Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Pull Up For The J! ❯ Like A Stone ( Chapter 17 )
[ X - Adult: No readers under 18. Contains Graphic Adult Themes/Extreme violence. ]
By: Manga-Chick 
Trowa has an epiphany---but isn't it a little too late to realize his insecurities?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 225 | Status: Completed
Trowa has an epiphany---but isn't it a little too late to realize his insecurities?
Anime/Manga: Gundam Wing Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Comedy / Drama / Hentai | Type: Alternate Universe | Uploaded On: 09.21.2005 | Pages: 3 | Words: 8.1K | Visits: 225 | Status: Completed
Chapter Seventeen:
“Like A Stone” Audio Slave
Trowa returned to his room, feeling a little melancholy, but a little more uplifted than he had earlier. Quatre had agreed to be friends with him, and if they couldn’t be what they were, well, this would be close enough. Friends were better than nothing at all. He saw that Jared was already in bed and was asleep, so he quietly kicked off his shoes and sank down onto his bed, belly first. Staring sightlessly at the floor, he reflected on his decision and the outcome, and was actually pleased about it. He shifted on his bed, reaching into his nightstand for the comforting presence of Quatre’s wristbands, and found nothing. He sat up on his bed and peered into the drawer, seeing that they weren’t there anymore. With a puzzled frown, sure that he’d put them in there when he’d taken them off the other day, Trowa glanced around his half of the room and decided that he’d look for them in the morning. He resettled into his position and fell asleep.
The next morning, after he’d showered and gotten ready for the day, he began searching for those wristbands. Not finding them, he sighed heavily and began digging through his various things for them. He really wanted them, and not being able to find them was extremely frustrating. He also wanted to talk to Catherine today, about that letter Une had sent him, and see about obtaining that money. Not that he was in a bind, but having the money would sure help out.
He was sure that he was just lowering himself to play the part of a paid whore, but, hell–it was money made from his participation, so why couldn’t he have it? Just as long as he wouldn’t have to deal with the woman...
“Jared,” he said, looking away from his box of toiletries, and addressing his roommate. “Have you see these white and yellow wristbands? They had the word ‘Nike’ on them and were on my nightstand.”
“No, Trowa, I haven’t,” Jared replied, lacing up his shoes. “But then again, Chad told me that Quatre had come in here the other day.”
Trowa looked up sharply from his box. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know. But he left with a bag full of stuff...” Jared shrugged as he straightened.
Trowa stared off into the distance, wondering why Quatre would trouble himself to come into the room and take all his things. That kind of hurt. It made him feel a little oddly that he would do so. Well, at least he knew where they were. He also wondered what else Quatre had taken. He glanced around his room, then opened his section of the closet, to look for that hooded sweater the blond had given him last year. It was gone, as well. Trowa frowned at the loss, and clung to one of his extra blazers for some steady support as he glanced at his section of the closet, and bent to find his sketchbooks. Looking through there, he saw that each and every piece he’d ever done of Quatre was gone as well. He shut his book and shook his head, feeling more angry than annoyed.
Still...perhaps he shouldn’t be feeling that way. Maybe Quatre had been so hurt that he felt that by removing all of his presence within Trowa’s possession would aid the break-up even more. He set his sketchbooks aside and saw that Quatre had even taken back the gifts that he’d given him over the time they spent together–that box of charcoal pencils, that rubber eraser, the tube of lube that had never been used since Trowa had left for Spain, that stick of lip balm, that copy of Good Charlotte’s newest album, the stack of newspaper articles that he’d clipped featuring Quatre’s prowess on the court...everything was gone. As if Quatre hadn’t existed!
He sighed, straightening and shutting the door.
Well, that’s that, I suppose, he thought as he sat at the edge of his bed and pulled on his shoes. Jared left moments later, and Trowa was left alone. He stared forlornly at his nightstand. It made sense for one person to take back all that they had given, but the subject of the matter was that he was given this stuff... why would Quatre want to take it all back? Well, that was his decision, then. Nothing Trowa could do about it. Even if he replaced the items, it wouldn’t be the same.
He rose from his bed and grabbed his bag, sighing heavily. He hoped this friend situation worked...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Tentatively, things worked out well. In Trowa’s opinion. He had Catherine and her lawyer pore over the letter he’d been given, and while Catherine was straight out furious that Amelie had used him to get to her, she was a little calmed by the fact that Amelie was willing to split the profit with him. So, they worked on that, and Catherine worked on ways in which she could legally wring Amelie’s neck. Trowa’s bank account grew with the profit that poured into it, and while that was dealt with, he began noticing queer glances tossed his way from certain classmates. The video must have made Stateside, because those looks were either filled with awe or curiosity. No one questioned him about it, and no one made any comment about it.
But he noticed a certain interest from people that would have normally ignored him, and a few bolder souls actually approached him in a friendly manner.
It made him severely uncomfortable–he wasn’t going to let this attention go to his head. He didn’t want it. And the thought that people knew what he did in bed, what he sounded like in moments of passion, what he fucking looked like naked for Christ sake, made him totally self-conscious of himself. Good thing the weather was very chilly, because he’d taken to wearing bigger clothes than normal just so that he wouldn’t feel those eyes caressing and studying him from his more fitting ones.
November slowly moved towards December, and while Trowa was aching to talk to Quatre the way he normally had (without relationship innuendos and such), he took this process slow. It took all he had to not approach him constantly, and took dire measures in stalking the other throughout his progress in both basketball and friends. He was more than annoyed that Felicia was wasting no time in setting Quatre up with various people, but then again, he was more than delighted to know that Quatre was not ready to delve into the dating scene quite yet. There was a lot of relief and some selfish satisfaction that Quatre could not see anybody else yet.
Meanwhile, he worked on staying away from the drugs (though withdrawal was a bitch, and reminding himself of the reason why was enough to keep him going), declining polite offers of dates from various boys and girls, and working on his art once more. It seemed there was a period when he wasn’t interested in doing what he had found enjoyment in, and it showed in his paintings, ceramics, and sketches. Like typing, it took a while after a long hiatus to get the right touch.
But as the days went by, he found himself improving, and found himself not hurting as much whenever he saw Quatre a distance away from him. He wondered how the other was handling this situation, and could just feel the vibes that came from him whenever Trowa managed a very small talk session between classes, or assignments. They could still work well together, exchange meaningless words (“Got the assignment?” “Yeah, it was hard.”), and do all the things acquaintances could do. But it was hell–all Trowa wanted to do was return back to what they had and behaved as they had.
And it all still hurt–most of it was gone, but it still hurt.
The only way he could get through the day was talking small talk with Quatre and losing himself in his art. It helped a lot.
The second Saturday in December was the day the basketball schedule came out, and Trowa took a copy from the main office’s billboard so that he could see each and every one of Quatre’s games–last year, he’d been so against seeing his games, and Quatre had pestered him constantly to come watch...something that didn’t seem too difficult to do now that Trowa thought about it. Quatre had wanted his support and his presence while he played, and before, Trowa hadn’t wanted to because he didn’t like following the sheep. But now...now he would make each and every one of these games, even if he had to take hostages to do so.
Their first tourney was in Roseville, as it had been last year. They’d play a few of the schools within New Park City and beyond, get their reputation up for the oncoming season, and the week after that was an away game at Balkin Public. Trowa licked his lips as he wondered how he was going to get to Roseville, and figured on hitching a ride from someone. He folded and tucked that paper away, and went to look for Drake. Drake always knew what to do in situations like these...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“Oh, so now, when he all breaks up with your stank ass, you wanna be all lovey-dovey!” Drake sneered around his cigarette, then jumped up and down without reason. “Man! You fuckin’ suck!”
Trowa sighed. “Look, I was just asking. Can you find me a ride, or not?”
“Yeah, I probably can...say, what’s this about you and a porno everyone’s talkin’ about? Is that why ya’ll broke up?”
“I’ll pay whoever’s driving...money’s no problem,” Trowa continued, ignoring the question.
Drake grinned, removing the cigarette from his mouth. “I know someone that will. Hell, like I care about that video, anyway. I don’t wanna see your naked ass. That’s fuckin’ sick. Anyway, I’ll call you.”
Trowa blinked. “I don’t have a cell. I need to get a new one.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. The tourney starts next Friday...I don’t know when their first game starts. I’ll find out then. Why don’t you ask Felicia if–”
“I don’t talk to that bitch, man,” Drake interrupted, looking murderously betrayed. “Fuckin’ hypocrite. I don’t want to share company with fuckin’ hypocrites! She pissed me off! Talkin’ all that talk, then goin’ and doing this bullshit...fuckin’ apple. For real! Red on the outside, white on the in.”
Trowa raised an eyebrow, and fiddled with his own cigarette pack. ‘Sounds like you’re really pissed,” he commented. “Like you guys were married, or something.”
“Fuck that bullshit! She’s probably my cousin! We’re all related through some happen-stance...anyway, I don’t talk to her. Traitor...anyway, find out, then. Then give me your number when ya get yer phone. Then I’ll call you.”
“Cool. See ya.”
“Later.”
Trowa turned and walked off, heading toward the arts section of the main school building. Drake’s vehemence in Felicia’s apparent betrayal suggested something else, but he wasn’t to question the matter. He never ever for once in his life seen those two display any sort of romantic feelings for each other, and it would be seriously ickle if they had. They were like brother and sister (brother?), and anything else would be just plain creepy.
