Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Isolation ❯ Chapter 1
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: KentraShinataku02 
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.23.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 393 | Status: Completed
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Angst / Romance | Type: Continuation | Uploaded On: 04.23.2003 | Pages: 1 | Words: 2.1K | Visits: 393 | Status: Completed
Author: Kentra Shinataku
Pairings: 2+4
Category: Angst, Romance?
Rating: PG-13, might get to R.
Spoilers: None for now
Warnings: Anorexia, Quatre POV, angst,
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, I only own the thoughts in my head which cause these crazy works of fan fiction to magically reproduce from my fingertips.
Thanks to Abi for being such a great beta reader even though I hassle her so much! ::Big huggles to Abi::
Isolation: Part One
Disgusting. Absolutely and purely disgusting. The numbers staring back at me don't lie. I wish they would, because then I wouldn't see that I weigh 97 pounds. That's two more than yesterday. What have I eaten to gain those two numbers in so little time, the two numbers I had worked so hard to lose? I ate cereal this morning. Not much, just enough to keep my stomach from growling so the others wouldn't hear. But that was 150 calories. And what about that popsicle that Duo nearly forced down my throat? When he wasn't watching, later on, I dug the wrapped from the garbage can. 210 calories. Was that enough to add on two pounds? Stupid, of course it is, especially when you're fat. Funny, when I lost the two pounds from 97 to 95, it wasn't very much... it wasn't _enough_. But when it came back, it became so much more. I don't understand.
I fling the door open after clearing the scale and head to my bedroom to grab my running shoes. I lace them tightly, knowing that I'll have no time to stop with the workout that I've got planned for myself. I jog in place for a minute while pulling a red sweatshirt over my head. I need all the physical movement I can get; fat doesn't go away on its own.
I jog all the way to the kitchen where I grab a bottle of water before turning the kitchen doorknob.
"Where are you going?" The voice seems to come from no where, but as I turn around, I realize that Duo's sitting underneath the kitchen table, apparently for somebody to walk into his socialization trap.
"Just on a walk," I reply nonchalantly.
"Can I come?" he asks seriously. Do you have to? That's what I'd _like_ to say. Instead, I smile what I hope is warmly and offer,
"If you'd like."
Much to my disappointment, he actually stands and walks with me out the door. Looks like this is going to be a waste of time; there's no way he'll want to run with me. I'll just have to go out again later, and make sure nobody is watching when I leave. I really need the exercise.
"Geez, Quatre, how can you wear a sweatshirt in this heat? It's like 6,000 degrees out here!" Duo remarks as he pulls off his own long sleeve shirt, leaving him in his black beater. The black clothing and pale skin contrast smoothly, and I find myself admiring Duo's body. Why can't I have a body like that? He's so thin and gorgeous without even trying, yet I try as hard as I can and I'm still.... _repulsive_.
"I don't know, I get cold easily," I say, shrugging off the question. It's an understatement, though. I don't even remember what it's _like_ to feel warm. Duo's '6,000 degrees' is really only about 80, but to me it feels like 45.
"That's because you've got no meat on those bones."
I knew that was coming. He _always_ underestimates my eight. I probably weigh more than he does. Why doesn't he bother Trowa, who is _much_ thinner than me? So is Heero. And Wufei. What a feeling-- me, the fat one of the Gundam pilots, what a wonderful reputation. I bet it will follow me throughout time, in school history books in the future.
"I have plenty of fat on my body, Duo."
He lets it drop here, because he obviously knows by now that I won't listen to him. Why should I? He's lying. So much for his little motto of never telling a lie. Does he think I can't see the truth by looking in the mirror?
We head into the park, due to Duo's frequent complaints about needing shade since his braid is sticking to his neck. After only a few minutes, I realize what a mistake this is, because there's an ice cream stand on the path only a little bit ahead.
"Hey Quat, want some ice cream? My treat," Duo says, flashing me one of those devious grins. I look at the stand, watching as the salesman hands a customer a double scooped chocolate cone, and get a sick feeling just thinking about putting something like _that_ inside of me.
"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," I say with a smile, and hope that he doesn't try the same tricks he did with that popsicle earlier. I refuse to gain another pound out of stupidity and lack of control today. His brows knit together; apparently his mind is thinking of more than he lets himself say.
"Are you sure?"
I nod, and he walks over to buy some for himself while I lean my elbows against the marble ledge of the fountain and divert my attention to the splashing water. I try not to think about anything else, but lately my mind has been so unfocused. In the past, I would have been able to read a book without any distraction, but anymore, I constantly feel as if I'm in Sandrock fighting down hundreds of mobile dolls on my own. My thoughts are so scattered that things of high priority are brushed aside to worry about something as trivial as organizing the kitchen shelves.
