Adult-FanFiction.org : Gundam, Beyblade, DBZ, FMA

A Stagnation of Love (rewrite)	By : shinigamiinochi Category: Gundam Wing/AC > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 2207 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing AC or the characters from it. I am making no money from this story

Chapter List
- 22
- 23
- 24
A Stagnation of Love

Chapter 5

Part 3
　

My thoughts were like some kind of fucked up game of racquet ball all through the rest of my shift, the short bus ride, and painful walk home. It was just one of those days that seemed like it was never going to end and life was never going to stop throwing random shit at me to ponder over. I mulled over Solo's offer constantly. I pointed out to myself, again and again, how rare it was for an opportunity like that to just fall into my lap. Considering my shitty luck, I just had to go for it, didn't I?

There was more good about a job like that than bad. A better job, better pay, and I got to work with a guy that, for some bizarre reason, liked me. So why the hell not? But it was precisely because of my shitty luck that I was hesitant. It seemed too convenient, too lucky that right when I had been worrying about our finances, Solo had pulled a job for me out of thin air. It seemed like one of those things that was going to blow up in my face. Or I was just over-thinking a nice gesture from a coworker who was just trying to help me when he had seen that I was stressed.

As I walked into the house, I debated my options and decided that trying to hide this from my father was just not worth the extra cash in my pocket. While I would have loved to be able to save money for a crisis, the risk that my dad would find out that I had lied to him and quit a job that he had lined up for me was too big. I would discuss it with him first, I decided, and save myself a probable beating.

He might even be happy with me, I tried to think optimistically. Me having a better job might take some of the stress off of him while he looked for another job himself. I wanted to do that for him. I was still angry at him for doing something so stupid as going to work drunk and playing Russian roulette with our livelihood, but I knew that this was no picnic for him. My dad had gone from being just another teenager in high school to being a cop, all to support his family. He had never gone to college and had never finished his high school classes, technically. He had needed the help of a family friend just to get that job and now he was without. He had never actually had to go out into the workforce and rely on his skills before. I couldn't even begin to imagine the kind of stress that he was under, the fear and anxiety and sheer frustration. If I could give him just a little bit of breathing room, that would make him happy, wouldn't it?

The kitchen was destroyed again, the room little more than a clutter of beer cans and dirty dishes. I found my father asleep in his chair in the living room, the television set still on. He was wearing the same clothes I had seen him wearing that morning and staring at him there, a small mound of more beer cans and an empty bag of chips on the floor next to him, I felt furious. He had obviously not even left the house that day. There I was, contemplating taking on another job and he hadn't even gone out to look for another for himself.

Fighting every urge I had to do something petty like throw something at him, I managed to push down my rage for the moment. Nothing I did or said to him was going to make a difference and I had that feeling again, like I was helpless and stuck, waiting for the tide to come in. At that point, I was too tired to deal with him and his attempts to self-destruct, so I just turned off the tv and quietly made my way upstairs. I would clean the kitchen in the morning.

I refilled Pepper's food dish and grabbed some clean pajamas to take a shower. Before I walked into the bathroom, I glanced into my parent's room. The bed was still unmade and my mother was nowhere in sight. I worried about that, not trusting my father to tell me if there had been an complications at the hospital, but the nurse that I had talked to had said that she had had surgery, so maybe they were just keeping her for observation. It was a good thing, I reminded myself. She was probably happier there than she was here and she wasn't around to wind my father up again.

Shower done with and feeling a little bit like a person again, I played with my cat before laying down on my mattress, trying to go to sleep. It was the same, nightly battle that I have had almost every night since Quatre had killed himself. That night was especially bad, since my head was stuffed full of shit.

I thought about the job that Solo had offered me and what would happen if I got it. I was going to be turning seventeen in four months and I only had less than two years left of school before I graduated. If I kept at it, would I be able to survive on what I made with my factory job, that construction job, and one of my other part time jobs? I thought that working construction, building houses, going on location instead of working day after day in some factory or at the train yard was a lot better than what I had dreamed for myself. I won't lie and say that it was a dream job, but it was a possibility.

I thought about Trowa and how he had passed me by in the hallway without a single glance back at me. I hadn't been able to do that and I had been the one to break up with him. Had it really been so easy for him to move on? Was he still with that girl? Had he already found some other boy, maybe in a different town, to use for sex?

He was probably a hell of a lot happier without me, if he didn't even look like he missed me. That made me feel sad and some regret for how our relationship had gone, how it had ended. But I didn't feel any urge to try to get back together with him. I missed being with him, but at the same time, I felt relieved that I didn't have that stress anymore. I didn't have to worry about disappointing him anymore, and I didn't have to feel that guilt every single time that I had seen him, seen the person that I never should have gotten with in the first place because he wasn't mine to begin with.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to make all of my errant thoughts just shut the hell up so I could get a few hours of sleep. The second my eyes were closed, I saw Heero's pleased smile. Not Trowa's face or even my father's or my mother's, but my bully's. My brow furrowed in confusion. That smile... I had seen him smile before, usually with Relena, but that one that he had had when I had told him thank you... I hadn't seen that one before. I had never seen anyone smile at me or because of me like that, in this open and honest way, not since Quatre.

But Quatre's smile had been different. I had always thought that Quatre's smile had been beautiful, so soft and kind. But remembering Heero's own smile, as brief as it had been, had made me realize just how pale and sad Quatre's had been. It hadn't been bright or as happy as I had remembered it all of those years. There had always been this tinge of melancholy to it. Was I just remembering it that way now, or had it really been that way and I had been too blind to see it?

Heero's had made him look... I don't know. Handsome, I guess. I had always known that Yuy is handsome, I'm not freaking blind. He would have to be if Relena was interested in him. But this was different. I had never actually noticed just how attractive he looked until that moment. Hell, I had never noticed how attractive anyone was except for Trowa.