Pushing that thought out of his head, he smoked his last cigarette and figured on buying his new cell phone sometime during the week. Meanwhile, he knew Quatre’s class schedule today, and figured on making sure his blond got to class on time before he headed to his art class.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Later that night, Quatre had just finished up his nightly training session when he bent at the waist, panting heavily. His knees felt really shaky, and he suspected that it wasn’t because he’d pushed himself as hard as he normally did–his eating habits really had to change. Having lost all that weight in a non-healthy manner left him a little more than weak during each session, and this depression over his break-up with Trowa really changed his appetite as well. It was reflecting all of a sudden in his performance–suddenly he couldn’t run as fast, shoot as hard, rebound as strong, or even keep up with the others when he’d normally be one of the faster runners out there.
His entire body felt weak, and he wasn’t sure if he should quite move yet. He lifted his head, seeing the gym door close silently, with no real indication that someone was there. That was happening a lot, lately, and it was really bugging him. He knew his other stalkers were more than likely to announce their presence through their own various ways, but he had the creepy feeling that someone was out to get him. He hadn’t accepted any more gifts from his usual admirers after that incident with Colin (who blamed him for his being sick), and though the others denied their involvement in the incident, Quatre was still cautious. He found himself able to walk, and did so gingerly toward his shoes. Sitting down on the bench, he sighed heavily, wishing he and Trowa at least had break-up sex or something, because he was seriously horny, and getting it with his hand wasn’t very fun. He untied his shoes and set them aside, wincing at the smell of his feet.
“Wow, no wonder I’m not getting any,” he muttered, picking up his non-court shoes and stuffing them on his feet. He rose, shouted with surprised pain, and sat back down, jerking his shoes off to find that someone had taped tacks inside.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he screamed, throwing his arms about. He ripped the tacks out of his shoes, stuffed them back on his feet after a cautious glance inside, then grabbed his things, hurrying out from the gym. Pissed off that someone was doing this to him, he raced toward the dormitory, then headed up to his room. He opened the door and slammed his way inside, hurling his court shoes about and dropping his ball on his bed. He then caught sight of something on his desk, and stared at it suspiciously.
An odd, creepy sensation crawled up his spine as he glanced around his room. So, whoever was leaving these things behind knew his passcode...he wondered for the millionth time if it were Trowa, exacting his revenge on the break-up. Anger raged inside of him, and he kicked his desk chair aside, wondering why his ex would lower himself to such levels!
Was he really such a child?!
He grabbed the package from his desk, and looked down to see that it had his name neatly printed on top. He didn’t want to open it, for fear of something even more evil within, and he stomped out of his room, heading toward the bathroom. Walking inside, he stuffed the package into the trash can, then hesitated. There were some guys using the shower, and their voices were filled with laughter and mirth, and none hadn’t seen him...
He pulled the package out from the trash can, and with some hesitation, ripped the packing tape off the top. He opened it, pointing it toward the wall, lest he were splashed with something grody, like urine or feces, or something equally as gross, and saw nothing happen. With slow movement, he tipped the box so he could look inside, and saw a very plain video inside.
With some curiosity and mixed horror, he took the video out, the cover plain white and nondescript. The title, “Mrs. Robinson”, had him stilling in paralyzation as he remember hearing that from Catherine that night at the Hilton. So...was this the video made of his ex and his lover in Spain? Who would send it to him? He didn’t want it...Trowa wouldn’t give him this video. It couldn’t have been Trowa. Trowa was ashamed of the video and would have gone through great measures to prevent its release, but the Queen of Porn that was Lady Une would find her ways around it...So it couldn’t have been Trowa to leave the video...Quatre could just stuff it into the trash can and never see it and look for the sadistic sicko that wanted to trash his decision with breaking it off with Trowa, or...he could...
A burning and hatefully ugly curiosity had him stuffing the box into the trash can, and opening the video container. The tape was very plain, with nothing on the label, but the rolled tape inside indicated a quite lengthy presentation.
He wanted to get sick; he wanted to throw the video away; smash it into a thousand pieces; burn it; sell it for shoe money; invest–but then again, his curiosity about the entire thing was a stronger force.
All these feelings, thoughts and realizations made him wonder how Trowa performed with the woman...Was he seriously into the woman, enough to display his own weaknesses and vulnerabilities that Quatre had found out through their own lengthy naughty sessions? Did he take his time in learning the woman’s body as he did with Quatre’s? Did he fuck long and hard, making those lusty grunting noises, or did he fuck slow and easy, with light moans and whimpers? Did the woman appreciate him? Did Trowa appreciate the woman?
He made a strangled sound in his throat, dropping the entire thing on top of the trash receptacle, then stared down at the offensive thing. He didn’t want to know, but then again...Hands shaking slightly, he plucked the video and its case out from the trash and stuffed it into his pocket. He hurried out from the bathroom, wondering who in the hell wanted to make him suffer so much...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“What? A video player?” Felicia gave him a disgusted expression. She was dressed in her pj’s and looked to be in the middle of brushing her long hair. “Dude, those went out along with the dinosaurs, like, sixty years ago...”
“Well, do you know who has one?”
“I guess I could find one somehow...why?”
“I...um...just need one. For...video research. Uh...in my...uh...history class.”
Felicia raised an eyebrow and adjusted her GI Joe slipper. “Dude, you so can’t lie. You don’t have a history class. Anyway, I’ll find one for you. Give me a couple of days cuz they’re so ancient and outdated...’k?”
“Thanks.”
“Later.R 21;
Quatre left her room, and fingered the video tape in his pocket. He walked back to his room and shut the door behind him. Heaving a heavy sigh, he walked over to his bed and slid the offensive material underneath his mattress. Then, he flopped down onto his bed and stare out into the darkness, hugging his pillow. While thousands upon thousands of negating concerns and hesitations filled his mind, he found himself looking forward to actually watching the thing, just to...torture himself, perhaps. He just wanted to see if Trowa behaved differently toward that person than he would with him.
He seriously hoped that Trowa hadn’t, that this was just basic animal fucking. Just the basic needs of a man and woman being fulfilled. But he felt sick thinking about it, knowing Trowa’s infidelity was resting just underneath his mattress, awaiting his viewing. He wasn’t sure how he was going to feel afterward–perhaps sick and disgusted, perhaps appreciative and aroused, perhaps just plain furious...whichever, he would find out whenever he could...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
That Tuesday morning, Duo was grinning cheesily to himself as he made his way to his first morning class. Hiiro was already there, booting up his computer, and looking sexily involved with his work. Duo jumped into the seat next to him, grinning. Hiiro looked at him warily, frowning.
“Guess what?” Duo asked, reaching into his bag, and withdrawing a folded up letter. “Guess what this is?!”
“I give up.”
“You didn’t even try!” Duo exclaimed, frowning at him. He flapped the letter around with some agitation.
“Your will?”
“Har, har, har, you joker...No. This is from Dawna...that chick I went out with the other night?”
Hiiro looked bored, eyeing the letter with some distaste. “And...?”
“Dude...she wants to go steady. I was considering it. I mean, she’s cool, she’s rich–of course–and she’s hot. She also has the personality that I find accepting.”
Hiiro stared at him with some vague expression as Duo opened the letter and re-read the content with a grin. He then shifted in his seat, giving an uncomfortable stare as Duo turned to him again. “So? What do you think?”
“You’re asking me my opinion on a girl? Wanting to go steady? You’ve had one date with her,” Hiiro pointed out. “Not exactly steady material.”
“So?! What, the last relationship I had was freshmen year! I think I can totally commit for the next few months...besides, she’s cool and all...and it ain’t like I’m looking at anyone else..kind of just...I don’t know. But I think I can do this.”
Hiiro rolled his eyes, facing his computer as Duo fiddled with the letter, refolding it and setting it aside. “Besides, she’s a senior!” he hissed, as if Hiiro needed reminding. “She can hook me up with a lot of things!”
“You’re almost of legal drinking age, anyway, Duo. And you’ve got a fake ID. What else do you need to be hooked up with?”
Duo lifted an eyebrow. “Gee, Hiiro, that’s a really cold tone you’re using. Something up? Did you want Dawna?”
“...No! I’m just saying, Duo...that should be your own decision. Why should I be involved?”
“Because you’re my best friend!”
“Solo’s your best friend, Duo.”
“Okay, you’re my second best friend in my class! Still! I would rather I have someone else’s trusted opinion in making such a big decision!” Duo whined, stuffing the letter into his bag. “C’mon, Hiiro! It ain’t like I’m with anyone, anyway!”
“You want to go out with that girl, you go out with her, then! No one’s holding you back!” Hiiro snapped.
Duo’s eyebrows rose, and he gave Hiiro a solid stare. “All right, what’s your problem?”
“I don’t fucking have a problem, Duo. Just...go out with your little cheerleader. See how much fun it can be.”
“...Damn, man. What climbed up your ass?” Duo muttered, turning away from him and switching on his computer.
