Gundam Wing/AC Bring Me Back To Life

Disclaimer: Cant think of anything witty to say 'I don't own this' Warnings: suicide -sucessful or not I wont say- slight angst, slightly shounen ai. Pairings: 4x2 Note: this is nothing compared to the rest of my writings, I still guess I don't hate it too much.. This might have a sequel, most likely it will but don't get that on paper, cuz I don't know if I'll have the time nor energy nor mentality to write more, I have plans for a possible sequel though, but its not needed.  
  
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Bring me back to life -  
I guess somewhere in my mind I always figured it would be different then this. more violent, more artistic. something.  
  
I wonder if I would feel any better if it was. any more justified. Maybe I would rather blame it on insanity then just the entire overwhelming hopelessness of everything around me.  
  
Hell I didn't even think I would do it during the day. I always figured at night, when I it was more quiet, more dark and inviting then this hell- awful sunshine that creeps around my barely black curtains.  
  
I don't have a need to write a note, I almost wish I did though, no one would care enough to come looking for me. There a pad of white paper and a pen in front of me, my razors on top of the paper. Pills off to the side of the paper, next to a glass of whiskey. I could write a note. I don't know who I would address it to, or what I would say. and that would just stall this farther.  
  
My heart is racing, I guess that on some level I'm scared shitless of death, I guess everyone is. its just too uncertain. Some people try to justify their fear with religion, force themselves to believe that there is an after life, or something. I fail to find anything I can believe in. Everything in the world seems too illogical for it to be logical when it's over. I guess I just hope that in the end it all just fades away.  
  
I look at the bottle of pills, there's probably 50 or 60 left in it. Tylenol, that's the real killer. That, taken with whiskey, would kill my most likely. and just in case it doesn't I plan on laying my wrists open too.  
  
I pick up the razors.  
  
Dammit, I should take the pills first.  
  
You would think that someone so set on ending their life would be thinking about how horrible their life is, or acting irrational, or violent or sobbing. Not with me, that's every other fucking minute of my life. This one. rational.. Calm moment is my final choice. The final moment where I can logically make sense of how endless the pain in my life is. There isn't a limit to the depths I can reach, this isn't that deep. I wonder how deep I can go. I wonder if I've been deep, or if I'm just an overly shallow person bent on pretending to be deep.  
  
I honestly can't really blame my problematic life on one certain thing. the streets and disease when I was young, to being forced in the war. It was one catastrophic event after the next, all piling up mentally until it bred this half-life monster.  
  
I guess that the other pilots cared about me, on their own personal level. Maybe not really. maybe I was nothing more then a comrade in arms, just another kid they were fighting with, a partner. Nothing more, just some fucked up little thing they were thrown together with.  
  
Maybe the fact that I felt so incredibly close with each of them was just because I get close, I get close to people who think me equal to dirt. I guess I wanted to be accepted, I guess I wanted a friend my own age. I can't really say for sure though.  
  
Even now. Nothing I do is logical, or sensible. I'm freaking sitting on the living room floor, razors, pills, alcohol fully equipped with a pen and paper, dead set on ending my life and unable to do a damn thing about it. I will eventually I know I will. I have to; my life is too pointless, to troublesome, to fucking bullshit anymore for me to deal with waking up another day. Everything is just so fucked up.  
  
I never needed a bad life to be so overwhelmingly depressed. It's all in my head; I just live up in my head, causing problems of all sorts for myself.  
  
My palms were sweaty. I could tell I was nervous. I should just get my gun and blow my brains out. That's quick, relatively painless and overall more efficient. It leaves a horrible corpse though. And something about killing myself with something I killed someone else with seems. So.. selfish. The gun was their death, not mine.  
  
And I'm not worthy of a quick painless death.  
  
I take a deep breath, open the bottle of pills and pour about ten into my hand. I stare at them. Its so odd, how small they are and yet how deadly they are at the same time.  
  
I pick up the glass of whiskey with my other hand. I pop all ten or so pills into the back of my throat, and choke them down with whiskey. It burns, leaves this uncomfortable burning lump traveling down my chest. It's all I can do not to throw up right there and then. The nerves, the pills, the whiskey. it's too much at the same time. I love it.  
  
I pour some more pills into my hand. Only about 7 this time. With shaking hands I place them on my mouth, and choke them down with the alcohol as well. This time I really nearly throw up. I have a high tolerance of alcohol, and I almost never throw up despite anything. But I get damn near close, and that's worse then actually throwing up sometimes.  
  
I have the urge to just scream, to punch my legs in the mock breakdown simulation I do all the time. to back my head on the wall. just to make this more justifiable. You cant just take your life in the clear minded state I'm in now, its not right, its not logical. I tug at the end of my braid, in slight annoyance at my irrational calmness.  
  
And I nearly scream as I hear a knock at the door. I know for a fact I jumped.  
  
No one ever comes to my house, ever. -EVER- no one knows me anymore. No one cares anymore.. who the fuck would be showing up, at this moment, this day. this one FUCKING time I had enough nerve to do it?  
  
I stand up, thinking that whoever is at the door is either a prank, or something lost, so I don't care enough to move the razors or pills lying on the floor. I walk over to the door, sure that I at least look like some sort of startled wild animal. Not caring I open the door. About three seconds after a second ring of knocking.  
  
Holy shit.  
  
It's Quatre. Standing there holding a piece of paper.  
  