I had noticed Heero's good looks from the moment that I had met him, but no more than I knew that Relena was pretty. His dark hair made his eyes look like freaking beacons, but those eyes always looked hard and cold, like stone. When he had smiled, those eyes had been so bright and clear, like the ocean on a sunny day. I thought about the day that I had met Relena and how I had thought that her smile hadn't suited her, not until she had sneered cruelly at me and how that sneer had seemed more at home on her face. Heero was the same way. Those cold, apathetic stare of his didn't suit him at all, but that smile, that one moment of honesty from him, had seemed like the most natural thing in the world on him.

I opened my eyes and looked up at the ceiling, unable to get rid of that memory no matter how hard I tried to. I wondered if he smiled like that more, one of those full smiles that people get when they're truly happy, if that would make him look even more beautiful. I wanted to see that kind of smile on him, not his coldness. I didn't want to see that look on him anymore, it hurt. It was sad, now that I knew what he was capable of. I wanted him to smile like that at me...

I blinked in the dark of my room. What the hell? Where were these weird ass thoughts suddenly coming from? I touched my face and felt my flushed skin. I was blushing. Why was I blushing? It had happened before, when Solo had made me think of Heero for a reason that I still didn't understand. I didn't feel embarrassed by anything, and even when I did, I didn't usually blush, I just felt angry about things. So what was this?

And why did I only do it when I thought about that asshole? Because, let's be honest, just because he had a nice smile on the one, and only one, occasion he had smiled, it didn't make him any less of one. Quatre had been the blusher, he had had exactly the right kind of face and skin for it, especially when Trowa had been involved. Every time he had talked about him to me, his skin had flushed to a shade that I hadn't even thought possible.

My frown deepened and I pressed two fingers to my throat. My heart was racing. Was I actually getting sick? But it only did that when I thought about Heero. Because he made me feel anxious? No, that wasn't it. Relena and Zechs made me feel a lot more anxious than Heero did. He was a bully, but he didn't have their level of cruelty. Whatever this was, it wasn't anxiety or anger, it was something else. But what?

"Just being around him makes me so happy," Quatre had told me once, with one of his epic blushes, "His smiles, his jokes, just hearing the sound of his voice, even when he isn't talking to me, makes me delirious. When I think about going to his games or I know I'm about to see him, my heart beats so fast I worry I might die. And when I see him and I know I'll never be able to kiss him or hold his hand, I just feel sad, like nothing in the world matters and I'll never feel a good feeling again."

I sat up quickly, startled, as those words rang in my head. Pepper meowed at me as my movement woke her up. It couldn't be. There was just no fucking way. Experimentally, I thought of Heero again, not of his smile, but of all the times that we had passed in the hallway, that moment in the locker room when he had let me run by him, that time on the beach when his dog had run up to me. In my chest, my heart raced, faster and faster and more painful with each memory, each vision of Yuy's face.

"Fuck," I swore under my breath and got to my feet.

I paced around the room, like I thought I could get away from my traitorous feelings.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," my voice rose.

My throat felt tight and tears threatened my vision. This couldn't be happening. This just... this couldn't! It wasn't even fucking possible! I pulled uselessly on my bangs, trying to deny it, trying to write it off as my tiredness or a hallucination or even a fever.

But I couldn't. A fever didn't touch on the heat that was on my face, or how much my heart hurt, or the fear that raced through me at the truth. I felt sick to my stomach and I wanted to tear out my hair, but I couldn't deny the sudden knowledge that came upon me as I remembered Quatre talking to me about how he had felt for Trowa, his words and the way that he had looked, that happy, but pained blush on his face.

I was in love with Heero Yuy. I had a crush. First time in all sixteen years of my miserable life. Years of waiting, of thinking that I was a freak, of wanting to know what it was like to love another person like Quatre had loved Trowa, years of mourning my deadened heart. And now it had finally happened. My heart had opened itself up, it had woken up like it had been in a coma all this time. I had a crush... and it was on someone that I hated, and someone that hated me even more than I hated them.

"Fuck!" I screamed and slammed my fist into the wall hard enough to leave a dent, not even caring if I woke up my father.

Pepper darted into her hole, frightened by my display of anger, but I barely noticed. I was in love with a bully... no, it was worse than that, so much worse. I was in love with Relena Darlian's boyfriend.

I laughed in hysterics at the recent proof of my horrible luck, tears streaming down my face. I had promised myself that I would never cry again, not after Quatre, and I couldn't even do that. I hadn't cried when I had lost my virginity, or when Trowa had cheated on me or said those painful things to me, I hadn't even cried when my father had lost his job, but I did then. All of my self control was for nothing, I couldn't stop it. It seemed so much worse to me than all of those things.

I had wanted this, falling love, being normal, feeling something other than hate. But I didn't want it. I didn't want this. I had thought, after seeing Quatre suffer being in love with Trowa, that maybe not feeling anything at all was better. Well, I hadn't just fallen in love with someone that I could be friends with, but could never possibly love me back. I had fallen in love with someone who was only too happy to hurt me. If Relena ever found out, she would laugh her ass off about it.

I fell back onto my mattress, my laughing dissolving into silent tears. My heart had betrayed me. I don't know why I expected anything different. Hadn't I learned by then that anything good in my life just gets taken away or turns to shit? I had wanted to know what love felt like. Well, I do now and I want nothing to do with it. Love isn't the wonderful thing that people write about in stories, it's stupid and it hurts.

From the moment that he had hooked up with Relena, Heero Yuy had just been another one of them to me, just a nameless tormentor in Relena's little horde. But when he had smiled because I had thanked him, he had suddenly become human to me. I couldn't even hate him anymore, not really. He could be as cruel as he wanted, worse than Zechs and Relena put together, and my heart would still race just to be able to see him. How fucked up was that? What good was this kind of feeling? Love is agony and the only hate I could feel for Heero anymore was that he had made me feel it.
*****
I don't know what I would have done if that sick little revelation had happened to me in the middle of the week. I had never been so happy to have it be the weekend. I couldn't face Heero. I felt Quatre's fear, for the very first time, of how I would act around the person that I had a crush on. Would he be able to tell? Was I going to blush like a fucking moron every time I saw him now? I felt disgusted in myself. I was so pathetic. I couldn't have fallen for Trowa, who at least liked boys? No, of course not. I hadn't even fallen for someone who was just straight. As usual, I had hit a new time record for biggest fuck up and had fallen for a straight boy who hated my guts, was a homophobe, and had a girlfriend. A girlfriend who also hated me, was a homophobe, and had killed the only person in my life that had ever mattered to me. Go me.