Hiiro scowled at him and returned his attention to his monitor. They were both in a bad mood for the rest of the day, and Duo rejected Dawna’s offer.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“Here ya go!” Felicia said with a delighted smile, presenting the brand-new (but old) video cassette player into Quatre’s arms. The blond looked at it with some discomfort as she walked into his room. “I can set my portable tv in here...it’s only a flat twenty-four inch screen...do you want me to set it up?”
He looked at her in disgust. Sometimes, she made him feel so un-manly...“I’m sure I can do that on my own, thanks.”
“Okay! And don’t worry about paying me back. I’m sure that was like, five dollars, or something. Hey, what are you gonna watch? Some old Jem videos?! Wha-hah-hah!” she laughed as she rifled through his toiletries.
“...You’re seriously deranged,” he snapped, slapping her hand as she began digging into his nightstand drawer. “And who’s ‘Jem’?”
“I dunno. I never watched cartoons in my youth. I merely got hooked onto more classier things, just Venture Brothers and Harvey Birdman...and some Home Videos...and Family Guy...and...ooh...gettin’ all turned on here!”
“You’re so disgusting. Here, go get your tv.”
“Right-o.” Felicia left his room in a hurry, and Quatre ripped open the package, revealing the new video cassette player. He grumbled about being behind in times, because back in Laramie, he was in possession of a player, and there had been nothing wrong about it. Now everything was holographic this, and DVD that...Felicia returned with a very flat folding tv screen, and she set that up on his desk, positioning it so that he could view his tape from his bed. Together, they hooked up the vcr and changed channels, and Quatre looked at her nervously as his gut twisted with both anticipation and foreboding.
She looked at him, raised her eyebrows in question, then proceeded to ask something. Fortunately, her cell phone rang, and she yelled a goodbye and left his room. Quatre, taking a lot of precautions, slipped his desk chair underneath his door handle, so that whomever knew his passcode from outside couldn’t enter anyway.
Then, knees shaking, he licked his lips nervously and walked over to his bed. Hands shaking, he withdrew the wretched video from underneath his mattress and slid it into the vcr. Sitting down on his bed, he pressed ‘play’, and turned down the volume on the tv. After multitudes of previews for other various pornos, and some lanky-danky interviews with some actress and actors from Spain (it was all in Spanish), the main event of the tape’s description began.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Trowa was walking back to the dormitory, looking at his new cellphone with some delight because it was brand-new, quite spiffy, and he felt pretty good about his purchase, certain he’d gotten a great deal from it. Dressed in casual clothing–baggy pants barely held up by his favorite belt with a marijuana leaf, oversized sweater shirt, beanie, and an oversized leather jacket (gift from Catherine)–Trowa was going to make his way to the art section of the building to finish up a new painting he’d done when his roommate called his name, running at him from the gym.
Trowa felt a little annoyed at the guy–Jared was nice and all, it was just...just hearing and seeing him reminded him of “Mr. K” Treize Kushrenada and Gabriel, that femmy goth he’d hit on last year at a party, and both spoke with lisps and carried with them characteristic gay actions, all of which Quatre had found hilarious and mimicked constantly. Because of that, Trowa was always reminded that he wouldn’t be seeing those impressions soon, no matter that they embarrassed him.
“Mrs. Akerman locked up the main arts studio,” Jared said breathlessly, dressed casually in a pair of overalls and a large camouflage coat that was fashionably thin and form fitting. Trowa wondered why he was in the gym–Jared had claimed that he’d dislike sports and jocks. “She wanted me to tell you that she’d be back in the morning, around forty-thirty if you want to come in.”
Great. Well, there went those plans. Trowa sighed, nodded as he turned to walk away. He began inputting certain numbers into his phone as he decided to catch some random television show in the lobby.
“Is that a new cell?” Jared asked, keeping up with him. “Oh, wow! A Moto! Those are way neat.”
“...I just liked this flip-design...”
“Oh, maybe you shouldn’t have gotten that. See, because these wires here, they’ll wear out in time, what with all that constantly flipping open and shutting.”
Trowa frowned as he studied this. The salesman certainly hadn’t brought that aspect up.
“And, with these designs, you can expect a lower range of transmission in various areas, even with that expensive plan you probably paid for...”
“You know a lot about cells?”
“Yeah. I go through them like mad,” Jared confessed with a sheepish shrug. “They–oh. Oh, it’s Quatre, Trowa. I guess I’ll see you later.”
Trowa looked up from the announcement, and saw Quatre marching over to him. He started to smile when he recognized that darkened expression of murderous intent on his ex’s face.
Ah, shit, what the hell did I do now? was his automatic reaction, Jared hesitating on leaving as Quatre advanced on him. He was dressed for practice, his Nike bag currently being unslung off his shoulder and used as a swinging weapon as he connected with Trowa’s head.
Jared gave a loud cry of startled surprise as Trowa saw stars, stunned at the violent action.
“You BASTARD!” Quatre shouted, kicking his shin. Trowa jumped away in an effort to defend himself, clearly caught off guard. “It was bad enough you had to pull this bullshit, but then you fucking BRAG about your goddamn actions?!”
“WHAT?!” Trowa shouted, avoiding a punch in the gut. “What are you talking about?!”
“You KNOW what I’m talking about, you fucking dick! You Goddamned fucking piece of ratshit whorish druggie fake nut butthole lying cheating bastard son of a bitch!” came his answer. Trowa had to react fast to avoid a foot to his groin, and then Quatre found pause to open his bag, grab one of his shoes, and hurl it at him. The offending piece bounced off Trowa’s head, the other following suit.
“ARGH! STOP! What the hell are you talking about!?” Trowa roared, ducking when a hurled basketball came his way.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Jared yelled helplessly, running around in a fruitless circle, trying to stop Quatre from his assault without touching him. “I’m telling the guards!”
“You KNOW what I’m talking about, you lying piece of horseshit!” Quatre shouted, picking up his duffle and throwing it at him. “You want to brag about your actions? You left that stupid thing in my room! I know it was you! You’re the only one that can get in!!”
Trowa shoved aside the duffle bag that had become entangled around his neck. “What?!”
“You LIAR! Stop playing dumb!” Quatre roared, punching his arm. Trowa grabbed him into a headlock to prevent any more injury, using his taller frame to overcome the other. But the other wasn’t that easily subdued, and Trowa received a punch in the gut.
He had to grunt–he’d forgotten how hard Quatre could really pack in his punches. He was forced to let the other go while he curled his arms around his stomach, and the other moved away to ready himself for another round.
“Stop hurting him!” Jared yelled, jumping onto Quatre’s back. The dark haired boy was slighter than Quatre, but the blond was an athlete, and thereby stronger than the artish roommate. Quatre reacted to this attack by pulling his head forward and slamming the back of his head against Jared’s face. The other boy howled in pain as he fell from Quatre’s back, the blond whirling on him.
Trowa darted forward and roughly pulled the suddenly psycho away from the cowering boy, and heard shouts of surprise and warning from the nearby sidewalk leading to the gym. Glancing over, he saw a small group of ball players that were heading over to practice, and a few were rushing over to investigate.
Jared leapt at Quatre with a enraged roar. Quatre easily deflected Jared’s attack, and knocked him to the ground, moving to start kicking and punching at him. Triton Bloom was there in a laughing instant, grabbing Quatre’s arms and hauling him roughly from the other boy. He then began shoving and pushing the blond away from the scene while Felicia whirled on Trowa.
“What the fuck is going on?!” she roared, Trowa whirling to see that Triton was forcefully dragging a screaming and raging Quatre into the gym. Then he whirled to face her as she gathered up all the things that Quatre had thrown at him earlier.
“Don’t you fucking pull that shit on me!” Trowa screamed at her, pointing. “You did this! You set me up!”
“What?!” she roared. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”
“You gave him that video! Fucking cunt! Bitch!”
“I DIDN’T GIVE HIM SHIT!” Felicia shouted, stuffing everything into Quatre’s duffle bag. “You ass fuck! How dare you accuse me of shit! I didn’t do anything!”
“Fucking freak! You bitch! I fucking hate you!”
“Hate me all you want, you deluded psycho! It’s your fault in the first damn place! Get out of my face, four eyes!” she then raged, shoving Jared hard as he didn’t climb out of her path fast enough. The roommate slammed hard into the sidewalk as she hurried away, a group of players laughing at the entire thing. Security guards, minutes too late, hurried over to see what was happening. Trowa straightened his clothing with a huff, then hurried over to see if Jared was all right.
“Don’t say anything,” he then snarled as the guards reached them, and Jared looked momentarily shocked and annoyed, but nodded quickly. He then produced Trowa’s new cellphone from his jacket pocket, where he’d picked it up before trying to intervene. Trowa took it with a gracious thanks.
“What’s going on here?!” one of the guards demanded, noting Jared’s bloody nose.
“A lover’s spat,” Trowa replied quickly, picking up Jared’s glasses and handing them to him. They were bent and broken, the lens needing to be replaced. “He just broke up with his girlfriend, and she didn’t take it too lightly.”
“You want to press charges?” another officer asked, an uncertain expression directed to Jared.
He shook his head, his face flaming red at the implication of Felicia being his girlfriend. “No. T-that’s all right.”
“I’ll take him to the nurse’s station,” Trowa said, helping lead Jared away. As he did so, he looked around himself, searching for any outside cameras that may have caught the entire thing. As such, he hoped that it hadn’t–he wouldn’t want Quatre to lose his position on the team. No matter that the entire thing was bizarre–!