"Duo!!" He says happily, "I'm so glad you're home. I managed to track you down." Which surprised me since I wasn't even listed under a real name, nor was I really even listed. "I tried calling but your line was disconnected" if by disconnected he means ripped out of the wall in an angry fit of rage then yes, disconnected works fine.  
  
"I hope you don't mind me just stopping by. I. I guess I was just getting nostalgic.Trowa didn't seem up for company much, Wufei was . well, being himself. And I still haven't found Heero."  
  
I still haven't said anything. I wonder if he caught on yet.  
  
"So. how. have you been?" he asked me, his clear blue eyes alight with interest.  
  
I stood there for a second, not really sure that it was him, suddenly wishing that he wasn't here. And at the same time completely ecstatic that he was here. "I. I guess I've been. yeah.. I've just.. sort of.. been." As if that makes any sense what so ever.  
  
He sort of blinked, then nodded, suddenly looking as if it made all the right sense in the world. He looked down, then right into my eyes, then down again, "I guess it's been rough for us all after the war." I could have nearly broke out laughing. He has the nerve to say it's been rough, as if he had it so hard, with his perfect life. I know that's immature, he isn't perfect, I know that damn well. And I know his life isn't perfect. it just seems that he doest have a damn thing worth complaining about.  
  
I just sort of shrugged and nodded.  
  
"Are you all right duo?"  
  
I just sort of shrugged and nodded. My fingers were tingling slightly, I wonder how long it's been since I had the alcohol. that would take effect before the pills.  
  
Suddenly my stomach dropped and my back felt cold. He cant stay here long, I was going to kill myself, hell I know what I have in me now will only really fuck me up enough to make me regret life in the morning, well, late night and morning, and probably the day after that. But it would kill me.  
  
I looked him in the eyes, "I'm just tired today Quatre. I wasn't expecting a visitor.. I haven't had a visitor. well . ever actually." He nodded slightly, as if he was taking in so much more then I was saying. He had that effect though, whenever I was with him in the war he always seemed so fucking understanding even when I couldn't understand my own thoughts.. that's the way it is though. Always. Someone always knows more then you know.  
  
He looked like he wanted to say something, as if he knew some statement that would change my entire view on life, but he didn't say anything. He just stood there.. the two of us in what was for me at least, an extremely uncomfortable silence. We made eye contact, and he struggled harder for something to say.  
  
I was starting to feel dizzy, and thinking back to the whiskey realized that I chugged quite a bit of it. More then enough to make me tipsy, not fully sure if its enough to make me completely drunk.  
  
"Can. can I come in?" He asked suddenly. Out of fucking stupid habit I mumbled what could be taken as a yes and moved out of the way to let him inside.  
  
Fuck. The pills, razors.. everything still on the floor. and before I could stumble in front of him to try to get him view elsewhere, Quatre was staring, pale faced at the situation on the floor.  
  
He turned to me, looking sad. I'm sure I looked about as smart as a deer caught in headlights, about as scared as one too.  
  
He did something I didn't expect him to. He stepped up to me, and hugged me. Not one of those cheap pathetic 'you're insane and I'm fucking scared of hugging you but feel it necessary to insure my safety' hugs, one of those hugs that cant be described with comprehensible words. I guess to describe it best would be warm and friendly while overwhelmingly sad and understanding. Or maybe that's describing Quatre.  
  
I didn't say anything, he didn't say anything. Nothing was said. My head felt slightly spinney, but I wrapped my arms around him and did all I could to just not break out in tears. I don't cry.  
  
The soon cold wet spots on my shoulder told me that he was crying, only slightly though. I felt him shaking his head slightly against my shoulder.  
  
"You don't have to do that duo." He said quietly.  
  
Who was he to tell me what I have to do? I pull away from the hug, wipe my eyes even thought I wasn't crying and look him dead in the eye. "well why not? I have nothing. nothing anymore Quatre." My words brought tears to my eyes. Dammit. I hate crying. I hate it so much. "Just.. you shouldn't have come here today Quatre, you shouldn't. you should just leave now too.. just leave and forget about me and never come back. Just go on with your life."  
  
He put his hands on both sides of my face, and held his gaze with mine, his eyes pleading with mine. "Please don't say you have nothing. please."  
  
"But it's true, I don't have anything, I have nothing no one. dammit.. I just-"  
  
"you have me. I'm here aren't I?" He said, sounding all the world sympathetic as humanly possible.  
  
My vision was starting to waver only slightly. "I don't know Quatre.. I don't know I just don't know.. dammit.. I don't . I don't kn-"  
  
He cut me short. I know it all happened a lot faster then it seemed, but he pulled my face towards his, and took my lips in his. It all seemed so slow.  
  
Suddenly I wanted nothing more then to pull away and cry. It almost felt as if he knew exactly how I felt, felt everything I felt, someone who shared my pain. I didn't pull away, weather I was crying or not I don't know for sure. I didn't pull away, I pulled him closer, wrapped my arms around him and hugged him, tightly, almost tight enough to feel as if I would hurt him, but I know on some level that I couldn't hurt him anymore then I already have.  
  
I felt a sudden warmth inside, and for once, I couldn't blame alcohol.  
  
I felt wanted.  
  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ yes, this can be considered completed. And no, that amount of pills and alcohol -cant- kill, duo will just be rather unhappy for a day or two. But he'll live. So this CAN be complete. Without him dying of course o_O;;  
  
there is room for a squel though -_-; yeah. Ok. Done. 


End file.

Gundam Wing/AC, Angst