I didn't sleep that night and I didn't really expect to. To say that I had had a bit of a shock is putting it mildly. I just laid there on my mattress, cursing myself and crying and hating everything and everyone as my bleeding, split knuckles scabbed over. Eventually my tears dried out, too. I felt even more pathetic, crying over a stupid crush. I was sure that gays experienced that feeling all the time, unless they were lucky enough to fall for someone like them, it wasn't like it was the end of the world.

But it was for me. I felt like a hope had just died and was rotting in my heart. The hope that, one day, I would experience love and be loved back in return. Hadn't I thought it once, on the day that my mother had told me that my father had wanted to abort me? 'No one is going to love me.' Boy, isn't that the truth. It had taken me all this time to find someone to like, and that like was so impossible that it isn't even worth debating. Would this be it? Was this my only chance at falling in love with someone? The likelihood of it happening again seemed so unlikely to me. Not that it mattered. Even if Heero were gay, why the hell would anyone at all want me? What was there in me to love? I don't deserve happiness. I destroy peoples' lives.

Pepper eventually decided that I wasn't so scary after all and came back out to lay with me. I picked her up and nuzzled her fur, my only source of comfort. I laid there until my clock gleefully informed me that it was six in the morning and it was time to get up. I felt exhausted, mentally and physically, like I had been hollowed out. I played with my kitten for a little while, cleaned out her litter box, and ventured downstairs for breakfast. To my relief, my father and his car keys were gone, although the mess that he had left in the kitchen and living room weren't. I hoped that he was going out to look for a new job and not just out with Pat.

I felt my anger simmer as I picked up all of his empty beer cans and dishes caked with filth, all of it dried on so it took me a good hour just to get them clean. What the hell was I worrying about a fruitless crush for when I had my father to worry about? I winced as I sat down at the now clean kitchen table, my leg throbbing. It wasn't as stiff as it had been the day before and I thought that I might actually survive my work shifts for the day. I pulled out the business card from my pocket and studied it again for awhile. I wondered if it was something that I could even do, or if I was going to end up fucking up at it like I seemed to do anything else.

I put the card back into my pocket and made myself breakfast. I decided that my problem wasn't that I had just discovered that I had a crush on Heero, but that I had too much time to sit around and angst over it. I just needed to keep myself busy and then I wouldn't have to think about it at all. So instead of sitting around and mulling over useless things, I made myself busy. I spent my morning scrubbing down the entire house; washing the floors, dusting, vacuuming, washing the windows, took out the trash, cleaning the toilet and sinks and bathtub. I even made my parents' bed when I ran out of things to do downstairs before moving up to my bedroom, vacuuming the steps on my way up. I moved things out of the way so I could clean my floor, pushing my mattress up against the wall. Pepper watched all of this with great interest, but when I turned the vacuum on, she darted into her hole, not liking the loud, clunking noise that old vacuum made. I didn't blame her, the stupid thing should have been put out of its misery years ago.

At some point during my obsessive cleaning, I heard the front door slam shut and immediately turned off the vacuum to listen. I hoped that it was my mother, coming home from the hospital, but then I heard a loud noise in the kitchen, like someone had hit or kicked something, and my dad cursing, although I couldn't quite make out what it was he was saying to himself. I couldn't tell if he was drunk or angry or both, which was a dangerous thing. I put aside my anger at the possibility that he might be drunk at freaking eleven in the morning for the sake of my welfare. It was better to err on the side of caution, so I didn't turn the vacuum on again in case he was drunk. The noise would piss him off.

As I wiped down my desk and put my mattress back onto the floor, I heard my father's swearing taper off and him moving into the living room. I released a breath that I hadn't even realized that I had been holding in relief. If he was indeed drunk, he was in a lazy drunk this time and not a rage. If it was the latter, he would be throwing things and bellowing for me, but if it was the former, he would just turn on the television and spend the rest of his stupor watching whatever sports game or match he could find. I quickly got dressed and put everything in my room back the way it had been, making as little noise as possible.

As quietly as I could, I brought the vacuum downstairs and put it back into the hallway closet. I was mere feet from the front door. I could just leave, I realized, and my father would probably never even realize that I had been there. It was hours yet before I needed to go to work, but staying at the house with my father there might be treacherous, the sanest thing I could do was go to the beach or the library, far away from him. Sure, the sanest thing, but as I've said before, I'm not exactly the sanest person around.

As I walked through the kitchen again, I noticed a pile of papers on the table that my father had obviously put there. They weren't any of my business, but I couldn't help glancing at them. They were job applications. He had actually gone out and looked for a job, I thought with relief. There were three of them; one was for a night watchman position for one of the nearby factories, another was for security for the big mall in North Nausten. That one had been ruthlessly torn up, I noticed with a wince.

The third one, sitting on the top of the pile and already half filled in, was for an open position at the steel works. I peeked into the living room and found my dad exactly where I knew he would be, in his chair, but to my surprise, he didn't have the television on. Even more surprising, although he did have a drunken flush over his cheeks, and there was a glass bottle of what looked like whiskey on the floor next to him, he didn't have any drink in his hand and the bottle looked pretty full. He was slumped in the chair, a hand on his face, pinching the bridge of his nose. His face was twisted up with weariness and exhaustion and, above all, frustration.

