Surviving on Your Own
"You said you would come see me, or something like that! So I waited! I waited for you to call, to show up, to fucking email me! But you didn't! You promised and it was a lie! So I'll say it again, FUCK YOU!" And with that, Heero turned and made a hasty exit from the roof.
Crestfallen, I feel like the world's biggest piece of shit. I had wanted to call him, hear his voice, but I was too scared. He'd left with Relena, and I felt like I had lost some unspoken war for his affection. If I had known that he'd been waiting, I would not have let a day go by without talking to him.
This reflection makes me turn my mental gaze inward...he deserves much more than the likes of me for a friend. A patheic alcoholic, sex addict, loser!
Finishing my smoke, I flick it off the roofs edge and run my hands through my now "shorter" hair. I groan loudly, pissed off, self loathing, and depressed all wrapped in the burrito that is me.
I consume a few more long chugs from my flask. It's empty. I want more. But first I gotta talk to him. Tell him he's right and I'm a giant asshole for going back on my word.
When I get back into the room, I pour more whiskey into my flask and search the room for Heero. He's no where in sight, but the bathroom door is closed and I can see the light shining from underneath it. Knocking on the door, I get no answer. I pound louder and call out his name, but he still doesn't answer. At this point, I ram my fist so hard against the wooden panel that it dents under my force and yell, "Heero fuckin' Yuy! Open the goddamn door!" But still nothing. Pressing my ear to the white painted wood surface, I can't hear anything. Not a single sound. No running water, no shuffling, no nothing.
Beginning to panick, I rattle the doorknob but it doesn't budge. I ask his freaky girlfriend if she's seen him, in hopes that he isn't the person in the locked restroom. She denies my hopes, plummeting them to the floor. Back at the door, I don't give a fuck anymore and ram my shoulder against the wood. Three shoves and it gives, cracking and splintering under my brute force.
The door snaps open, violently banging against the wall and I'm faced with a dredding sight. My breath hitches in my throat and I hear gasps from behind me. I'm into much shock at the sight before me to act, but my brain registers the panic behind me, people yelling, everyone leaving, a female voice screaming, "We can't leave him like this!"
Front door slamming shut with a loud bang, jolts me back into action.
Heero's pale. Sprawled on the bathroom floor. Needle in his arm. Lips blue. Unmoving.
A surge of adernaline lunges me forward. Kneeling over his placcid form, I slap his face with all my force and scream, "WAKE UP!"
I continue to smack his face, yelling. My mind tears into two thought processes. One, too petrefied to understand what's going on. Two, knows exactly what's going on and that I only have a limited amount of time to save Heero.
Forgoing the face slapping, I clamp my mouth around his, pulling his bottom jaw down, and breathing hastily into his lungs. Three deep breaths and I push myself up. Vigoriously pump his stern.
"BREATH DAMNIT!"
Clutching his nose shut again, I squeeze his jawbone to breath back into his lungs and repeat the CPR process frantically. Please, please, please, don't die on me now! I keep at it. Longer than most medical emergency presonal would. But I can't stop. He can't die. I can't stop. This is Heero! I can't stop!
Pounding both open palms against his stern, I can't stop my agiated eyes from taking in his blank face. And it's just that. Blank. Soft as if he were consumed in slumber. No pink lively pink to his cheeks. Lips a dark purple. No sign of life.
"PLEASE!" I beg again. Only I'm not pleading with him, I'm panhandling the God I forsake. "GIVE HIM BACK! PLEASE! I'LL DO WHATEVER YOU WANT!"
The third force down on his chest cavity and I hear and feel the bone break under my force. I've broken his stern and now he's gone...
I shove one more time against the severed bone, helpless, pathetic, hopeful.
A sharp gasp that doesn't come from my mouth rings through my ears and I snap my eyes up to Heero's face to witness his blue orbs open. Round and terrified, those beautiful sapphire orbs stare numbly at the ceiling as he continues to breath in.