How in the world did Quatre get a tape?! He had to wonder about that furiously as he led Jared to the main building, where the nurse’s station was open until ten. Someone had wanted to hurt him in that way, and Trowa was very mortified and ashamed that his ex had seen the content. No matter that Quatre should NOT have seen it in the first place–he knew what it contained, so it was his own damn fault for viewing it! But still....someone had given him that video tape with bad intention, and Trowa wanted to know who so he could pound the offending person’s face in.
Quatre’s reaction to the incident was justifiable–there was a mixture of furiousness, humility and quite a lot of hurt in that expression Trowa first saw when the blond had approached him. Trowa felt his stomach curl with apprehension, wondering if their tentative friendship, held so delicately in the first place, was even going to stick after this.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“You need to calm down, man!” Triton hissed, as Quatre kicked and shoved at him, trying to get out of his grip. Triton had to strain his pretty surprising strength to keep the blond from escaping and running out there to finish his previous job. It was pretty exciting when he found himself having to break up another one of the blond’s enraged moods–that meant he got to touch him a lot. “CALM DOWN!”
“Shit, what the fuck?!” Paul exclaimed as they entered the locker room, where he’d been changing. He looked from a pissed-off Quatre to a smirking Triton. “What’s going on?!”
“CALM DOWN!” Triton then roared as Quatre began cursing at him heatedly. “You’re going to get kicked off the team if Ramos hears about you fighting!!”
“Who was he fighting?!” Paul asked as Triton suddenly received an idea and dragged the fighting boy over to the showers. Quatre calmed down enough to see what was going on, and heaved a good kick into Triton’s thigh, giving him a dead leg.
“ASSHOLE! GODDAMN ASSHOLE! FUCKING LOSER!” Quatre then raged, stomping around maniacally as Triton groaned and whimpered, holding his thigh.
Paul looked in bewilderment from one boy to the other, blinking. This sure was a strange school, with a lot of excitable people...he hadn’t had a boring day yet.
“Anybody naked?! I’m coming in!!” came a female voice, and Felicia popped into view. Paul was lucky he’d changed as she hurried over to Quatre, who was venting his rage on the poor toilet stalls. She turned and looked quite sheepish as she changed her mind in trying to approach him. “Damn...he’s so fucking pissed...”
“What the fuck happened, anyway?!” Paul demanded, wincing at the sound of metal protesting under a particularly hard kick.
“We don’t know, dude. We don’t know,” Felicia said solemnly, dropping Quatre’s bag on a nearby bench. She looked at Triton curiously, the senior crouched on the floor, grimacing in pain. “You passing a kidney stone?”
“I’m holding my THIGH, idiot!”
“Ah. Same place. Well, I’ll distract Ramos, ‘k? Get him all pretty for practice!” Felicia said, running out from the locker room, nearly slamming into Brian and Derrick as they came in to change.
Triton rose unsteadily, wincing as he moved his leg about tenderly. He then frowned as Quatre finished his raging, breathing heavily, looking ready to punch anything that moved. Paul looked amused, grinning as he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for something to happen.
“What’s going on?” Derrick asked, dropping his bag near Quatre’s. He then noticed the enraged blond. “What’s your problem?”
“NOTHING!”
Derrick winced. “Well, that sounds like a damn problem...er...you break up with your girlfriend?”
“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! SHUT UP!”
He gave a startled expression at the snarl, and frowned. “Hey, I was just–”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Triton said, intervening before it got really hectic. “Look...whatever it was that set you off, leave it off court. It wouldn’t be right if you took it out on us, all right, Winner?”
“Fuck you, asshole! Why do you always have to interfere?!”
He winced as Derrick and Brian frowned at the raging attitude. He tried again, the natural peacemaker.
“I’m sure that whatever it was was extremely pissing...but you need to keep it under control, man. We didn’t even get to play our first game yet, and you want to fuck up your entire season by getting into trouble? Keep it on the D-L, man. Take it out on the court. Or let Ramos know that you aren’t feeling well and can’t come to practice. Whatever it is you’re pissed about will fuck you over in the end if you take it out on the rest of us.”
Quatre found reason in that lengthy speech, and took another deep breath. It just wouldn’t do if he was kicked off the team–basketball was his passion. He took a few more deep breaths, calming himself, trying to put away that long four hour sex session his ex had with that man-woman and the accompanying emotions that had come with it. He had a choice to not see the video, and he’d seen it anyway, knowing that it was going to set him off–!
But still, to know that Trowa was bragging about what he’d done with the woman and to know that he hadn’t had a chance with Trowa after being with that woman-thing, cutting out a pretty chunk of his own self-confidence and assurance in his own actions in bed really pulling him down. Rational thinking had him realizing that the woman was paid to have and give, but the way things had gone down in that video–! It was more than enough to hack a sizeable chunk in his own self-confidence in that aspect. He felt totally wretched.
He had millions of emotions and thoughts whirling around, and he knew that this wasn’t the right place to take it out on. Glumly, he let his shoulders slump, and heard a couple of pent up exhalations being released from those watching him curiously.
“Good job, man. Good job,” Triton continued in that pleasant baritone of his, grinning. From the corner of his eye, he saw Paul giving mocking bows in his direction, praising him for a job well-done. “Now, let’s get out there before Ramos gets it up the ass that something’s gone down, all right?”
Quatre glumly moved away from his spot, where he’d kicked on the various stalls and lockers nearby, and looked at the others.
“Sorry for cussing you all out,” he muttered, rather sheepishly. “It was nothing you guys did.”
Brian shrugged, Derrick nodded, and Paul gestured with his hands that it was all right. Quatre then walked out from the locker room, slamming the door behind him.
Paul looked at Triton with some new respect. “You’re the man!”
“Absolutely!” Triton agreed, flexing one toned arm.
“You do this all the time?” Brian asked with a frown.
“Yeah...man, it’s worth it in the end. You think that we wouldn’t need him, but we do. We haven’t done enough scrimmaging and playing for you to know that, but we need his ass on our team,” Triton said, shrugging. “My efforts are well-worth the outcome.”
“Whatever, man!” Paul laughed. “You just want to hit it!”
“...Okay, that too. But ball comes first.”
“You’re gay?” Brian asked, rather appalled.
“I prefer to think of myself as an equal opportunity lover,” Triton sniffed. “I give both genders a chance.”
“That’s...gross.”
“Th at’s your thinking.”
“...Don’t bring that fag shit to me, then.”
“Like I would. You’re so smelly. Use some more of that deodorant before you come out, all right? Don’t mow us down with your stank.”
“Is...Winner...too?” Derrick asked, just as appalled.
“And that matters on the court, why?”
“It’s just...I’m not...dude, I don’t like homos. I’m sorry.”
Triton shrugged. “You can’t help being what you are. Just don’t take that shit out on us and fuck up our game.”
He then walked out, carrying Quatre’s bag with him. Brian and Derrick looked at each other, squirming uncomfortably with the fact that they were playing on the same team as two others that preferred their own gender.
Paul shrugged. “Whatever.”
“You’re cool with that?” Brian asked, looking at him suspiciously.
“It’s not like they’re diseases or anything, man. As long as they’re playing good on court, what does it matter if they’re gay?”
“It’s just...gross. I don’t want them hitting on me.”
“Like they would, Dolt.”
Brian looked at him suspiciously, frowning. “You gay, too?”
“NO. I’m not. But I find no reason to dislike another person because of their preference. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Paul said, slipping on his armbands and walking out from the room.
Brian and Derrick exchanged sour expressions and finished up their changing, leaving the locker room with annoyed moods.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Wednesday, Trowa found himself the object of numerous murderous glares from his ex, and he couldn’t help but grow entirely angry with it. He knew he hadn’t sent that video tape to Quatre, and whoever did really wanted to piss him off. But who the hell was it?! He felt helplessly angry himself, unsure of what to do in this situation. He couldn’t talk to Quatre at this state–probably the next encounter would have Trowa digging his own head out of the trash receptacle, where Quatre had once threatened to behead him and slam dunk his head into. And at the moment, the blond looked murderous to do so.
Trowa was pissed at the entire thing–their friendship thingy wasn’t going very well after this stupid thing. He went through his entire day of classes fuming, wanting to wrap his hands around the neck of the person that did this. He was so sure that it was Felicia–she was always trying to get Quatre to do something that would be against Trowa. Felicia knew the codes to various doors, and she had her connections in various things. She could easily obtain that video and use it to get Quatre to easily hate him even more, and the fact that this was happening was insane!
He was sure that the girl had feelings for the blond–why else would she go through such trouble to keep them apart?!
He glared at her whenever he saw her, but the girl was ignoring him obviously. He was glad she and Drake weren’t speaking–she deserved it thoroughly for pulling this bullshit act of hers.
His fingers curled as he walked back to his room among the crowd of students that were eager to change out of their uniforms and into more casual wear for the rest of the day. He’d found out that the team was going to be playing Duncan Jones Military Academy on Friday night, at eight-thirty, and he fully planned on being there. No matter that this incident happened, he was going to watch each and every one of his ex’s games and be there to see if he’d connect or get with anyone else.