I tried to put myself in his place, how I would feel if I had lost the only job that I had ever had, a job that, as low paying as it had been, had made a respected member of the community. I tried to imagine what it would feel like, to go to those places on those job applications and interview for a job, to go from being a member of the town workforce to just a junk laborer, at the very best, because I knew that my father had too much pride to even consider being a mall cop or a night watchman unless he was completely desperate. Not that working at the steel plant was much better. I couldn't imagine how humbling that was, losing what little future you had in the course of one day, how embarrassed he must feel.

I felt ashamed of myself in that moment. I had been worrying about such juvenile things while my father had been putting aside his pride and hopes for settling for a shit job, just so he could pay our bills. I didn't even feel angry that he had gone out drinking afterwards, not with that worn look on his face. I wanted to go to him and hug him tightly and tell him that it would be ok, that I was proud of him, that I knew how painful all of this was, but I didn't dare. I couldn't even hug my father without worrying that he would break my jaw for it.

I slid my hand in my pocket and felt the construction company business card, cupping my hand around it. Maybe... maybe if I took it, depending on how much more money it gave us... maybe it would give us a tiny bit of breathing room, just enough for Dad to look a little bit harder and find a better job than a steel worker.

"Dad?" I called out to him softly, still not quite sure of his mood. I was used to gauging his anger, not his depression.

He lifted his head and looked over at me. His grey eyes were hard and cold and full of loathing, and bloodshot. I was already starting to doubt speaking to him, watching him carefully, waiting for the moment when he would stand up and come after me, but I bulled my way forward even when he didn't speak to me or acknowledge my presence with anything more than that icy glare.

"Um, I just wanted you to know," I stammered, "someone on Mr. Lorathe's crew offered me a job. He says it pays better than what I'm currently making at my other jobs. I thought it might be a good idea to take it, until you find something-"

I immediately stopped when that hard stare turned into a cruel sneer.

"Yeah? And what do you want from me?" he jeered, slowly standing up, "A pat on the head? You want me to be thankful and congratulate you?"

His words stung because there was some truth to that. I had felt kind of proud about getting offered that job, a chance to help my father out, and some part of me, the childish part that still wanted his approval about things, still wanted that pat on the head and wanted to make my father happy, hurt as he threw it back in my face.

"Are you mocking me?" he accused harshly, "Making fun of your loser of a father because you just got offered a job out of fucking thin air while I have to scrape and beg?!"

He swiped up the bottle of whiskey and took a swig from it, like some kind of automatic compulsion. He wiped his lips and screwed the cap back on, taking a step towards me. I, in just as much of an reflexive move, took a step back in fear from him, feeling one of the kitchen chairs at my back.

"No!" I protested while my instincts screamed at me to stop talking to him and just run, "I just wanted to help you and mom out-"

"We don't need your fucking help!" he snarled at me, "Useless piece of trash like you, why would we ever need your help?! If you dropped dead right now, we would get along just fine without you! Hell, we would be better off! So you can take your job that was just offered to you, out of nowhere like you're so fucking special, and shove it up your ass! You and your mother! You're just like her, thinking you're better than me because I got fired... the both of you can just go to hell!" something truly ugly settled on his red face and he suddenly bellowed at me, "Get the fuck over here while I'm talking to you!"

I bolted. The look on his face was enough to convince me of the mood that he was in at that point, the kind of pain and damage that he wanted to do to me. I spun, my bad leg protesting, but not cramping up just yet. I grabbed the chair behind me and knocked it over, blocking his path to me. I only a second to wish that I had left the front door open to give me an escape. That had been sloppy. I was faster than my father, but I wasn't that fast, and I knew that I was not going to make it far before he caught up with me, especially with my injury. The basement door, however, was wide open and I ran to it. Behind me, slowly realizing that I was fleeing, my father let out an enraged noise that almost sounded like a roar. I could hear him chasing after me, could hear him tripping over the chair and throwing insults as he almost fell.

I almost made it completely down the basement steps before a mix of a loose floorboard and my leg finally seizing up on me did me in. I tripped and fell down the rest of the steps, thankfully only a few feet. I slammed my knee into the concrete floor, but through some miracle, I only bruised it and skinned it a tiny bit. That amount of pain was nothing compared to my fear of my father catching me and I rolled back to my feet, stumbling into the far, dark corner of the basement.

I heard my father pounding down the steps, not bothering to hit the light switch as he came down in his rage. It was the lack of light that would end up saving me. I dove behind a full body mirror that my parents had stored down there, wedging it up against the wall and curling up into a ball under it. I tucked my legs as far against my body as I could, hoping and praying that my father wouldn't be able to see my feet and thanking every deity that I could name that I wasn't as lanky as Trowa.

"Where the fuck are you?!" my father screamed as he got to the bottom of the stairs, missing the loose board somehow, "Huh, where the fuck are you?!"

I heard glass break as he rooted around for me, toppling over old furniture, but on the opposite side of the basement from where I was hiding. I felt myself shake with every noise that he made, every scream, every loud pant.

"Come out now, you piece of shit! Do you hear me?! I am your father and I am ordering you to come out right now! If you do, maybe I won't beat the crap out of you, but if you don't, if I find you," he laughed hoarsely, this coarse and horrible sound, "Even God won't help you if I do!"

I buried my face in my knees, biting down on the denim of my jeans in case my breathing was making any kind of noise. I knew this song and dance, his promises that if I did what I was told, then he wouldn't hurt me, and I knew that that promise was shit. I was going to make him work for it if he wanted to drag me out and send me to the same emergency room that he had sent my mother.

"Duo!" he roared in frustration and I heard something else shatter, "You think either of you could survive without me?! You and your mother! You wouldn't last a fucking second without me here, you little prick!"

Something large crashed to the ground and I heard him kick at it, splintering it. I heard him scream again and something crashed against the far wall from me. I felt something wet hit me and something else cut my neck. From the smell and explosion of glass shards, I realized it was the bottle of whiskey.

"Fine then, you useless fuck!" he laughed again, "You can stay down here in the dark for the last of your life for all I care. Ungrateful, faggoty brat! Stay down here and starve to death!"

