Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Bleeding On the Inside ❯ Silent All These Years ( Chapter 7 )

Disclaimer: I own nothing except this story.

Warnings: Angst, rape, yaoi, and 3x4/1x2 content. Religious views, not necessarily those of the author.

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SILENT ALL THESE YEARS

Excuse me but can I be you for a while my dog

won't bite if you sit real still I got the anti-Christ in

the kitchen yellin' at me again yeah I can hear that

been saved again by the garbage truck I got

something to say you know but nothing comes yes

I know what you think of me you never shut-up yeah

I can hear that but what if I'm a mermaid in these

jeans of his with her name still on it hey but I don't

care cause sometimes I said sometimes I hear my

voice and it's been here silent all these years so

you found a girl who thinks really deep thoughts

what's so amazing about really deep thoughts boy

you best pray that I bleed real soon how's that

thought for you my scream got lost in a paper cup

you think there's a heaven where some screams

have gone I got 25 bucks and a cracker do you

think it's enough to get us there years go by will I

still be waiting for somebody else to understand

years go by if I'm stripped of my beauty and the

orange clouds raining in my head years go by will I

choke on my tears till finally there is nothing left

one more casualty you know we're too easy easy

easy well I love the way we communicate your eyes

focus on my funny lip shape let's see what you

think of me now but baby don't look up the sky is

falling your mother shows up in a nasty dress it's

your turn now to stand where I stand everybody

lookin' at you here take hold of my hand

yeah I can hear them but what if I'm a mermaid in these

jeans of his with her name still on it hey but I don't

care cause sometimes I said sometimes I hear my

voice and it's been here I've been here…

silent all these years

Tori Amos

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Bleeding On The Inside - Chapter 7 - Silent All These Years

Trowa ran, faster and faster, his feet skidding on the slick pavement. He wasn't sure where he was going, he just knew that he had to get away, had to flee before him mind took over, before his memories took over. His vision was blurred. Something warm and salty stung his eyes. 'Tears. I don't deserve to cry. I have no right to feel his pain.'

"Not Quatre, never Quatre. This couldn't happen. It's not supposed to happen, not to him," Trowa murmured as he ran, his words lost to the wind and rain.

'My fault. I've done this somehow. I couldn't protect him. This is my fault.'

"It wasn't supposed to happen to him. He's so pure and innocent. Not like me. Quatre's not evil like me. Why should he be punished? It must have been something I did. Like before, with Midii…"

Trowa pushed down the frantic sob that was working its way up his throat. It was now very dark and the soft lamplight did nothing to block the shadows creeping up on the running pilot. Empty. The streets were so empty. There were no sounds save the constant drumming of the rain and Trowa took in the silence, filled himself with it. He was safe in the absence of sound. It was only the screams he feared, those strange wrenching sounds he heard only in his darkest dreams when Quatre was not there to soothe his sleep. But it was never him who cried out, it was always another who screamed, horrible choking cries.

"No! Don't…I can't do this again."

The night ignored Trowa's pleas. The boy halted his frantic run and wrapped his arms around himself, as thought to keep his insides from bursting out. His eyes darted nervously from side to side. The rain soaked into his shirt, rolling in wet beads off his skin, dripping and mixing with the moisture already present in his eyes.

Safety. He needed to find a safe place.

The church on the corner beckoned, it's windows lit with small candles on the sill, giving off a comforting glow. Trowa shivered and walked towards it's light, struggling briefly with the large oak doors before falling inside with a grateful sigh.

The church was silent and empty. Statues of angels and saints lined the long rows of pews. The alter was lit from behind by hundreds of tiny candles in a large stained-glass window and red velvet tapestries hung from the ceiling, depicting various scenes from the Bible. Trowa approached a statue of a crying woman with a cherub on her shoulder and placed a hand on the cool surface of the marble. He shivered once more and sunk to the ground, bringing his knees up to his chest in a fetal position.

"Please…" he whispered, "leave me alone. I'll be good, I swear it."

Screaming echoed in his ears. Trowa clapped his hands over his head and sobbed, burying his face in his knees.

"I'm sorry, sorry, sorry…"

//No…Nanashi help! Help me!//

//Shut up and behave//

Slap.

'Stop struggling. Don't you see, you'll make it worse if you fight them? Please stop…'

//Fucking cunt. Hold still would ya? Look at Nanashi, he's being good. Why can't you just hold still?//

//Nooo…don't let them Nanashi!! Don't let them!! I don't wanna die…//

//Shut the fuck up!//

Smack.

'Oh no…this is all my fault. If I hadn't snuck out of the camp to meet her none of this would have happened. I'm so sorry…'

//I think you broke her jaw//

//Serves her right. Now maybe she'll be quiet//

//Come here and kneel down Nanashi. There…that's a good boy. You know better then to struggle, don't you? Now suck it, fast and hard…yeah.//

'Please don't be dead Midii. Please please don't be dead.'