Trowa desperately hoped that Quatre didn’t–he didn’t want his blond with anyone else. He wouldn’t be able to bear that sort of thing. Maybe he’d take it into all his power to keep anyone from hooking up with the blond, and if that meant using devious choices in sabotage and rumors once more, then by God, he was going to!
Then he had to shake his head in disbelief over his thoughts–he was so deranged...
“Like A Stone” Audio Slave
Trowa returned to his room, feeling a little melancholy, but a little more uplifted than he had earlier. Quatre had agreed to be friends with him, and if they couldn’t be what they were, well, this would be close enough. Friends were better than nothing at all. He saw that Jared was already in bed and was asleep, so he quietly kicked off his shoes and sank down onto his bed, belly first. Staring sightlessly at the floor, he reflected on his decision and the outcome, and was actually pleased about it. He shifted on his bed, reaching into his nightstand for the comforting presence of Quatre’s wristbands, and found nothing. He sat up on his bed and peered into the drawer, seeing that they weren’t there anymore. With a puzzled frown, sure that he’d put them in there when he’d taken them off the other day, Trowa glanced around his half of the room and decided that he’d look for them in the morning. He resettled into his position and fell asleep.
The next morning, after he’d showered and gotten ready for the day, he began searching for those wristbands. Not finding them, he sighed heavily and began digging through his various things for them. He really wanted them, and not being able to find them was extremely frustrating. He also wanted to talk to Catherine today, about that letter Une had sent him, and see about obtaining that money. Not that he was in a bind, but having the money would sure help out.
He was sure that he was just lowering himself to play the part of a paid whore, but, hell–it was money made from his participation, so why couldn’t he have it? Just as long as he wouldn’t have to deal with the woman...
“Jared,” he said, looking away from his box of toiletries, and addressing his roommate. “Have you see these white and yellow wristbands? They had the word ‘Nike’ on them and were on my nightstand.”
“No, Trowa, I haven’t,” Jared replied, lacing up his shoes. “But then again, Chad told me that Quatre had come in here the other day.”
Trowa looked up sharply from his box. “What? Why?”
“I don’t know. But he left with a bag full of stuff...” Jared shrugged as he straightened.
Trowa stared off into the distance, wondering why Quatre would trouble himself to come into the room and take all his things. That kind of hurt. It made him feel a little oddly that he would do so. Well, at least he knew where they were. He also wondered what else Quatre had taken. He glanced around his room, then opened his section of the closet, to look for that hooded sweater the blond had given him last year. It was gone, as well. Trowa frowned at the loss, and clung to one of his extra blazers for some steady support as he glanced at his section of the closet, and bent to find his sketchbooks. Looking through there, he saw that each and every piece he’d ever done of Quatre was gone as well. He shut his book and shook his head, feeling more angry than annoyed.
Still...perhaps he shouldn’t be feeling that way. Maybe Quatre had been so hurt that he felt that by removing all of his presence within Trowa’s possession would aid the break-up even more. He set his sketchbooks aside and saw that Quatre had even taken back the gifts that he’d given him over the time they spent together–that box of charcoal pencils, that rubber eraser, the tube of lube that had never been used since Trowa had left for Spain, that stick of lip balm, that copy of Good Charlotte’s newest album, the stack of newspaper articles that he’d clipped featuring Quatre’s prowess on the court...everything was gone. As if Quatre hadn’t existed!
He sighed, straightening and shutting the door.
Well, that’s that, I suppose, he thought as he sat at the edge of his bed and pulled on his shoes. Jared left moments later, and Trowa was left alone. He stared forlornly at his nightstand. It made sense for one person to take back all that they had given, but the subject of the matter was that he was given this stuff... why would Quatre want to take it all back? Well, that was his decision, then. Nothing Trowa could do about it. Even if he replaced the items, it wouldn’t be the same.
He rose from his bed and grabbed his bag, sighing heavily. He hoped this friend situation worked...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Tentatively, things worked out well. In Trowa’s opinion. He had Catherine and her lawyer pore over the letter he’d been given, and while Catherine was straight out furious that Amelie had used him to get to her, she was a little calmed by the fact that Amelie was willing to split the profit with him. So, they worked on that, and Catherine worked on ways in which she could legally wring Amelie’s neck. Trowa’s bank account grew with the profit that poured into it, and while that was dealt with, he began noticing queer glances tossed his way from certain classmates. The video must have made Stateside, because those looks were either filled with awe or curiosity. No one questioned him about it, and no one made any comment about it.
But he noticed a certain interest from people that would have normally ignored him, and a few bolder souls actually approached him in a friendly manner.
It made him severely uncomfortable–he wasn’t going to let this attention go to his head. He didn’t want it. And the thought that people knew what he did in bed, what he sounded like in moments of passion, what he fucking looked like naked for Christ sake, made him totally self-conscious of himself. Good thing the weather was very chilly, because he’d taken to wearing bigger clothes than normal just so that he wouldn’t feel those eyes caressing and studying him from his more fitting ones.
November slowly moved towards December, and while Trowa was aching to talk to Quatre the way he normally had (without relationship innuendos and such), he took this process slow. It took all he had to not approach him constantly, and took dire measures in stalking the other throughout his progress in both basketball and friends. He was more than annoyed that Felicia was wasting no time in setting Quatre up with various people, but then again, he was more than delighted to know that Quatre was not ready to delve into the dating scene quite yet. There was a lot of relief and some selfish satisfaction that Quatre could not see anybody else yet.
Meanwhile, he worked on staying away from the drugs (though withdrawal was a bitch, and reminding himself of the reason why was enough to keep him going), declining polite offers of dates from various boys and girls, and working on his art once more. It seemed there was a period when he wasn’t interested in doing what he had found enjoyment in, and it showed in his paintings, ceramics, and sketches. Like typing, it took a while after a long hiatus to get the right touch.
But as the days went by, he found himself improving, and found himself not hurting as much whenever he saw Quatre a distance away from him. He wondered how the other was handling this situation, and could just feel the vibes that came from him whenever Trowa managed a very small talk session between classes, or assignments. They could still work well together, exchange meaningless words (“Got the assignment?” “Yeah, it was hard.”), and do all the things acquaintances could do. But it was hell–all Trowa wanted to do was return back to what they had and behaved as they had.
And it all still hurt–most of it was gone, but it still hurt.
The only way he could get through the day was talking small talk with Quatre and losing himself in his art. It helped a lot.
The second Saturday in December was the day the basketball schedule came out, and Trowa took a copy from the main office’s billboard so that he could see each and every one of Quatre’s games–last year, he’d been so against seeing his games, and Quatre had pestered him constantly to come watch...something that didn’t seem too difficult to do now that Trowa thought about it. Quatre had wanted his support and his presence while he played, and before, Trowa hadn’t wanted to because he didn’t like following the sheep. But now...now he would make each and every one of these games, even if he had to take hostages to do so.
Their first tourney was in Roseville, as it had been last year. They’d play a few of the schools within New Park City and beyond, get their reputation up for the oncoming season, and the week after that was an away game at Balkin Public. Trowa licked his lips as he wondered how he was going to get to Roseville, and figured on hitching a ride from someone. He folded and tucked that paper away, and went to look for Drake. Drake always knew what to do in situations like these...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“Oh, so now, when he all breaks up with your stank ass, you wanna be all lovey-dovey!” Drake sneered around his cigarette, then jumped up and down without reason. “Man! You fuckin’ suck!”
Trowa sighed. “Look, I was just asking. Can you find me a ride, or not?”
“Yeah, I probably can...say, what’s this about you and a porno everyone’s talkin’ about? Is that why ya’ll broke up?”
“I’ll pay whoever’s driving...money’s no problem,” Trowa continued, ignoring the question.
Drake grinned, removing the cigarette from his mouth. “I know someone that will. Hell, like I care about that video, anyway. I don’t wanna see your naked ass. That’s fuckin’ sick. Anyway, I’ll call you.”
Trowa blinked. “I don’t have a cell. I need to get a new one.”
“When?”
“I don’t know. The tourney starts next Friday...I don’t know when their first game starts. I’ll find out then. Why don’t you ask Felicia if–”
“I don’t talk to that bitch, man,” Drake interrupted, looking murderously betrayed. “Fuckin’ hypocrite. I don’t want to share company with fuckin’ hypocrites! She pissed me off! Talkin’ all that talk, then goin’ and doing this bullshit...fuckin’ apple. For real! Red on the outside, white on the in.”
Trowa raised an eyebrow, and fiddled with his own cigarette pack. ‘Sounds like you’re really pissed,” he commented. “Like you guys were married, or something.”
“Fuck that bullshit! She’s probably my cousin! We’re all related through some happen-stance...anyway, I don’t talk to her. Traitor...anyway, find out, then. Then give me your number when ya get yer phone. Then I’ll call you.”
“Cool. See ya.”
“Later.”
Trowa turned and walked off, heading toward the arts section of the main school building. Drake’s vehemence in Felicia’s apparent betrayal suggested something else, but he wasn’t to question the matter. He never ever for once in his life seen those two display any sort of romantic feelings for each other, and it would be seriously ickle if they had. They were like brother and sister (brother?), and anything else would be just plain creepy.