He kicked something viciously, then stumbled back up the steps. The door slammed shut, making the walls and stairs shake and cutting off what little light I had had. I waited for the sound of him coming back for a second round, since he knew that I was trapped like a damned rat down there, but he didn't. He was too drunk to bother to search the entire basement for me. I had been saved by the basement clutter and my father's laziness. I could have laughed, but it only would have come out hysterically.

I took a shaky, deep breath instead and very, very carefully, crawled out from under the mirror. There were glass and wood shards all over the floor and I felt a few of them cut my knees, but not seriously. When I was sure that I found an area of the floor that was clean from debris, I stood up, cursing the fact that I was only wearing socks. Another thing that I should have done before confronting my father: put on my sneakers. You would think that after sixteen years of this shit, I would have gotten better at thinking ahead. I shuffled slowly forward to where I knew the steps were, keeping my feet flat on the ground so they were pushing the glass and splinters instead of pressing down on them. I still cut myself a few times and felt a few of the splinters dig into my feet, but I made it to the stairs without seriously hurting myself, beyond almost tripping over overturned pieces of furniture.

Our basement steps are a nightmare, the one thing that my dad never gets around to fixing, full of loose nails and floorboards. My trek up them was cautious and almost painfully slow. Every time a floorboard creaked loudly under my feet, I paused, shaking with terror that that noise was going to alert my father, but I couldn't hear him at all above me. I kept a tight, white-knuckled grip on the railing, just in case a step collapsed on me, and reached the door. I found the door knob in the dark and, steeling myself, I quietly turned it.

It was locked. The bastard had locked me in the basement. I felt my own fit of rage swell in me and I had to quell the urge to kick or punch the door down. That would bring him down on my head if nothing else would. I was locked in the dark in a basement full of broken glass, with no food or water or light or anything and there was no way in hell my father was going to let me out. I was trapped.

"Don't panic, don't panic," I chanted at myself, trying to calm my nerves, "It's not a big deal."

I took several more deep breaths and reason slowly started to leak through my fear. The lock on the basement door was old and rusted. It wouldn't take very much at all to pick it, all I needed was either something straight to fit through the side of the door and jimmy it open or a paper clip to work through the hole in the knob to undo the lock. Easy. I had an entire basement worth of crap, there had to be something like that down there. The hard part, I realized, was not going to be getting the door open, it was going to be sneaking past my father and out of the house. What if he was in the kitchen when I got the door open? There was no way that I was going to get past him.

"One thing at a time," I muttered to myself.

Being even more careful this time, partially because I didn't trust my luck and partially because I had already tripped on a floorboard once, I descended the steps. When I reached the bottom, I used my foot to find the little path I had made and made my way back to the mirror. I felt around the back of it for the wire that had let it hang from a wall once upon a time and unhooked it. It would do nicely and it was the best tool that I was going to find without risking hurting myself in the dark.

Solo had taught me well. Our archaic, shitty lock only took a few minutes of me manipulating the wire before I managed to get it unlocked again. I would have something more than a job proposal to thank him for when I saw him again. The easy part over, I took a deep breath, preparing myself for what I was going to do when I got that door open. I mulled over my options and hesitated, but I knew that if my father was in the kitchen, then I was screwed and there was absolutely nothing I would be able to do about it.

'Just do it,' I told myself and turned the knob with painful slowness and opened the door just a teeny, tiny crack, wincing at the squeak that damned door had always gave my entire life in that house. I peeked through the crack, fully expecting my father's enraged face to be there, but I could only see a sliver of the kitchen. I could hear the television very faintly, but I refused to let myself relax, even when I dared to open the door enough for me to slip through and didn't see my father anywhere.

I crept into the kitchen, feeling like an intruder in my own home. My heart was beating frantically and I could feel myself shaking again, but forced it to stop through sheer willpower. I might need a steady hand if my dad ended up not being where I thought he was. I moved along the far wall, slow and careful, until I could see into the living room. He was there, sitting in his chair with a beer in his hand. I felt this incredible tidal wave of rage fill me at the mere sight of him. He didn't even see me there, glaring at him. The chair was angled just enough that unless he turned his head, he wasn't going to notice if I slipped past him. Still, looking at him made me feel equal parts anger and terror.

I hated him right then. Truly hated my father. He was the reason why my heart felt like it was going to explode with fear, the reason why I had to sneak out of my house to avoid getting beaten. He was the reason why I even needed the same job that he had flipped out at me over. He was the reason why Mom was still in the hospital. I glanced over at the frying pan that was sitting innocently in the drying rack next to the sink. I had the sudden urge to grab it, sneak behind him, and hit him as hard as I could with it. I could knock him out with it, maybe even give him a concussion, and then I wouldn't have to sneak past him. I could get the upper hand, for the first time in my life, and show him how it felt to be hit.

But I wouldn't. I knew that, as scared and mad as I was, I couldn't hit him. I was so pathetic, I couldn't even hit the man that was always hitting me. Part of the reason was that, even with a weapon like that in hand, I was still frightened of him. But mostly, even through my hate and rage, I still loved him and I just couldn't see myself doing something like that. Instead, I slunk like a cat to the front door, adrenaline coursing through me, so sure that he was going to see me. My heart wouldn't stop racing the entire time that I slipped my sneakers on and quietly opened and closed the door.

Seeing the sky and the brilliant morning sun was like a miracle. I felt like I had just walked through a fucking war zone, and I guess that I had. I should have been covered in bruises and broken bones, but I had managed to get out of there unscathed for the most part, and I wasn't sure why and how. I wouldn't question a miracle though and started to walk north, my back twitching and itching, waiting to hear his bellowing voice or the sound of him running after me.

When I got as far away from my house as I dared, I found a bench and sat down to take a look at my feet. I had a couple of splinters that I had to pull out, and a few cuts from glass, but nothing that needed medical attention, so I put my shoes back on and kept walking. I didn't have my library card with me, or any money, so I walked to the beach. It was disgustingly nice out, one of those straggler Summer days that loiter around in the Fall for the sole purpose of getting your hopes up right before the pre-Winter chill settled in. The air was warm and there was this peaceful, light breeze. That bright sunlight seemed to mock me and my depression.

