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Shame	By : HappilyJaded Category: Gundam Wing/AC > General Views: 2930 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Gundam Wing/AC, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Shame
- 1
Shame

Disclaimer:
I own a toaster, not Gundam Wing. I will trade though.

Warning:
Rated R for Angst, hint of sex, language. Lacks my usual NC17 as this is an early, now revised work. When the site crashed last November (I think) alot of fics were distorted, as I'm sure most of you have seen words that make absolutely no sense or are repeated, so forth. It's a slow process to edit these for all authors and it's taken me this long to correct it.

Dedication: For Ting, who I have not forgotten about, I just never replied because as she may have guessed, I am an asshole.

---

//If only see myself
reflected in your eyes
so all that I believe I am essentially are lies//

He came to me again tonight. I should have locked the window tight, but he probably would have found a way in anyway. It just made sense to spare us both the time and effort and keep it open wide. The
night was cool, the air refreshing against my skin, still slick from his.

I try to stand my ground; I try to ignore the longing deep within my traitorous body when he comes to me. His hunger overwhelms me, claims me and marks me as his. I want to say no but his heat
consumes my denial and makes me a hypocrite. The release he gives me is bittersweet. The sensations come sharp and vivid until I am blind with need � only to regain my sight as it wears off, as the fire dies and the hunger is sated.

I hate myself. I hate him. Yet I look into his eyes and see his own conflict.

I am his Angel. As twisted and fallen as I am, I still remain perfection in his eyes. Perhaps not utter perfection � because under normal circumstances people are afraid of it and want to protect it, keep
it untarnished. Yet Heero Yuy is not normal. My perfection fuels his appetite.

//And everything I've hoped to be or ever thought I
Died with your belief in me so who that hell am I?
I'm wondering 'round confused
Wondering why I try //

He comes to me more and more, especially since he left my security council to become an elite squadron
Preventer. His position is demanding, physically and mentally. Thanks to it, he said once, he understands what I deal with more and more everyday.

He has changed since his promotion. He is more demanding, restless. The bruises and hickies I
wear underneath my heavy suits are proof of this. I was once his angel, to be worshiped and praised and protected, and am now something else, something I do not completely understand.

His touch brings pleasure and pain�and I like it.

I shouldn�t, I know I shouldn�t, but the need he has created and fed for two years is voracious.

He told me six years ago he would kill me, and I was mesmerized. Like a girl with a crush on what appeared to be a hopeless cause, I followed the confused boy, offered my heart. He ripped it from my chest, spat on it and threw it on the floor, squishing it under his heel as he left. I was crushed, but it didn�t last long. I was smart, powerful�and beautiful. Men wanted me. Even if Heero didn�t, I
could affirm myself through the love and admiration these men carried. So I flirted, I dated; I even had sex with some of them. I was described as charming, coquettish.

Then Heero Yuy entered my life again. I was 20 years old, a woman. I had changed considerably
in his eyes. I was no longer to be watched over from afar like the dove by the hawk. I was desirable. I awoke something human within the perfect soldier.

He had changed in my eyes too. I didn�t love him, or at least that was what I had convinced
myself to believe. He was a man, through and through, tough and strong and sexy. Goddamn it, he was always attractive. Like the moth to the flame, I was drawn to him, but I needed distance. I would not let myself be fooled again; I would not give my mended heart to the monster that had broken it so long ago. Heero was too smart to fall for my charm, too clever to not see through me. The first time we had sex was during an argument in my office. I was apparently not taking security precautions seriously and was going to hear about it, unfortunately.

The kiss has been hot, searingly so. The sex had been hard and fast, right on
top of my desk. I told him it was a mistake, it should never have happened. He
tested my theory and disproved it immediately later than evening�three times.

I enjoyed it at the time. Being with him was so different than anything I had ever experienced.
Heero Yuy saw into your soul, branded you with his flavour and made you crave it like a drug.

I never did drugs. I never wanted to crave. I just wanted a normal life, and a normal boyfriend.
Not this�not incredibly delirious sex four nights a week with a mesmerizing machine. I never wanted him, never wanted whatever this was. It was wrong, took away my personal empowerment, distracted me, and stole my rationality. I craved him, I needed him, I burned for him. I couldn�t sleep, couldn�t eat, couldn�t
need. I hated him for giving me this. He was stealing me from reality and my hatred grew with my confusion into a blurry mess of my former self.

I didn�t even recognize myself anymore.

//The more that you deny my pain
the more it intensifies... //

He knows I want to say no. He knows I wish to be free of the curse he has bestowed upon me. He
relishes that fact. He liked to have control, enjoys his domination over me. I think it turns him on even more to have all the power. Typical alpha male.

He brushes me off when I wish to talk about the �personal stuff.� I don�t know how he defines it,
but I guess he believes talking period to be wrong. He used to care about what I had to say, ask for my opinion. Perhaps he knows what I have to say, knows it so well that if it finally is said aloud then it really exists � and cannot be ignored. If I affirm what he already knows�

No one knows why I am a shell of the woman I once was. They ask me questions, offer help, and take
me to the doctors. No one understands, no one could understand. It is not a physical or mental condition like any listed in a textbook. There exists no name for the feeling that haunts me, keeps me wide-awake at night sweating under the heavy blankets.

No. They couldn�t possibly understand.

//I pray for someone to ache for me the way I ache for you...
If you ignore that I'm alive
I've nothing to cling to//

I wish I could say my desire was superficial, that I craved his body and the sensations it brought. I wish I could say I knew the difference between love and sex, the psyche and the primal self. I wish I could
separate the feelings of love and lust like ordinary people have defined and be able to separate myself from the ladder of the two. I wish to be able to rise above my urges and break free of the vicious cycle my life has built.

