can't stand the same thing every night: padding into his bedroom, gently touching his shoulder to wake him, then quietly comforting him with, "It's alright, it's alright, I won't let him hurt you again…" as he hysterically cries against my shoulder (always in the same place…just a few inches above my underarm, right at the curve of my shoulder); all the while, I feel my heart wrench at the man I love. It's hard to contain myself when I'm so close to him, when he's so vulnerable…I just want to kiss away his tears, gently entangle my fingers in his hair, whisper into his ear my love…
But I shouldn't think that way. Spike, if he ever recovers, will never love again. I know this fact. Even if he could love, I would not be the one he chooses. I cannot betray his trust by doing anything remotely like that to him now, in his highly susceptible state. But still…I can't teach myself to stop loving him, no matter how hard I try…
I really should stop crying when I write…I don't want my tears to ruin the paper.
April 3, 2073
I just noticed that Spike is much more modest now that he's come back from the hospital. Before the incident, he would sleep on that awful yellow couch all the time, sometimes even nude with only a thin sheet covering him. Now he won't even let us catch him sleeping on the thing. He always must have his full suit on; hell, even when I go into his room at night he is wearing it. I feel terrible at how insecure he is. He's also always looking over his shoulder, as if he's afraid of someone taking advantage of him from behind.
Another odd quirk he has developed is showering often. I mean, he has never had bad hygiene in the past – he usually took a shower every other day. But now he takes up to four showers a day. It's almost as if he feels so tainted and dirty on the inside that if he scrubs his skin clean he might feel more pure. I don't know.
If I could, I would go out and kill that fucking bastard that raped him right now. That would help ease Spike's mind…but whenever I tell Ed to look up the bounty's profile, she can't find it. It's as if he disappeared right from the face of the universe. It's odd…and it pisses me off.
April 11, 2073
Spike is getting worse. He wouldn't even leave his room today, leaving the door to it locked and not letting anybody inside. Damn it, he's scaring me. I don't want anything to happen to him…and I don't want him to do anything to himself. I don't know what in the hell I would do if he died…it's giving me shudders just thinking of it. How could I live without Spike? How could I love without Spike? How could I be without Spike…? Fuck, I depend on him so much…more than he depends on me. So I must be even stronger in the future. I can't let anything happen to him.
April 12, 2073
Oh, Jesus Christ…
If I would have walked in five seconds later than I did, Spike would have…would have…
Shit. Shit!
Spike would have killed himself today if I would have walked in to his room any later than I did…
I walked into his room (he unlocked it this morning) to tell him that lunch was ready. There he was, sitting on his bed…a gun to the side of his head. His eyes were closed, and I knew he was going to…I absolutely freaked out and screamed, "No!" starting to run towards him…but before I got there, he pulled the trigger…
…and collapsed onto the bed…
…in shock. "It wasn't loaded…" he whispered, trembling violently as I scooped him into my arms and hugged him, trying to calm my jangled nerves and bursting into panicked, relieved tears. His unloaded pistol dropped to the ground as he shakily embraced me back. I didn't leave that position for almost an hour, just holding him and crying. All of this scares the shit out of me…what was he thinking?
I'm still in shock over the whole thing. Did Spike mean to keep the gun unloaded? Did he stage the thing precisely as I walked in, as a cry for help? Or did he really want to…commit suicide?
I found a note that he wrote…a farewell note…on his dresser. It reads:
To Jett, Ed, and especially Faye:
I want to thank you for the fun times that I've had on the Bebop. Thanks to you, my short life had meaning. I've been wanting to do this – commit suicide – for a long time now, but I haven't had the nerve. Now I know it's the only way out…the only way to stop the terror, depression and pain. I know that you tried so hard to comfort me, Faye, but nothing can save me now.
Ed, I will never forget your crazy antics. Even in the worst of times, you could brighten my day with your devil-may-care attitude. Thanks for all of the hacking jobs you did for me.
Jett, you old bastard. You may call me a coward, a lying filthy coward, for taking the easy way out. But you would understand, if you were in my shoes. Even if we hardly saw eye-to-eye, you were still a good friend and admirable father figure to me. Thanks for taking me out of some rough spots in the past.
And Faye… I know you've tried so hard this past month. You want to comfort me when I awaken from those god-damn nightmares. You want to have me help around the ship, as if that will somehow give meaning to my dead life. You want to pretend nothing has happened…even though something has, and you can't ever change that fact. Out of everyone I know, you will be the one I miss the most. I'm sorry I had to put you through so much grief and worry when I was alive. Now, I hope to relieve some of that stress. Thank you for everything.
-Spike
That bastard…what am I going to do now…?
~To Be Continued
Author's Notes – This chappie was heavy, I know. It had a whole lot of angsty stuff goin' on, including Spike's little suicide attempt. I don't know if that's what a suicide note really looks like, but I tried to make it sound like one. ^_^;
I bumped the rating up, just in case. And because I did, I used some more curse words in this one too. It was fun! =D
I think I'm going to try to end this fic in about 3-4 more chapters. I know what I'm going to do and all, so all I have to do is write it. It's amazing I'm thinking ahead so far. But the next chapter should be up in about…a week? Probably a week. If you liked this story, or have some constructive criticism for me, then review! You can do it by clickin' the little button at the bottom that says 'review'. =P
So yeah. Thanks for reading, all! Bye! ~PP