Pushing that thought out of his head, he smoked his last cigarette and figured on buying his new cell phone sometime during the week. Meanwhile, he knew Quatre’s class schedule today, and figured on making sure his blond got to class on time before he headed to his art class.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Later that night, Quatre had just finished up his nightly training session when he bent at the waist, panting heavily. His knees felt really shaky, and he suspected that it wasn’t because he’d pushed himself as hard as he normally did–his eating habits really had to change. Having lost all that weight in a non-healthy manner left him a little more than weak during each session, and this depression over his break-up with Trowa really changed his appetite as well. It was reflecting all of a sudden in his performance–suddenly he couldn’t run as fast, shoot as hard, rebound as strong, or even keep up with the others when he’d normally be one of the faster runners out there.
His entire body felt weak, and he wasn’t sure if he should quite move yet. He lifted his head, seeing the gym door close silently, with no real indication that someone was there. That was happening a lot, lately, and it was really bugging him. He knew his other stalkers were more than likely to announce their presence through their own various ways, but he had the creepy feeling that someone was out to get him. He hadn’t accepted any more gifts from his usual admirers after that incident with Colin (who blamed him for his being sick), and though the others denied their involvement in the incident, Quatre was still cautious. He found himself able to walk, and did so gingerly toward his shoes. Sitting down on the bench, he sighed heavily, wishing he and Trowa at least had break-up sex or something, because he was seriously horny, and getting it with his hand wasn’t very fun. He untied his shoes and set them aside, wincing at the smell of his feet.
“Wow, no wonder I’m not getting any,” he muttered, picking up his non-court shoes and stuffing them on his feet. He rose, shouted with surprised pain, and sat back down, jerking his shoes off to find that someone had taped tacks inside.
“WHAT THE FUCK?!” he screamed, throwing his arms about. He ripped the tacks out of his shoes, stuffed them back on his feet after a cautious glance inside, then grabbed his things, hurrying out from the gym. Pissed off that someone was doing this to him, he raced toward the dormitory, then headed up to his room. He opened the door and slammed his way inside, hurling his court shoes about and dropping his ball on his bed. He then caught sight of something on his desk, and stared at it suspiciously.
An odd, creepy sensation crawled up his spine as he glanced around his room. So, whoever was leaving these things behind knew his passcode...he wondered for the millionth time if it were Trowa, exacting his revenge on the break-up. Anger raged inside of him, and he kicked his desk chair aside, wondering why his ex would lower himself to such levels!
Was he really such a child?!
He grabbed the package from his desk, and looked down to see that it had his name neatly printed on top. He didn’t want to open it, for fear of something even more evil within, and he stomped out of his room, heading toward the bathroom. Walking inside, he stuffed the package into the trash can, then hesitated. There were some guys using the shower, and their voices were filled with laughter and mirth, and none hadn’t seen him...
He pulled the package out from the trash can, and with some hesitation, ripped the packing tape off the top. He opened it, pointing it toward the wall, lest he were splashed with something grody, like urine or feces, or something equally as gross, and saw nothing happen. With slow movement, he tipped the box so he could look inside, and saw a very plain video inside.
With some curiosity and mixed horror, he took the video out, the cover plain white and nondescript. The title, “Mrs. Robinson”, had him stilling in paralyzation as he remember hearing that from Catherine that night at the Hilton. So...was this the video made of his ex and his lover in Spain? Who would send it to him? He didn’t want it...Trowa wouldn’t give him this video. It couldn’t have been Trowa. Trowa was ashamed of the video and would have gone through great measures to prevent its release, but the Queen of Porn that was Lady Une would find her ways around it...So it couldn’t have been Trowa to leave the video...Quatre could just stuff it into the trash can and never see it and look for the sadistic sicko that wanted to trash his decision with breaking it off with Trowa, or...he could...
A burning and hatefully ugly curiosity had him stuffing the box into the trash can, and opening the video container. The tape was very plain, with nothing on the label, but the rolled tape inside indicated a quite lengthy presentation.
He wanted to get sick; he wanted to throw the video away; smash it into a thousand pieces; burn it; sell it for shoe money; invest–but then again, his curiosity about the entire thing was a stronger force.
All these feelings, thoughts and realizations made him wonder how Trowa performed with the woman...Was he seriously into the woman, enough to display his own weaknesses and vulnerabilities that Quatre had found out through their own lengthy naughty sessions? Did he take his time in learning the woman’s body as he did with Quatre’s? Did he fuck long and hard, making those lusty grunting noises, or did he fuck slow and easy, with light moans and whimpers? Did the woman appreciate him? Did Trowa appreciate the woman?
He made a strangled sound in his throat, dropping the entire thing on top of the trash receptacle, then stared down at the offensive thing. He didn’t want to know, but then again...Hands shaking slightly, he plucked the video and its case out from the trash and stuffed it into his pocket. He hurried out from the bathroom, wondering who in the hell wanted to make him suffer so much...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“What? A video player?” Felicia gave him a disgusted expression. She was dressed in her pj’s and looked to be in the middle of brushing her long hair. “Dude, those went out along with the dinosaurs, like, sixty years ago...”
“Well, do you know who has one?”
“I guess I could find one somehow...why?”
“I...um...just need one. For...video research. Uh...in my...uh...history class.”
Felicia raised an eyebrow and adjusted her GI Joe slipper. “Dude, you so can’t lie. You don’t have a history class. Anyway, I’ll find one for you. Give me a couple of days cuz they’re so ancient and outdated...’k?”
“Thanks.”
“Later.R 21;
Quatre left her room, and fingered the video tape in his pocket. He walked back to his room and shut the door behind him. Heaving a heavy sigh, he walked over to his bed and slid the offensive material underneath his mattress. Then, he flopped down onto his bed and stare out into the darkness, hugging his pillow. While thousands upon thousands of negating concerns and hesitations filled his mind, he found himself looking forward to actually watching the thing, just to...torture himself, perhaps. He just wanted to see if Trowa behaved differently toward that person than he would with him.
He seriously hoped that Trowa hadn’t, that this was just basic animal fucking. Just the basic needs of a man and woman being fulfilled. But he felt sick thinking about it, knowing Trowa’s infidelity was resting just underneath his mattress, awaiting his viewing. He wasn’t sure how he was going to feel afterward–perhaps sick and disgusted, perhaps appreciative and aroused, perhaps just plain furious...whichever, he would find out whenever he could...
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
That Tuesday morning, Duo was grinning cheesily to himself as he made his way to his first morning class. Hiiro was already there, booting up his computer, and looking sexily involved with his work. Duo jumped into the seat next to him, grinning. Hiiro looked at him warily, frowning.
“Guess what?” Duo asked, reaching into his bag, and withdrawing a folded up letter. “Guess what this is?!”
“I give up.”
“You didn’t even try!” Duo exclaimed, frowning at him. He flapped the letter around with some agitation.
“Your will?”
“Har, har, har, you joker...No. This is from Dawna...that chick I went out with the other night?”
Hiiro looked bored, eyeing the letter with some distaste. “And...?”
“Dude...she wants to go steady. I was considering it. I mean, she’s cool, she’s rich–of course–and she’s hot. She also has the personality that I find accepting.”
Hiiro stared at him with some vague expression as Duo opened the letter and re-read the content with a grin. He then shifted in his seat, giving an uncomfortable stare as Duo turned to him again. “So? What do you think?”
“You’re asking me my opinion on a girl? Wanting to go steady? You’ve had one date with her,” Hiiro pointed out. “Not exactly steady material.”
“So?! What, the last relationship I had was freshmen year! I think I can totally commit for the next few months...besides, she’s cool and all...and it ain’t like I’m looking at anyone else..kind of just...I don’t know. But I think I can do this.”
Hiiro rolled his eyes, facing his computer as Duo fiddled with the letter, refolding it and setting it aside. “Besides, she’s a senior!” he hissed, as if Hiiro needed reminding. “She can hook me up with a lot of things!”
“You’re almost of legal drinking age, anyway, Duo. And you’ve got a fake ID. What else do you need to be hooked up with?”
Duo lifted an eyebrow. “Gee, Hiiro, that’s a really cold tone you’re using. Something up? Did you want Dawna?”
“...No! I’m just saying, Duo...that should be your own decision. Why should I be involved?”
“Because you’re my best friend!”
“Solo’s your best friend, Duo.”
“Okay, you’re my second best friend in my class! Still! I would rather I have someone else’s trusted opinion in making such a big decision!” Duo whined, stuffing the letter into his bag. “C’mon, Hiiro! It ain’t like I’m with anyone, anyway!”
“You want to go out with that girl, you go out with her, then! No one’s holding you back!” Hiiro snapped.
Duo’s eyebrows rose, and he gave Hiiro a solid stare. “All right, what’s your problem?”
“I don’t fucking have a problem, Duo. Just...go out with your little cheerleader. See how much fun it can be.”
“...Damn, man. What climbed up your ass?” Duo muttered, turning away from him and switching on his computer.
Hiiro scowled at him and returned his attention to his monitor. They were both in a bad mood for the rest of the day, and Duo rejected Dawna’s offer.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“Here ya go!” Felicia said with a delighted smile, presenting the brand-new (but old) video cassette player into Quatre’s arms. The blond looked at it with some discomfort as she walked into his room. “I can set my portable tv in here...it’s only a flat twenty-four inch screen...do you want me to set it up?”