I have so many wishes, so many regrets. I think above all else I wish for only one thing, my
impossible dream. I want him. I want his body but I also want his heart, as I gave it to him so many years ago. If I held Heero�s heart, maybe then I could control myself. I could be free of want because I would have. I wouldn�t worry where he was or what he was doing or who he was doing. I could rest knowing
that his heart was mine and it was safe.

I may be desirable, but lovable is another category. My self-confidence is shredded by lust. I tried to be strong and find myself a nice, sensible man to love. I put myself on the line, attempted to look at men with a critical eye for qualities I would want in a husband. I wasn�t really looking to get married � at least not right away. I wanted to find someone I could love forever and be loved forever. I put on the fake smiles and charm. I looked.

This displeased Heero incredibly. I don�t know why. He was afraid of the prospect that my bed might
already be occupied for the night and he would be turned away? He was not amused by charm again � he discouraged it. He would push through the suitors in an angry mood and bark orders and ward them all away like some overprotective father to his beautiful teen-aged daughter's suitors. Later he yelled and I took it, not saying �Well what do you care? We are not a couple!� The words were there; they just never left my lips.

Tonight was no different. I went alone to the Charity Gala. I had friends meet me there, I
laughed and danced with some familiar faces. Charity events were great places to meet eligible, rich bachelors: they were a dime a dozen. In fact, Nicholas Patroff, a Russian diplomat, asked me out for coffee. He wanted to talk about communism with me, a topic we were both equally passionate about. Nicholas was intelligent, handsome, considerate, funny � and was hated by Heero Yuy with a passion. That man even did a background check on poor Nicholas, who was arrested during a protest.

�He stood up for a cause he believed in.� I hissed. �How is he any different than you in your Gundam during the war?"

Heero did not like it when I talked back. He hates when I get mouthy, I can see his eyebrows furrow
and his face flood with color. I know he hates it and yet I do it anyway. His punishment is never anything I can�t take, and tonight was proof of it. He came to me angry, jerked my dress up and fucked me hard against the wall in the open hallway. Security tapes recorded it � not that it mattered since he was the one to design my security system.

�You�re not having coffee with the Russian.� He commanded as I felt the pleasure take over. I
couldn�t do anything but nod.

//I stare in this mirror
so tired of this life
If only you would speak to me or care if I'm alive//
He is so peaceful when he sleeps. He barely does, perhaps that is why I appreciate it so. His body is perfect, even with the scars�his hair that would never be tamed. I am careful not to wake him as I slip from the sheets, wrap myself in a nearby robe. I go into the bathroom to wash my face, but as light floods the room I wish I had stayed in bed.

My hair is a tangled mess, with stray bobby pins sticking out. My eyes are black from lack of sleep
and smudged makeup. My skin is an unearthly alabaster, except for the purple marks than mark down my neck and chest. I look like death warmed over � drained.

Heero enters the bathroom, still naked. He does not look at me as he climbs into the shower. It
is like I don�t even exist.

This is the way the story always ends. He wakes up, showers, dresses and leaves. No goodbyes, no
kisses, no tucking me in. I am awake when he leaves, feeling empty and miserable and he dares not even touch me, offer the slightest amount of comfort or concern to the woman he�s battered into complete submission. Perhaps�he feels it unnecessary � I am his. There is nothing to be done to change that fact. Like the fight in me is dead and he�s won.

//Once I swore I would die for you
but I never meant it like this
I never meant like this //

The shower stops, and I watch him emerge. He�s perfect. His body glistens with the beads of water
trickling down his skin. His body is slim but muscular everywhere and lightly tanned. The scars are not imperfections but badges. He grabs a towel to dry off, heads into the next room to get dressed without ever looking in my direction.

The tears refuse to fall. Perhaps there is just not enough.

//No I never meant like this//

I lean across the doorframe and watch him dress. His movements are smooth and quick, much like
his touch. He runs the towel through his hair, rubbing the droplets of water away before buttoning his shirt.

Of all my memories of him, this is the one that truly haunts me. I�ve seen him kill, I�ve seen him
attempt tenderness and humanity, I�ve seen him hot and hungry and in every position under the sun, but watching him get dressed after his shower is the one that always sticks out in my mind.

A lot of the women in my office are in relationships, married or long-term boyfriends. They love to
talk, tell stories and gossip. They all agree that one of the best things about getting up in the morning is watching him get dressed to go. It�s how most women know it�s real � that there is someone who loves them enough to spend the night and let them watch them get dressed. There is something sexy to it, they say, natural. Like a real couple.

I hate it. I know when he gets dressed his time for me is over until he is hungry again. I don�t feel
fulfilled. I feel empty and used and I hate it as much as I hate him.

I reach over and pick up his belt. In my haste to undress him last night I threw it across the room,
stupid, wanton whore that I am. I hand it to him wordlessly. He takes it from my hands and belts his pants. He buckles it and looks at me with those eyes that see right through me to my very basic self. He knows I am unhappy, knows I am subservient. He knows everything apparently. He reached over and kisses my cheek. �This is for the best, Relena.� He replies in cold monotone.

For who, I wonder. The words hang on my lips but are unsaid.

His fingers brush the hair off my face and behind my ear and he is gone. The room is colder, somehow,
and I run to lock the window tight and close the curtains. In the pale light of my reading chair lamp, the room is swallowed in shadows and reeks of him. I peel back the tangled sheets; throw them into the laundry hamper. I sit in my favourite armchair, take out my reading glasses and pick up unread legal
documentation for my speech tomorrow.

//I don't know if I'm real without you
what is left of me without you?
I don't know what�s real without you
how can I exist without you? //

I hate myself. I hate him. Yet I look into his eyes and see his own conflict.

He once swore he would kill me. I don't think either of us could have predicted a death like this.
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