It was low tide when I walked onto the beach and the boardwalk and first mile of the beach was crowded with people desperate to get what use of the place they could before the warm weather left us for the next six months. Teenagers lingered on the boardwalk even at that hour and parents laid out on towels near the dunes, watching their kids as they played in the wet sand and small pools that the tide had left behind, digging around for crabs and making sandcastles that were just going to get washed away in an hour.

I resented all of them just for being near me. I wanted to be alone. I wanted to cry. I wanted... I wasn't even sure, but being surrounded by people with their families and friends only reminded me of how very alone I was. They were there to enjoy themselves, I was there because my father had hunted me like an animal, had wanted to hurt me just because I had unintentionally wounded his pride. I had tried to help and he had wanted to break me for it. I hated everything. I hated him for treating me like that. I hated Relena for taking away my only support. I hated Quatre for betraying me.

Most all, I hated myself for being weird and abnormal, for falling for a boy that I had every reason to hate instead of the one boy that might have been interested in me, for not protecting what I had, for not being strong enough to make my father stop, for always making him so angry, for not being able to protect my mother, for not being able to make any friends and keep them, for being gay, for always being weak and useless to everyone around me.

By the time that I reached the stone and sand mound on the beach, far away from the boardwalk and it's noise to where there were few, if any, people, I was in a black mood that threatened to pull me down like a riptide. I walked to the very end of the mound and sat down, looking into the water below. It was low and almost flat and just looked unnatural to me. I had the urge to pitch myself off of my perch and into those cold waters, but it was fleeting. I just stared down into them, my mind a hive of angry wasp-thoughts. I wanted to shut it all off. I wanted to sleep, really sleep, like how I used to, instead of the strained, nightmarish, insomniac way that I do now.

I don't know how long I sat there, my legs dangling over the edge and my hands lifeless in my lap, just staring at nothing and feeling like I was stuck in some dark void. I didn't even notice when someone's shadow fell over me.

"What the hell are you doing here?" a very familiar and hated voice asked me in disdain.

I looked behind me and saw Heero standing there, his arms folded across his chest and glaring at me like I was the worst person in the world. My heart thumped painfully in my chest seeing him, but I couldn't decipher it. Was I excited to see him because I liked him? Was he making me anxious because I was afraid of my feelings for him? Did it hurt because of that icy glare? Or was it just out of hatred for him, for the person that had brought me more pain that I didn't need, more weakness? I looked back towards the water, ignoring him and hoping that he would just go the hell away. I was too tired and too stressed to deal with him and his shit, especially since Relena was probably in tow.

"Get out of here," I heard him snarl at me, "This is my spot!"

I heard myself laugh and to me, it sounded not altogether sane. I looked back at him again, my stare going as cold and hated as his.

"Your spot?" I sneered, "I've been coming to this beach since I was a toddler. You just moved here, and I got here first. Why don't you go the fuck away?! Just because you're rich, it doesn't mean that you fucking own a public stretch of beach!"

His nostrils flared and he flushed from embarrassment.

"What are you doing here anyway?" he growled, gritting his teeth in frustration, "Don't you have anything better to do than stink up the place?"

I felt myself flush, feeling a stab of pain in my chest at his insult. I realized that I did stink, from the sweat of my fear, the mildew of the basement, and the whiskey that had splashed me. Why did it matter, I thought in anger at myself. I hated him! He was an asshole and even if I had a crush on him, it wasn't like I needed his approval, he was never going to like me. So why did it hurt so much when he said things like that?

"Don't you?" I shot back, feeling my rage starting to rise, "There's miles of beach for you to terrorize. I know that Relena's family has a stretch of private beach that they own, so why don't you go there so my stench doesn't bother you?"

That came out a bit more bitter than I had wanted it to.

"I'll go where I want to," he snapped and very pointedly sat down on the opposite edge of the mound.

There was a good couple feet between us, but he made a big show of scooting over to the far end. I wondered, if I moved closer to him, if he would let himself fall off just to get away from me. He sat stiffly, keeping his arms crossed over his chest, and looked as far from the bully that he was as possible. He looked like a child, pouting over not getting his way. It should have irritated me, but it amused me. I felt... lighter, I guess. It was cute, the way he looked just then and I cursed myself for being stupid.

I should leave, I realized. I should do what he said and just get up and go somewhere else. It was dangerous, being near him, and I didn't want to feel that way anymore, like I was shaking when I wasn't, like I... like I wanted things that I couldn't name, like I was hot when I wasn't. But I didn't. I couldn't. All of my common sense fled me with him there next to me and I couldn't find the resolve to get out of there. I told myself that it was just out of spite, because I didn't want him to think that he could just order me around. And he could. He wasn't that much bigger than me, but he was stronger, and all he had to do was beat me up or try to push me over the edge, but he didn't. He didn't even seem to realize that he could do that, something that Relena and Zechs would have done automatically.

It was a lie, though. I didn't stay to prove that I wouldn't be terrorized by him. I stayed because I wanted to be by him. I didn't understand my feelings, they baffled me, but I felt drawn to him for some reason. Being next to him, as pissy and irritating as he was, made me feel warm. It made me feel something besides depression, at the same time that it hurt me. I didn't understand how I could feel that way just by sitting near him. I was just beginning to understand how fucked up love is.

"Your town always like this?" he said suddenly after we had lapsed into several minutes of stony, grudging silence and he sounded like he wanted to be just about anywhere else, talking with anyone else.

"Like what?" I asked cautiously.

I had this surreal feeling then about who was talking to me and the situation that I was finding myself in. I wondered if I was dreaming all of this.

"Boring. And fucking cold," he grounded out, rubbing his arms.

I snorted.