A choking sob escapes my throat as I haul him up, turn on the shower to its coldest setting, and craddle him in my arms before settling under the frigid spray. I know my ungentle jostling might have disturbed his stern, making it pinch and graze against the organ it's suppose to protect, but I don't care. He's alive! He's fuckin' breathing in my arms! And he's FUCKING ALIVE!
Heero coughs and chokes under the harsh water pletting against us, shivering and attempting feebly to get out of the tub. I refuse to let him go. "Sit still," I whimper in his ear as tears of gratitude fall from my eyes. His body laxes in my arms, shoulders sagging, head falling to rest on in the crook of my neck, and I can't fight the sobs anymore.
Tightening my hold under his ribcage, I cry loudly, muffling my face in his dark hair. I can't even find the words that I need to say.
The feeling of a gentle hand touching my wrist only makes me grip tighter to the person I hold.
"I'm sorry," he mutters.
I shake my head against his head. "No! I'm sorry! This all my fa-f-f-ault!" I cry. "Forg-g-ive me."
Two hands weakly grasp the arm I have strewn around his neck. Fingers gently rubbing against my forarm. "It's not your fault."
Draggin his limp body out of the shower, I find a forgotten shirt between a bed and the window. Perfect. Tearing it at the seams, I use to to bandage his chest together so be in extreme discomfort on our ride back to my place. I'm not going to leave him here, and we are not going to stay. I will take care of him the way I used to when we were fighting a loosing battle.
The bus ride back is bumpy, and I have him spladed over the plastic backseat to rest his head in my lap as our venture continues. Once we disembark the public transit, I have him lean heavily against me. I would have carried him, but Heero and his pride refused to be held like girl. As we walk, the arm he has thrown over my shoulder mingles in my loose hair, pulling painfully on it, but I don't complain.
Awkwardly stumbling into my vacant, sad apartment, I push Heero towards the couch. I have no mattress now, so I'll give him the best sleeping arrangment that I have. He collapses and instantly lulls off to dreamland. I stare down at his peaceful face before removing his clothes. As far as I know, his over dose doesn't involve any other bodily injuries, but old war habits die hard.
Removing his shirt, I gasp loudly. His chest is riddled with bruises, scrapes, and round cigarette burns. I hadn't noticed before, but there are long cylindrical contusions around his neck, every indication of strangulation. Large welts along the side of his chest that don't coinside with the lesions I left from preforming CPR. Patterned marks that are discolored and mirror sneaker imprints. He's black and blue for the collar down. What the fuck happned to him?!
Removing his pants reveals my worst nightmare. More finger prints and hand shaped brusises along his inner thighs. I know it's wrong and invasive, but I spread his legs and tilt my head in hopes of alleviating my trembling fears. But it's there. Fissures, and teared, scarred flesh staring back at me. It's happened to him...but how? This is Heero! How could he be raped? Who could be strong enough to over come him?
The marks on his body tell a morbid story of multiple people struggling to take his will away from him. It's not fair. This is my fault. If I had stuck by his side this would never have happened. I cry quietly as I redress him in my own clothes.
Falling asleep on the wood floor beside the couch, I rest for two hours before fingertips brush softly against my cheek, waking me. My eyes flutter open to find sparkly sad sapphire depths peering down on me.
"Heero..." I whisper.
His face scrunches in a frown, brows pinching together wrinkling the bridge of his nose. He turns his head and looks over his shoulder. I guess he realizes that the couch isn't big enough for the both of us because a moment later he wiggles off the cushions and lays between me the sofa's bottom frame. We don't say anything. He nestles his head under my chin, and I can feel his hot living breath against my neck and collar. I embrace him. Squeeze him tightly.
"I'll be gone in the morning," he tells me.
I nod my head, but I refute, "You can stay for as long as you want."
"I have to go," he whispers.
We let the conversation drop. I keep him wrapped in my arms, the way I've always wanted to hold him.
...When I awake in the morning...I'm alone on the cold floor...