But not too scattered to ignore the electrical sensation of fingers brushing across my spine. I tense automatically, hoping that my mind can narrow enough to act naturally. The hand jerks back instantly, and the expression on Duo's face is hurt, rather than the amused smile I thought would be there. I can tell he's thinking about something important, so obviously he's got the opposite problem as me; one thought takes up all of his attention.
"Sorry..." he mutters, avoiding my eyes.
"It's alright, you just startled me. That's all," I return. Honestly, I don't mind his touch, I actually welcome it, basking in the rays of warmth it sparks inside of me. But my back is vulnerable, it bothers me a bit when I'm touched there. I don't even like it when something inanimate presses against it, like the back of a chair. There must be some sort of abnormality in my bone structure, because they always seem to dig into things when I lean against them.
I watch as he swirls his tongue into the soft, whipped strawberry ice cream, and for a moment, I hate him. To be able to eat something like that without a single thought or doubt and _still_ maintain that sort of figure would be a dream come true. I hate him for how he looks; I hate him for his carefree attitude on everything, but especially food. I even hate him for his sanity. However, my hate lasts only a few seconds, because I could never hate the beauty that is Duo Maxwell. It's my own fault for being overweight in the first place, I won't blame _him_ for what I brought upon myself. It isn't my fault that I can't grant myself the satisfaction of a full stomach. He deserves to enjoy what he can in life.
He seems to study me as he eats. Maybe he's tempting me. I pretend to ignore it; I won't give into him that easily. He won't get me to eat one more bite today, I swear it. There is something so tantalizing about the way he eats, and I don't mean sensually. I just wish I could share in the pleasure of taste, smoothe strawberries gliding against my tongue in a soft sacrifice to my taste buds. I want to taste.
+
We walk in the door together and Duo stretches as if that slight amount of exercise was actually tiring in the least bit. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, but only because I know Duo can't really be tired out. From what he's told me of his childhood, he's done a lot of running. That's one of the reasons that he's so thin, maybe if I'd just realize that, I wouldn't be so jealous of his body. But I would have thought that he would have a little more extra skin after he started eating regular meals. I guess some people are just lucky.
The smell of vegetables cooking interrupts my thoughts and for the first time I notice that Wufei is cooking at the stove. See what I mean, my unfocused mind? Noticing somebody's presence in a room should be a given, but for me it's just another obstacle that needs pondered, thought about, worried about. Wufei, however, isn't making any indication that he acknowledges _our_ presence, but that's just how he is.
I walk over to see what he's cooking since I'll probably have it shoved down my throat later on anyways. It's not that Wufei's cooking is bad, actually I prefer the taste of it more than most of the things the other pilots cook, it's just that Chinese food is so... _fattening_.
I peer into the various simmering pans and from looking at them I have produced absolutely no idea what he's making. Useful. I notice that a bit of irritation glinted across his figure when I leaned over his shoulder, so I move to his right and pick up a bottle that he had just poured into the pan on the front burner. I don't know what it is, but I read the label anyways. Luckily, it's not in Chinese, or else I wouldn't be able to see that one serving is 90 calories. I stare at the label, then the pan, and back to the label again. No thank you, I will not be eating dinner tonight.
"Winner, what _are_ you doing?" Wufei demands in annoyance. I merely look at him and set the bottle back down.
"Nothing."
With a smile that even I can tell doesn't meet my eyes, I wander down the hallway and up the stairs at the very end and enter the wing of the house that Duo and I are sharing. Wufei and Heero are living in the opposite wing and Trowa in a guest room in the basement. Duo complains that this house is too big. I can understand how he feels so, but it doesn't bother me. Then again, I'm used to places like this. He never understands when I tell him that his home was bigger than mine; there are no limits to the streets, but walls always confine me.
Once in my bedroom, I kick off my shoes and throw off my shirts into a heap on the bed. I walk into the bathroom that connects Duo's room to my own and stare into the surrounding mirrors. It reminds me of a ballet room. I can see myself from every angle, and for that, I hate myself. I watch in fascination while I roll my shoulders forward highlighting every ridge of my ribs through the skin of my back and outlining my jutting shoulder blades. The nubs of my spine seem to sticking out farther than I remember, but I know that if anything, they've only gained another layer over them after the extra weight I've put on. I turn my head to focus on my stomach. My fat still covers whatever muscle I have hidden beneath the surface, much to my disappointment. I'm going to do extra sit-ups tonight. I can see the angle of my ribs underneath my skin, and against my prior experience, I press the top of my left index finger between two of the bones. I flinch at the sensation of awkward pain as it jolts through my chest. My stomach disgusts me, its curves sticking out in pudgy angles. Why do I have to look like this? I can't stand being this repulsive! I turn my head to examine the rest of my body when, with a sick feeling, my eyes fall upon Duo's figure in the open doorway. What was I thinking, forgetting to close the door?