He looked at her in disgust. Sometimes, she made him feel so un-manly...“I’m sure I can do that on my own, thanks.”
“Okay! And don’t worry about paying me back. I’m sure that was like, five dollars, or something. Hey, what are you gonna watch? Some old Jem videos?! Wha-hah-hah!” she laughed as she rifled through his toiletries.
“...You’re seriously deranged,” he snapped, slapping her hand as she began digging into his nightstand drawer. “And who’s ‘Jem’?”
“I dunno. I never watched cartoons in my youth. I merely got hooked onto more classier things, just Venture Brothers and Harvey Birdman...and some Home Videos...and Family Guy...and...ooh...gettin’ all turned on here!”
“You’re so disgusting. Here, go get your tv.”
“Right-o.” Felicia left his room in a hurry, and Quatre ripped open the package, revealing the new video cassette player. He grumbled about being behind in times, because back in Laramie, he was in possession of a player, and there had been nothing wrong about it. Now everything was holographic this, and DVD that...Felicia returned with a very flat folding tv screen, and she set that up on his desk, positioning it so that he could view his tape from his bed. Together, they hooked up the vcr and changed channels, and Quatre looked at her nervously as his gut twisted with both anticipation and foreboding.
She looked at him, raised her eyebrows in question, then proceeded to ask something. Fortunately, her cell phone rang, and she yelled a goodbye and left his room. Quatre, taking a lot of precautions, slipped his desk chair underneath his door handle, so that whomever knew his passcode from outside couldn’t enter anyway.
Then, knees shaking, he licked his lips nervously and walked over to his bed. Hands shaking, he withdrew the wretched video from underneath his mattress and slid it into the vcr. Sitting down on his bed, he pressed ‘play’, and turned down the volume on the tv. After multitudes of previews for other various pornos, and some lanky-danky interviews with some actress and actors from Spain (it was all in Spanish), the main event of the tape’s description began.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Trowa was walking back to the dormitory, looking at his new cellphone with some delight because it was brand-new, quite spiffy, and he felt pretty good about his purchase, certain he’d gotten a great deal from it. Dressed in casual clothing–baggy pants barely held up by his favorite belt with a marijuana leaf, oversized sweater shirt, beanie, and an oversized leather jacket (gift from Catherine)–Trowa was going to make his way to the art section of the building to finish up a new painting he’d done when his roommate called his name, running at him from the gym.
Trowa felt a little annoyed at the guy–Jared was nice and all, it was just...just hearing and seeing him reminded him of “Mr. K” Treize Kushrenada and Gabriel, that femmy goth he’d hit on last year at a party, and both spoke with lisps and carried with them characteristic gay actions, all of which Quatre had found hilarious and mimicked constantly. Because of that, Trowa was always reminded that he wouldn’t be seeing those impressions soon, no matter that they embarrassed him.
“Mrs. Akerman locked up the main arts studio,” Jared said breathlessly, dressed casually in a pair of overalls and a large camouflage coat that was fashionably thin and form fitting. Trowa wondered why he was in the gym–Jared had claimed that he’d dislike sports and jocks. “She wanted me to tell you that she’d be back in the morning, around forty-thirty if you want to come in.”
Great. Well, there went those plans. Trowa sighed, nodded as he turned to walk away. He began inputting certain numbers into his phone as he decided to catch some random television show in the lobby.
“Is that a new cell?” Jared asked, keeping up with him. “Oh, wow! A Moto! Those are way neat.”
“...I just liked this flip-design...”
“Oh, maybe you shouldn’t have gotten that. See, because these wires here, they’ll wear out in time, what with all that constantly flipping open and shutting.”
Trowa frowned as he studied this. The salesman certainly hadn’t brought that aspect up.
“And, with these designs, you can expect a lower range of transmission in various areas, even with that expensive plan you probably paid for...”
“You know a lot about cells?”
“Yeah. I go through them like mad,” Jared confessed with a sheepish shrug. “They–oh. Oh, it’s Quatre, Trowa. I guess I’ll see you later.”
Trowa looked up from the announcement, and saw Quatre marching over to him. He started to smile when he recognized that darkened expression of murderous intent on his ex’s face.
Ah, shit, what the hell did I do now? was his automatic reaction, Jared hesitating on leaving as Quatre advanced on him. He was dressed for practice, his Nike bag currently being unslung off his shoulder and used as a swinging weapon as he connected with Trowa’s head.
Jared gave a loud cry of startled surprise as Trowa saw stars, stunned at the violent action.
“You BASTARD!” Quatre shouted, kicking his shin. Trowa jumped away in an effort to defend himself, clearly caught off guard. “It was bad enough you had to pull this bullshit, but then you fucking BRAG about your goddamn actions?!”
“WHAT?!” Trowa shouted, avoiding a punch in the gut. “What are you talking about?!”
“You KNOW what I’m talking about, you fucking dick! You Goddamned fucking piece of ratshit whorish druggie fake nut butthole lying cheating bastard son of a bitch!” came his answer. Trowa had to react fast to avoid a foot to his groin, and then Quatre found pause to open his bag, grab one of his shoes, and hurl it at him. The offending piece bounced off Trowa’s head, the other following suit.
“ARGH! STOP! What the hell are you talking about!?” Trowa roared, ducking when a hurled basketball came his way.
“Stop it! Stop it!” Jared yelled helplessly, running around in a fruitless circle, trying to stop Quatre from his assault without touching him. “I’m telling the guards!”
“You KNOW what I’m talking about, you lying piece of horseshit!” Quatre shouted, picking up his duffle and throwing it at him. “You want to brag about your actions? You left that stupid thing in my room! I know it was you! You’re the only one that can get in!!”
Trowa shoved aside the duffle bag that had become entangled around his neck. “What?!”
“You LIAR! Stop playing dumb!” Quatre roared, punching his arm. Trowa grabbed him into a headlock to prevent any more injury, using his taller frame to overcome the other. But the other wasn’t that easily subdued, and Trowa received a punch in the gut.
He had to grunt–he’d forgotten how hard Quatre could really pack in his punches. He was forced to let the other go while he curled his arms around his stomach, and the other moved away to ready himself for another round.
“Stop hurting him!” Jared yelled, jumping onto Quatre’s back. The dark haired boy was slighter than Quatre, but the blond was an athlete, and thereby stronger than the artish roommate. Quatre reacted to this attack by pulling his head forward and slamming the back of his head against Jared’s face. The other boy howled in pain as he fell from Quatre’s back, the blond whirling on him.
Trowa darted forward and roughly pulled the suddenly psycho away from the cowering boy, and heard shouts of surprise and warning from the nearby sidewalk leading to the gym. Glancing over, he saw a small group of ball players that were heading over to practice, and a few were rushing over to investigate.
Jared leapt at Quatre with a enraged roar. Quatre easily deflected Jared’s attack, and knocked him to the ground, moving to start kicking and punching at him. Triton Bloom was there in a laughing instant, grabbing Quatre’s arms and hauling him roughly from the other boy. He then began shoving and pushing the blond away from the scene while Felicia whirled on Trowa.
“What the fuck is going on?!” she roared, Trowa whirling to see that Triton was forcefully dragging a screaming and raging Quatre into the gym. Then he whirled to face her as she gathered up all the things that Quatre had thrown at him earlier.
“Don’t you fucking pull that shit on me!” Trowa screamed at her, pointing. “You did this! You set me up!”
“What?!” she roared. “What the fuck are you talking about?!”
“You gave him that video! Fucking cunt! Bitch!”
“I DIDN’T GIVE HIM SHIT!” Felicia shouted, stuffing everything into Quatre’s duffle bag. “You ass fuck! How dare you accuse me of shit! I didn’t do anything!”
“Fucking freak! You bitch! I fucking hate you!”
“Hate me all you want, you deluded psycho! It’s your fault in the first damn place! Get out of my face, four eyes!” she then raged, shoving Jared hard as he didn’t climb out of her path fast enough. The roommate slammed hard into the sidewalk as she hurried away, a group of players laughing at the entire thing. Security guards, minutes too late, hurried over to see what was happening. Trowa straightened his clothing with a huff, then hurried over to see if Jared was all right.
“Don’t say anything,” he then snarled as the guards reached them, and Jared looked momentarily shocked and annoyed, but nodded quickly. He then produced Trowa’s new cellphone from his jacket pocket, where he’d picked it up before trying to intervene. Trowa took it with a gracious thanks.
“What’s going on here?!” one of the guards demanded, noting Jared’s bloody nose.
“A lover’s spat,” Trowa replied quickly, picking up Jared’s glasses and handing them to him. They were bent and broken, the lens needing to be replaced. “He just broke up with his girlfriend, and she didn’t take it too lightly.”
“You want to press charges?” another officer asked, an uncertain expression directed to Jared.
He shook his head, his face flaming red at the implication of Felicia being his girlfriend. “No. T-that’s all right.”
“I’ll take him to the nurse’s station,” Trowa said, helping lead Jared away. As he did so, he looked around himself, searching for any outside cameras that may have caught the entire thing. As such, he hoped that it hadn’t–he wouldn’t want Quatre to lose his position on the team. No matter that the entire thing was bizarre–!