"I don't know where you're from, but this is warm this time of year," I informed him with a bite to my voice, trying to sound like I didn't want to be speaking with him, either, "And Nausten is always boring. We're a small town, there isn't much to do here. If you're looking for entertainment, you're better off looking at Hope. I'm sure someone like you has a car."

And I bet his car was shiny new and cost more than my house did, I thought bitterly. Why the hell was I speaking to someone like him? I bet he thought that living in Nausten was horrible, just some back water town filled with hicks. I was surprised when he was silent for awhile and didn't rant about how much he hated this town.

"Florida," he said and for the first time, his voice didn't have any hate or resentment in it, but his tone was soft and I thought there was a bit of longing to it.

"Huh?" I asked stupidly, not understanding.

"You said that you don't know where I came from," he explained, and to my amazement, his voice remained soft and he didn't snap at me for asking a stupid question, "I moved here from Florida."

Despite myself, those feelings of hate and bitterness at him melted away and I felt myself drawn into the conversation. Later, I would realize that it was the first conversation like that that I had had since I had broken up with Trowa. But talking with Heero that day had, oddly, not felt anything like talking to Trowa, despite the fact that Heero and I hated each other and the conversation had been grudging at best. It had felt like talking to Quatre.

"Orlando?" I asked and despite myself, couldn't keep the interest out of my voice.

When I had been really little, back before I had stopped looking at my future with trepidation and could have hopes and dreams that didn't just make me sad with longing, I had dreamed of visiting Orlando one day. Not because of Disneyworld or anything like that, like most kids do. Even at a young age, I had understood just how poor my family was and Disneyworld and rollercoasters hadn't held much attraction for me.

Nausten, in case you haven't realized it yet, is not what I would call a warm and inviting place to live. While we do have some nice Summers, and Winters here aren't as bad as they are up North, our Winters are still long and even during the Spring, things can be chilly. I remember looking at pictures of Orlando when I had been young and being fascinated with it's palm trees and beaches with water that looked like sea glass and thinking that it must be a wonderful, warm place to live. I had wanted to know what it felt like to walk around in shorts all the time and be able to go to the beach and swim in that crystal water where you could see the bottom sand and never have to wonder if it was going to be warm enough.

"No," he confessed, "Boca Grande."

"Never heard of it."

"It's pretty far away from Orlando," he told me and this time I could definitely hear a longing and for that single moment, I saw a side to him that I wondered if Relena even knew about, a boy who was homesick, "It's on the lower West side of the state, on Gasparilla Island," my eyes went wide, trying to imagine what it would be like to live on an island, "It was small, smaller than Nausten, actually. But Boca Grande's economy is a lot better than Nausten's."

I imagined him growing up on some small island with white beaches, this peaceful, hot place that was never cold, never dull. It was no wonder why he was tanned, if I lived in a place like that, I would never go inside.

"Why in the hell would you move to a place like this, then?" I blurted out in confusion, "Did your parents piss off the wrong people or lose their jobs or something?"

I hadn't meant to say any of that, I had just been wondering out loud, but his open, honest face immediately turned back into stone and he looked angry and also guilty for some reason.

"That's not your fucking business," he snapped, "What would you know of it anyway? Relena told me about you and your family, how you're white trash and never going to leave Nausten. If your parents lost their jobs, no one would notice, there's no where for your family to go but up."

My temper flared. I remembered, not my father's fury or even my fear from that morning, but that image of him sitting in his chair, his back bent, his face weary, and I felt furious on his behalf. What right did someone like Yuy have to make jabs against my family? He was just a spoiled brat who would never know what it felt like to run out of food, to miss out on paying a bill, to have his power or heat shut off. He would never know what it was like to scrape by, to constantly worry money and what was happening in his parents' lives. My mom and dad worked their asses off to keep our house, and he thought it was funny to make fun of us?

"Yeah, you're right," I sneered, "I can't afford to look after an expensive, pampered mutt. Where is the bitch, anyway?"

His face went red hot at my jibe.

"Kanuck isn't a bitch," he snapped, "And my dog doesn't concern you. I came out here to be alone."

"I wasn't talking about your dog," I shot back.

His blush darkened as I saw true anger enter his expression.

"Don't you ever call her that!" he yelled and I tensed, waiting for him to hit me.

But he didn't. He didn't even stand up or push me.

"I can call the person who makes my life a living hell whatever I like," I said testily, still waiting for a blow.

But as he glared at me, little by little he deflated until he looked away.

"She doesn't need me to look after her," he muttered, but I couldn't tell if he was displeased about that or not.

I studied him while he wasn't looking at me, trying to understand him. Pretty much any guy would have beaten the shit out of me for calling their girlfriend a bitch and a mutt. But there I was, without a mark on me and I just didn't get it. He had gotten angry, but nearly as angry as he should have. I wondered if it was really because of what he had said, that Relena didn't need him looking after her. That was true, but she would have been pretty gleeful to hear that her boyfriend had beaten me up.

We fell into this awkward silence then, neither of us speaking to the other, but neither of us leaving, either. The silence was awkwardly broken after several minutes by Heero's growling stomach of all things. I couldn't help the brief, snort of a laugh that bubbled out of me and felt horrified when it did. Heero glanced at me, but didn't make fun of me or take offense by it.

"Any good places to eat around here?" he asked me gruffly, "That aren't those greasy stands on the boardwalk?"

I couldn't help raising an eyebrow at that. If Heero thought that the restaurants and food stands on the boardwalk were bad, I would have loved to see his reaction to the dives that I worked at.

"I don't know why I'm asking you," he amended with a sneer, "Not like you can eat at any decent restaurants."

It was meant to be an insult, even if his tone lacked the cruelty that I was used to. It felt like he was trying too hard to steer the conversation in a certain way, to be the bully that I was expecting out of him, but his jeer had lacked any kind of bite to it. I shrugged. I hated that I was poor, but I wasn't going to deny it.

"True," I confessed, "The nicest place that I've ever been was Charlie's and my friend paid for the meal."

"I've been there," he said, "Relena hated it."