"You finished examining yourself yet?"
Pairings: 2+4
Category: Angst, Romance?
Rating: PG-13, might get to R.
Spoilers: None for now
Warnings: Anorexia, Quatre POV, angst,
Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing, I only own the thoughts in my head which cause these crazy works of fan fiction to magically reproduce from my fingertips.
Thanks to Abi for being such a great beta reader even though I hassle her so much! ::Big huggles to Abi::
Isolation: Part One
Disgusting. Absolutely and purely disgusting. The numbers staring back at me don't lie. I wish they would, because then I wouldn't see that I weigh 97 pounds. That's two more than yesterday. What have I eaten to gain those two numbers in so little time, the two numbers I had worked so hard to lose? I ate cereal this morning. Not much, just enough to keep my stomach from growling so the others wouldn't hear. But that was 150 calories. And what about that popsicle that Duo nearly forced down my throat? When he wasn't watching, later on, I dug the wrapped from the garbage can. 210 calories. Was that enough to add on two pounds? Stupid, of course it is, especially when you're fat. Funny, when I lost the two pounds from 97 to 95, it wasn't very much... it wasn't _enough_. But when it came back, it became so much more. I don't understand.
I fling the door open after clearing the scale and head to my bedroom to grab my running shoes. I lace them tightly, knowing that I'll have no time to stop with the workout that I've got planned for myself. I jog in place for a minute while pulling a red sweatshirt over my head. I need all the physical movement I can get; fat doesn't go away on its own.
I jog all the way to the kitchen where I grab a bottle of water before turning the kitchen doorknob.
"Where are you going?" The voice seems to come from no where, but as I turn around, I realize that Duo's sitting underneath the kitchen table, apparently for somebody to walk into his socialization trap.
"Just on a walk," I reply nonchalantly.
"Can I come?" he asks seriously. Do you have to? That's what I'd _like_ to say. Instead, I smile what I hope is warmly and offer,
"If you'd like."
Much to my disappointment, he actually stands and walks with me out the door. Looks like this is going to be a waste of time; there's no way he'll want to run with me. I'll just have to go out again later, and make sure nobody is watching when I leave. I really need the exercise.
"Geez, Quatre, how can you wear a sweatshirt in this heat? It's like 6,000 degrees out here!" Duo remarks as he pulls off his own long sleeve shirt, leaving him in his black beater. The black clothing and pale skin contrast smoothly, and I find myself admiring Duo's body. Why can't I have a body like that? He's so thin and gorgeous without even trying, yet I try as hard as I can and I'm still.... _repulsive_.
"I don't know, I get cold easily," I say, shrugging off the question. It's an understatement, though. I don't even remember what it's _like_ to feel warm. Duo's '6,000 degrees' is really only about 80, but to me it feels like 45.
"That's because you've got no meat on those bones."
I knew that was coming. He _always_ underestimates my eight. I probably weigh more than he does. Why doesn't he bother Trowa, who is _much_ thinner than me? So is Heero. And Wufei. What a feeling-- me, the fat one of the Gundam pilots, what a wonderful reputation. I bet it will follow me throughout time, in school history books in the future.
"I have plenty of fat on my body, Duo."
He lets it drop here, because he obviously knows by now that I won't listen to him. Why should I? He's lying. So much for his little motto of never telling a lie. Does he think I can't see the truth by looking in the mirror?
We head into the park, due to Duo's frequent complaints about needing shade since his braid is sticking to his neck. After only a few minutes, I realize what a mistake this is, because there's an ice cream stand on the path only a little bit ahead.
"Hey Quat, want some ice cream? My treat," Duo says, flashing me one of those devious grins. I look at the stand, watching as the salesman hands a customer a double scooped chocolate cone, and get a sick feeling just thinking about putting something like _that_ inside of me.
"Thanks, but I'm not hungry," I say with a smile, and hope that he doesn't try the same tricks he did with that popsicle earlier. I refuse to gain another pound out of stupidity and lack of control today. His brows knit together; apparently his mind is thinking of more than he lets himself say.
"Are you sure?"
I nod, and he walks over to buy some for himself while I lean my elbows against the marble ledge of the fountain and divert my attention to the splashing water. I try not to think about anything else, but lately my mind has been so unfocused. In the past, I would have been able to read a book without any distraction, but anymore, I constantly feel as if I'm in Sandrock fighting down hundreds of mobile dolls on my own. My thoughts are so scattered that things of high priority are brushed aside to worry about something as trivial as organizing the kitchen shelves.