//She's out cold.//

//You didn't kill her did you, you idiot?//

//No…she's still breathing.//

//Good. I want a ride right after I'm finished with our little toy here.//

'Maybe if I'm good enough, they'll leave her alone…'

//Oh yeah…that's a good boy. Now swallow it all down…Good…//

//She's real tight. I think the slut might actually be a virgin, heh heh!//

//Now get down on all fours and spread your legs//

'Just don't think about it. Obey, be silent. It'll be over quicker that way.'

//You know why I'm doing this right?//

'Be silent.'

//You're a slut Nanashi.//

'Yes, a slut.'

//You're a disgusting killer.//

'Disgusting…'

//You deserve this.//

'I deserve this.'

//It's your fault we had to hurt her Nanashi. You got emotionally attached. So we had to teach you a lesson.//

'My fault.'

//It's your fault she's lying there now Nanashi.//

'God, I'm sorry Midii.'

//You're vile//

'Yes.'

//sickening//

'Yes.'

//unclean//

'Please… ;I can't…'

//filthy//

'Need to escape…'

//You are nobody. A nameless murderer.//

'Maybe if I close my eyes, it'll go away?'

//We have to do this, to show you your place//

'My place.'

//You understand don't you Nanashi?//

'Stay silent.'

//Sure you do. I bet you like this. You like it when I ram into you. You're aroused you sick bastard. You slut.//

'Oh God no…'

//evil//

'Please.'

//you deserve everything you get. You deserve this Nanashi//

'I just want to die. Please let me die.'

//I'm going to fuck you. Hard. And you're not going to say one word. Not…one…word…//

'Silence is all I have left.'

//Good boy.//

"No…" The choked cry sounded harsh and loud in the still air and Trowa winced when he heard it.

'Silent,' he admonished himself. 'I'm supposed to stay silent.'

"Who's there?"

Trowa stiffened at the sound of another voice, cutting through the silence. He turned slowly, his hands curled into fists, ready to strike out at the first hint of danger. But it was only the worried eyes of a priest he faced and not the cruel sneer he half expected to see. He lowered his hands and some of the tension left his body. The man was old, but not decrepit and the white collar shone brightly in the darkness. The priest took a cautious step towards him.

"Are you all right, my son?" he asked, his tones gentle and soothing, like one might use when talking to a frightened animal.

Trowa just stared at the man, an amazed look on his face. What an incredibly stupid question. Of course he wasn't all right…

"My son?"

Trowa started. The voice was so much closer then he expected. The priest was eyeing him cautiously, one hand outstretched as if to comfort him. Trowa leaped back, as if stung.

"Don't touch me!" he hissed, curling his hands into fists, ready to attack if the man even thought about coming closer. But the priest did not approach him again. He just stood where he was, absolutely still, his eyes both sad and gentle.

"I won't touch you," he soothed. "I won't do anything that makes you uncomfortable. But I want to help you. There is so much pain in your eyes."

Trowa glared at the man for a moment, then his tense body slowly relaxed, his fists uncurling and falling to his sides.

"Why?" he asked curiously, "Why would you want to help me? You don't know who I am. You don't know what I've done. I could kill you now and feel no remorse. I could kill you in an instant and not repent."

The priest regarded him calmly. If he felt fear, his body did not betray him.

"Yes, I've no doubt you could kill me easily. But I am a priest you see. It's my job to comfort and offer spiritual guidance to those in need. Won't you let me help you?"

A harsh, bitter laugh bubbled forth from Trowa's lips.

"I'm not even Catholic. I do not believe in your God," he retorted.

"Maybe not," the priest shrugged. "But that doesn't matter. You are still one of His children."

Trowa considered this, watching warily as the priest slowly sat in one of the pews before him. He thought briefly of just running out of the church but a sudden crash of thunder shook the small building and Trowa thought better of it. He did not want to go out into the storm again. And the priest was old and weak. He could take the man down easily if he needed to.

"How can you help me?" he said, finally. The priest motioned for the boy to sit down next to him. Trowa shook his head and chose another seat, a good distance away. He had no wish to be physically near to anyone at the moment and the priest seemed to understand that, not protesting when the boy moved further away.

The priest took a deep breath, as if considering how to begin. Then he said, "Do you know anything about Catholic Church practices?"

Trowa slowly nodded his head, remembering vague bits of information he had heard from Duo. The boy had attempted to explain certain things to him, but Trowa had never understood it.

"Have you ever heard of Confession?" the priest asked.

Trowa shook his head.