She would, I thought bitterly. To me, a place like that was more than I could afford, but to Relena, it was too common. I had no doubt that she was used to five star restaurants and eating at places that required reservations or just throwing her name around would get her a table. A place like Charlie's that catered to families and teens wasn't good enough.

"It was nice," Heero admitted, to my surprise, "They have really great steaks."

We both froze as someone running with a black lab passed behind us, moving further down the beach, only relaxing when they were out of sight. I wondered at my skittishness. I could understand Heero not wanting to be seen with me, but it wasn't like we were doing anything bad. We weren't even having a friendly chat or anything, just both too stubborn to leave and not wanting to pass the time in complete silence. But when I looked back at our conversation, I realized in amazement that we had not only been talking for quite some time, despite the insults that we had thrown at each other, we hadn't been sniping the entire time. At some points, it had even been comfortable. I had even felt... happy? Content? I'm not sure there's a word for what I was feeling right then. At least until I realized that I really had no clue how long we had been talking for.

"What time is it?" I asked him.

"11:30," he told me, looking at his wrist watch, which looked remarkably affordable, something that any teenaged boy would wear, but probably wasn't

"Shit!" I swore and scrambled to my feet.

I had gotten so absorbed with talking to my crush slash bully that I hadn't kept my mind on the time. I had almost been late for work.

"Well, you can have my spot to yourself," I said as I started to walk away.

"Hey!" he called and I looked back at him.

"Stay out of my spot," he smirked.

I felt myself flush again, but it wasn't out of anger. If I had seen that smirk, and just that smirk, I would have thought it cruel or mean or teasing, but his words weren't. There was no hate in those words, no anger that I had dared to be in Heero's 'territory.' It had almost sounded like he was teasing and joking around with me, even if I knew that he wasn't.

"Oh, fuck off," I tossed back at him as I turned away, puzzled by our entire exchange and unable to bring any heat to my own words.

I started to walk, but I couldn't help one last look back. Heero was no longer looking at me, but off to the side at nothing, his blue eyes clouded in some deep thought. He didn't look angry at me telling him to fuck off, and he didn't look happy that I was leaving. He looked troubled by some unknown thing, but I couldn't think of a single thing that someone like him would be troubled by.

I shook my head at myself and broke out into a run. As I ran towards the pizza restaurant that was my first shift, it came to me that I had just spent close to an hour talking to the boy that I loved over nothing. Small talk. The kind of talk that friends made when they were just comfortable with each other, even if we were far from that. This happy little bubble formed in my heart and I prodded and poked at it mercilessly, trying to get it to pop and go away. But it didn't. It stayed rooted there, like a parasite. I would end up playing that stupid conversation over and over and over in my head until the following day, when my father would replace it with a black glob of terror and disgust.
*****
"How is it that," Solo said as he helped me lift a large box filled of packed ice and raw fish off the conveyor belt and into the grocery truck that was parked in the loading bay, "your leg isn't nearly as shitty today, and you look worse?"

I could only grunt for a second as we laid the crate down, my thin arms shaking with the weight.

"I didn't sleep last night," I admitted, "Insomnia."

He raised one gold eyebrow at that and we pushed the crate until it was snug against the others in the truck, turning to get at another one.

"You really need to take care of yourself, kid," he urged, sounding worried about me.

I couldn't help but think of Heero.

"Are you alright?"

I shook off the memory and focused on helping Solo with another crate of fish.

"I have problems sleeping, it's not like I have cancer," I grumbled.

I winced as we loaded the box, my arms starting to ache.

"Let's take a breather," Solo said, but I knew that it was for my benefit, "My back is starting to hurt."

I gratefully leaned against the truck, taking a moment to rest my arms and wishing that I was built more like Zechs instead of the scrawny mess that I was. Solo sat down on a nearby table and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his back pocket. I watched as he took one out and rolled it between his fingers. I knew that he wouldn't light it, we weren't allowed to smoke while we were working, but it was like a compulsion with him. He would roll them and chew on them, but only light them when he was on break.

"Um, Solo, about that job you offered me," I said cautiously, immediately catching his attention, "Just how serious is it? I mean, if I take it, do I have to go to interviews, or did you mean that if I was interested, I could just have it?"

"I already told my boss that you were interested," he grinned, looking every bit like a mischievous fox.

"I told you that I didn't know if I was!" I protested.

He shrugged.

"Looked pretty interested to me, and it always helps to get the ball rolling. Boss says that if you're willing to work, and if you're as hard of a worker as I say, then the job is waiting for you. It'll be under the table, so if you slack off, he'll sack you quick, but he's willing to try you out."

I chewed on my lip. The job was waiting for me, all I had to do was give the word. I wondered at my luck again. I thought of my father, that weary look on his face, and I thought about how furious he had gotten when I had told him that I had opportunities. Just how angry would he be if he caught me at this job? I suddenly realized that I didn't even care about that anymore. I didn't care about getting caught or if he would approve. But I did care about the thought of him taking all of my money again, and what he might do with it. I cared about how he had chased after me, those awful things he had said in a fit of anger. I was working three jobs just to help him, and he didn't even give a shit.

Fuck him, I thought. Fuck him and his unemployment and his beer and his rage. Why the hell should I help him, make him feel less stressed when he didn't even appreciate it?

"Yeah, I'm willing, too," I told Solo with conviction.

His grin grew wider.

"Great! I'll tell them you'd like to start... uh..."

"Two weeks," I decided, "Just so I have the time to quit one of my other jobs."

"Sounds like a plan."

And it did. I flexed my arms, feeling some of the ache subsiding. Now I just needed to decide which job I was going to quit and how I was going to hide my new employment from my father.
End Part 3
Well, this part came out a lot faster than the last one, lol. Fair warning, the next chapter is the start of a darker turn for this story, but not an unexpected one.
Thanks to everyone who has reviewed, as usual ^_^
　

　

　

　

　

　
- 22
- 23
- 24
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

A Stagnation of Love (rewrite)