But not too scattered to ignore the electrical sensation of fingers brushing across my spine. I tense automatically, hoping that my mind can narrow enough to act naturally. The hand jerks back instantly, and the expression on Duo's face is hurt, rather than the amused smile I thought would be there. I can tell he's thinking about something important, so obviously he's got the opposite problem as me; one thought takes up all of his attention.
"Sorry..." he mutters, avoiding my eyes.
"It's alright, you just startled me. That's all," I return. Honestly, I don't mind his touch, I actually welcome it, basking in the rays of warmth it sparks inside of me. But my back is vulnerable, it bothers me a bit when I'm touched there. I don't even like it when something inanimate presses against it, like the back of a chair. There must be some sort of abnormality in my bone structure, because they always seem to dig into things when I lean against them.
I watch as he swirls his tongue into the soft, whipped strawberry ice cream, and for a moment, I hate him. To be able to eat something like that without a single thought or doubt and _still_ maintain that sort of figure would be a dream come true. I hate him for how he looks; I hate him for his carefree attitude on everything, but especially food. I even hate him for his sanity. However, my hate lasts only a few seconds, because I could never hate the beauty that is Duo Maxwell. It's my own fault for being overweight in the first place, I won't blame _him_ for what I brought upon myself. It isn't my fault that I can't grant myself the satisfaction of a full stomach. He deserves to enjoy what he can in life.
He seems to study me as he eats. Maybe he's tempting me. I pretend to ignore it; I won't give into him that easily. He won't get me to eat one more bite today, I swear it. There is something so tantalizing about the way he eats, and I don't mean sensually. I just wish I could share in the pleasure of taste, smoothe strawberries gliding against my tongue in a soft sacrifice to my taste buds. I want to taste.
+
We walk in the door together and Duo stretches as if that slight amount of exercise was actually tiring in the least bit. I fight the urge to roll my eyes, but only because I know Duo can't really be tired out. From what he's told me of his childhood, he's done a lot of running. That's one of the reasons that he's so thin, maybe if I'd just realize that, I wouldn't be so jealous of his body. But I would have thought that he would have a little more extra skin after he started eating regular meals. I guess some people are just lucky.
The smell of vegetables cooking interrupts my thoughts and for the first time I notice that Wufei is cooking at the stove. See what I mean, my unfocused mind? Noticing somebody's presence in a room should be a given, but for me it's just another obstacle that needs pondered, thought about, worried about. Wufei, however, isn't making any indication that he acknowledges _our_ presence, but that's just how he is.
I walk over to see what he's cooking since I'll probably have it shoved down my throat later on anyways. It's not that Wufei's cooking is bad, actually I prefer the taste of it more than most of the things the other pilots cook, it's just that Chinese food is so... _fattening_.
I peer into the various simmering pans and from looking at them I have produced absolutely no idea what he's making. Useful. I notice that a bit of irritation glinted across his figure when I leaned over his shoulder, so I move to his right and pick up a bottle that he had just poured into the pan on the front burner. I don't know what it is, but I read the label anyways. Luckily, it's not in Chinese, or else I wouldn't be able to see that one serving is 90 calories. I stare at the label, then the pan, and back to the label again. No thank you, I will not be eating dinner tonight.
"Winner, what _are_ you doing?" Wufei demands in annoyance. I merely look at him and set the bottle back down.
"Nothing."
With a smile that even I can tell doesn't meet my eyes, I wander down the hallway and up the stairs at the very end and enter the wing of the house that Duo and I are sharing. Wufei and Heero are living in the opposite wing and Trowa in a guest room in the basement. Duo complains that this house is too big. I can understand how he feels so, but it doesn't bother me. Then again, I'm used to places like this. He never understands when I tell him that his home was bigger than mine; there are no limits to the streets, but walls always confine me.
Once in my bedroom, I kick off my shoes and throw off my shirts into a heap on the bed. I walk into the bathroom that connects Duo's room to my own and stare into the surrounding mirrors. It reminds me of a ballet room. I can see myself from every angle, and for that, I hate myself. I watch in fascination while I roll my shoulders forward highlighting every ridge of my ribs through the skin of my back and outlining my jutting shoulder blades. The nubs of my spine seem to sticking out farther than I remember, but I know that if anything, they've only gained another layer over them after the extra weight I've put on. I turn my head to focus on my stomach. My fat still covers whatever muscle I have hidden beneath the surface, much to my disappointment. I'm going to do extra sit-ups tonight. I can see the angle of my ribs underneath my skin, and against my prior experience, I press the top of my left index finger between two of the bones. I flinch at the sensation of awkward pain as it jolts through my chest. My stomach disgusts me, its curves sticking out in pudgy angles. Why do I have to look like this? I can't stand being this repulsive! I turn my head to examine the rest of my body when, with a sick feeling, my eyes fall upon Duo's figure in the open doorway. What was I thinking, forgetting to close the door?
"You finished examining yourself yet?"