"Confession," the priest explained, "is a private conversation between your priest, you, and God alone. It is where you can talk about anything: your feelings, your fears, your sins, your joys, and it is completely confidential. All priests take a vow of confidentiality which cannot be broken. We Catholics believe that if something is kept inside too long it festers and harms the keeper. Confession is a way to bring all the harmful things out without fear of judgment."

"You want me to confess," Trowa stated, dully. "You don't know what I've done. You wouldn't ask that if you knew."

The priest's eyes were sad but not full of pity, as Trowa feared. The old man gave a small smile and shook his head.

"I am not here to judge you. The only one who may do that it God. And He has already forgiven you. What is it you fear child?"

Trowa bit his lip and looked down at his hands.

"He'll hate me. Quatre will hate me. You'll hate me," he whispered.

"You are a child of God. How could I hate something He created?"

"I hate myself!" Trowa cried violently, his hands burying themselves in his hair.

The priest's voice was very low, very soft. "And that is why you must confess, before your self-hatred destroys you."

Trowa glanced up, startled. The man's face was earnest. He meant what he said.'Maybe…maybe if I tell him, I'll be free of this. I just want to stop the screaming…'

"I…I don't remember my parents. I think they died in an accident of some sort. I don't know. I just remember being alone until the mercenaries took me in and trained me to be one of them," Trowa started, keeping his eyes on the floor. He didn't want to see the priest's face when he told of the disgusting things he had done.

"They called me Nanashi, no name. I couldn't remember my real name, you see, and they couldn't be bothered to give me a real one. I was useless to them really, just some punk kid who couldn't hold a gun straight. They fed me and clothed me and I couldn't do anything in return for them. Until…one day the leader told me that there was something I could do, something that would repay all of them. He…made me lay down on the floor and touched me all over, and then he called the others in to do the same thing. I didn't mind. It was kind of…nice at first. They were gentle. They really cared about me. They told me they l-loved me. So I let them do it."

Trowa paused there, waiting for the priest to condemn him, call him a monster and throw him out of the church. But only silence answered him and after a while, Trowa continued the story.

"I was happy there. I was learning how to be a good soldier. I had a family that loved me. Sure some of the things they did hurt but they always hugged me and gave me sweets to eat after so I didn't mind it. But one day things changed. They began to get more violent. And on the day I killed my very first target they took me outside, tied me to a tree and…and whipped me. They said it was my punishment for being a murderer. They said I enjoyed it and I was sick and weak for letting them do it. After they finished whipping me they raped me, all of them, one by one. And I let them b-because I deserved it for being a slut and a killer, you see? It was my fault. It was always my fault. And I got Midii in trouble too…"

Here Trowa's voice trailed off, a shuddering sob escaping the thin, white lips. He did not look up. He didn't dare.

"Stupid kid," he whispered. "I told her not to get involved. I told her to leave. But she wouldn't go. She said she needed me and I…they weren't supposed to touch her. It was my job to keep them…occupied. But I guess I wasn't doing my job very well 'cause they…they and I let them…"

Trowa's hands curled into fists, nails digging painfully into the rain-soaked skin.

"She trusted me!" he yelled, his voice echoing off the high walls. "She trusted me and I let them torture her!"

"You were only a child," the priest commented, speaking for the first time since Trowa started to tell his story. "You couldn't have done anything."

"You're wrong." Trowa's lips twisted into a parody of a smile. "I was a highly trained killer by now. I could have broken all their necks before they could have raised their hands to me. But I didn't. Not even to save Midii. I was too afraid. I didn't want to be alone again. They were the only family I had."

The priest bit his lip but kept silent, waiting for Trowa to continue.

"In the end it was Midii who destroyed them all. She was a spy. She set us up. I was the only one who got out alive. She saved me and I…I hated her. She took them away. My only family…" Trowa laughed bitterly.

"She wanted me to come with her, did you know that? She told me she loved me. But she was lying. Nobody could love a filthy evil thing like me. So I ran and I got pretty good at running. I hid behind someone else's face, behind someone else's mask. I became someone else and it worked. I was strong. I was free. I was someone else. And then…Why am I telling you this? Why am I even telling you this?"

"Because you need to?" the priest suggested, watching Trowa's face. "Nanashi…"

"Trowa," the boy spat, as if tasting something vile. "It's Trowa Barton now. But that's not my real name either. I stole it from a dead man, just like I stole his identity. I am truly nothing."

"I'm sure not everybody thinks that, Trowa. You mentioned someone named Quatre?"

'Quatre.'

"A friend maybe?"

Trowa started to nod and then stopped himself.

"I…we…it's kind of complicated."

"More then a friend," the priest concluded.

"Well…yes."

"And why do you think he hates you?"

"Be…Because it's my fault!"

"What's your fault?"

"That he's…"

Trowa stopped, his voice trailing off. He couldn't say it out loud. Speaking it made it true. Speaking it made it real. Only silence had protected him all this time and now one meeting with an old meddling priest had blown it all to hell.

"Trowa…look at me."

Trowa refused to glance up.

"Look at me, Trowa."

Reluctantly the boy raised his head. He braced himself for the accusing, angry eyes he was used to. Instead he saw kindness and warmth in those deep set brown eyes.

"My son, what do you see when you look in the mirror?"

"A monster." Trowa replied, sullenly.

"I don't. All I see is a hurt and confused child, who deserved much better from life. You have suffered more then one should ever have to bear. And yet you keep on fighting for what you believe in. There's something special in you Trowa Barton. Your friend Quatre must see it too. Do you trust in him?"

Trowa looked confused.

"I…yes."

"Then you must trust that he would not give his love so freely to a monster."

Trowa felt a blush rise to his cheeks and he fidgeted in his seat, embarrassed that the priest had found him out. A little of the guilt that had so overpowered him was gone, melted away under the priest's calm logic. But some uncertainty remained, Trowa was still not convinced.

"You don't understand. He deserves someone strong. Someone who can protect him and keep him safe. I'm a nameless nobody. I have nothing to give him," Trowa argued.

The priest sighed and leaned back against the hard wooden pew.

"Let me tell you a little story," he said, "about a boy I once knew. He was so young when I found him. And like you, he had seen his share of suffering in the world. But there was something really special about him. He kept a genuine joy of life, even though his had been rough. He told me once that he never knew his real name but he used his name to honor the memory of one of his friends who had died. At the time the church was going through some struggles and people being what they are, some of the more vicious one's tried to blame the way things were on him. Some of the things they called him were down right horrible. "Demon," "Hell's Spawn," "Little Beast." But he didn't let it get to him much. He told me that it didn't matter what other people called him. He knew his true name in his heart and the significance carried with that name and that was all he needed in order to keep going."

Cautiously, the priest moved the put a heavy hand on Trowa's shoulder. The banged boy tensed for a moment, and then relaxed, allowing the touch.

"Tell me," the priest said, thoughtfully. "Does your Quatre call you anything besides "Trowa"?

Trowa blushed even more at the "your Quatre" part, but he nodded hesitantly.

"H-he sometimes calls me habib."

The priest smiled as if amused. "Do you know what it means?"

Trowa shook his head. "He won't tell me when I ask him. He just blushes and waves his hands around until I drop the issue."

"If you ever get him to tell you, remember that it's your true name, the one you carry inside your heart. It doesn't matter what anyone else thinks. Only that. And quit beating yourself up about things that were completely out of your control, okay? If you don't love yourself first, then you can't be free to love somebody else." The priest suddenly grinned. "God included."

Still a bit confused, Trowa nodded and awkwardly folded his hands in his lap.

"So…what now?"

The priest's smile grew wider and he hauled himself to his feet, using Trowa's shoulder as leverage.

"Well now that your confession is over and the storm's died down…"

Startled, Trowa glanced out the huge stained-glass windows. The rain had all but trickled to a stop and the sky was brightening considerably.

"…you should go back home to your Quatre. The boy's probably worried sick about you."

Trowa nodded and stood, giving a slight nod to the old, stooped man before him.

"I…can't thank you enough-"

The man waved him off impatiently.

"Now don't start that. I'm just doing my job. Makes me feel a bit more useful here. Now you get going. And Trowa?"

"Yes?"

"Stay safe."

Trowa gave a brief smile before heading off into the night, anxious to get back to his hurting angel.'My poor Quatre, I understand now. It wasn't your fault and it wasn't mine. There isn't anything that can change the past. But maybe together we can build a new future.'

Back inside the church a deep silence surrounded the place. But it wasn't the same, panicked filled silence that was there before. Broken particles of light streamed in through the stained-glass windows, creating colourful patterns on the floor. Before the alter, the sole priest knelt, his head titled as if he were listening to some unheard voice.

//Time to come back now Herbert. You did a good job.//

The priest smiled.

"I just hope that kid finds the peace he's been looking for."

//I'm sure he will. God takes care of all his children.//

"You always know the right thing to say, don't you Helen? Why didn't they let you take this job?"

//Because you were the one who was needed. Besides, you needed the experience.//

Laughter rang through the church like a joyful Alleluia.

"That I did. You know I think I'm getting the hang of this Guardian Angel thing."

//Yes. You did well. Now come home, Father.//

"Yes, Sister."

And with that, the old priest's body seemed to fade and become as incorporeal as air itself. The light from the window above the alter became brighter and brighter until the church seemed bathed in a golden wash, hues of purple and red splashed across the ceiling. And then…

All was quiet. And the space where seconds before, an old man had knelt at the alter…was empty.