How in the world did Quatre get a tape?! He had to wonder about that furiously as he led Jared to the main building, where the nurse’s station was open until ten. Someone had wanted to hurt him in that way, and Trowa was very mortified and ashamed that his ex had seen the content. No matter that Quatre should NOT have seen it in the first place–he knew what it contained, so it was his own damn fault for viewing it! But still....someone had given him that video tape with bad intention, and Trowa wanted to know who so he could pound the offending person’s face in.
Quatre’s reaction to the incident was justifiable–there was a mixture of furiousness, humility and quite a lot of hurt in that expression Trowa first saw when the blond had approached him. Trowa felt his stomach curl with apprehension, wondering if their tentative friendship, held so delicately in the first place, was even going to stick after this.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
“You need to calm down, man!” Triton hissed, as Quatre kicked and shoved at him, trying to get out of his grip. Triton had to strain his pretty surprising strength to keep the blond from escaping and running out there to finish his previous job. It was pretty exciting when he found himself having to break up another one of the blond’s enraged moods–that meant he got to touch him a lot. “CALM DOWN!”
“Shit, what the fuck?!” Paul exclaimed as they entered the locker room, where he’d been changing. He looked from a pissed-off Quatre to a smirking Triton. “What’s going on?!”
“CALM DOWN!” Triton then roared as Quatre began cursing at him heatedly. “You’re going to get kicked off the team if Ramos hears about you fighting!!”
“Who was he fighting?!” Paul asked as Triton suddenly received an idea and dragged the fighting boy over to the showers. Quatre calmed down enough to see what was going on, and heaved a good kick into Triton’s thigh, giving him a dead leg.
“ASSHOLE! GODDAMN ASSHOLE! FUCKING LOSER!” Quatre then raged, stomping around maniacally as Triton groaned and whimpered, holding his thigh.
Paul looked in bewilderment from one boy to the other, blinking. This sure was a strange school, with a lot of excitable people...he hadn’t had a boring day yet.
“Anybody naked?! I’m coming in!!” came a female voice, and Felicia popped into view. Paul was lucky he’d changed as she hurried over to Quatre, who was venting his rage on the poor toilet stalls. She turned and looked quite sheepish as she changed her mind in trying to approach him. “Damn...he’s so fucking pissed...”
“What the fuck happened, anyway?!” Paul demanded, wincing at the sound of metal protesting under a particularly hard kick.
“We don’t know, dude. We don’t know,” Felicia said solemnly, dropping Quatre’s bag on a nearby bench. She looked at Triton curiously, the senior crouched on the floor, grimacing in pain. “You passing a kidney stone?”
“I’m holding my THIGH, idiot!”
“Ah. Same place. Well, I’ll distract Ramos, ‘k? Get him all pretty for practice!” Felicia said, running out from the locker room, nearly slamming into Brian and Derrick as they came in to change.
Triton rose unsteadily, wincing as he moved his leg about tenderly. He then frowned as Quatre finished his raging, breathing heavily, looking ready to punch anything that moved. Paul looked amused, grinning as he crossed his arms over his chest and waited for something to happen.
“What’s going on?” Derrick asked, dropping his bag near Quatre’s. He then noticed the enraged blond. “What’s your problem?”
“NOTHING!”
Derrick winced. “Well, that sounds like a damn problem...er...you break up with your girlfriend?”
“YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! SHUT UP!”
He gave a startled expression at the snarl, and frowned. “Hey, I was just–”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough,” Triton said, intervening before it got really hectic. “Look...whatever it was that set you off, leave it off court. It wouldn’t be right if you took it out on us, all right, Winner?”
“Fuck you, asshole! Why do you always have to interfere?!”
He winced as Derrick and Brian frowned at the raging attitude. He tried again, the natural peacemaker.
“I’m sure that whatever it was was extremely pissing...but you need to keep it under control, man. We didn’t even get to play our first game yet, and you want to fuck up your entire season by getting into trouble? Keep it on the D-L, man. Take it out on the court. Or let Ramos know that you aren’t feeling well and can’t come to practice. Whatever it is you’re pissed about will fuck you over in the end if you take it out on the rest of us.”
Quatre found reason in that lengthy speech, and took another deep breath. It just wouldn’t do if he was kicked off the team–basketball was his passion. He took a few more deep breaths, calming himself, trying to put away that long four hour sex session his ex had with that man-woman and the accompanying emotions that had come with it. He had a choice to not see the video, and he’d seen it anyway, knowing that it was going to set him off–!
But still, to know that Trowa was bragging about what he’d done with the woman and to know that he hadn’t had a chance with Trowa after being with that woman-thing, cutting out a pretty chunk of his own self-confidence and assurance in his own actions in bed really pulling him down. Rational thinking had him realizing that the woman was paid to have and give, but the way things had gone down in that video–! It was more than enough to hack a sizeable chunk in his own self-confidence in that aspect. He felt totally wretched.
He had millions of emotions and thoughts whirling around, and he knew that this wasn’t the right place to take it out on. Glumly, he let his shoulders slump, and heard a couple of pent up exhalations being released from those watching him curiously.
“Good job, man. Good job,” Triton continued in that pleasant baritone of his, grinning. From the corner of his eye, he saw Paul giving mocking bows in his direction, praising him for a job well-done. “Now, let’s get out there before Ramos gets it up the ass that something’s gone down, all right?”
Quatre glumly moved away from his spot, where he’d kicked on the various stalls and lockers nearby, and looked at the others.
“Sorry for cussing you all out,” he muttered, rather sheepishly. “It was nothing you guys did.”
Brian shrugged, Derrick nodded, and Paul gestured with his hands that it was all right. Quatre then walked out from the locker room, slamming the door behind him.
Paul looked at Triton with some new respect. “You’re the man!”
“Absolutely!” Triton agreed, flexing one toned arm.
“You do this all the time?” Brian asked with a frown.
“Yeah...man, it’s worth it in the end. You think that we wouldn’t need him, but we do. We haven’t done enough scrimmaging and playing for you to know that, but we need his ass on our team,” Triton said, shrugging. “My efforts are well-worth the outcome.”
“Whatever, man!” Paul laughed. “You just want to hit it!”
“...Okay, that too. But ball comes first.”
“You’re gay?” Brian asked, rather appalled.
“I prefer to think of myself as an equal opportunity lover,” Triton sniffed. “I give both genders a chance.”
“That’s...gross.”
“Th at’s your thinking.”
“...Don’t bring that fag shit to me, then.”
“Like I would. You’re so smelly. Use some more of that deodorant before you come out, all right? Don’t mow us down with your stank.”
“Is...Winner...too?” Derrick asked, just as appalled.
“And that matters on the court, why?”
“It’s just...I’m not...dude, I don’t like homos. I’m sorry.”
Triton shrugged. “You can’t help being what you are. Just don’t take that shit out on us and fuck up our game.”
He then walked out, carrying Quatre’s bag with him. Brian and Derrick looked at each other, squirming uncomfortably with the fact that they were playing on the same team as two others that preferred their own gender.
Paul shrugged. “Whatever.”
“You’re cool with that?” Brian asked, looking at him suspiciously.
“It’s not like they’re diseases or anything, man. As long as they’re playing good on court, what does it matter if they’re gay?”
“It’s just...gross. I don’t want them hitting on me.”
“Like they would, Dolt.”
Brian looked at him suspiciously, frowning. “You gay, too?”
“NO. I’m not. But I find no reason to dislike another person because of their preference. Now, if you’ll excuse me,” Paul said, slipping on his armbands and walking out from the room.
Brian and Derrick exchanged sour expressions and finished up their changing, leaving the locker room with annoyed moods.
#20#20#20#20#20#20#20
Wednesday, Trowa found himself the object of numerous murderous glares from his ex, and he couldn’t help but grow entirely angry with it. He knew he hadn’t sent that video tape to Quatre, and whoever did really wanted to piss him off. But who the hell was it?! He felt helplessly angry himself, unsure of what to do in this situation. He couldn’t talk to Quatre at this state–probably the next encounter would have Trowa digging his own head out of the trash receptacle, where Quatre had once threatened to behead him and slam dunk his head into. And at the moment, the blond looked murderous to do so.
Trowa was pissed at the entire thing–their friendship thingy wasn’t going very well after this stupid thing. He went through his entire day of classes fuming, wanting to wrap his hands around the neck of the person that did this. He was so sure that it was Felicia–she was always trying to get Quatre to do something that would be against Trowa. Felicia knew the codes to various doors, and she had her connections in various things. She could easily obtain that video and use it to get Quatre to easily hate him even more, and the fact that this was happening was insane!
He was sure that the girl had feelings for the blond–why else would she go through such trouble to keep them apart?!
He glared at her whenever he saw her, but the girl was ignoring him obviously. He was glad she and Drake weren’t speaking–she deserved it thoroughly for pulling this bullshit act of hers.
His fingers curled as he walked back to his room among the crowd of students that were eager to change out of their uniforms and into more casual wear for the rest of the day. He’d found out that the team was going to be playing Duncan Jones Military Academy on Friday night, at eight-thirty, and he fully planned on being there. No matter that this incident happened, he was going to watch each and every one of his ex’s games and be there to see if he’d connect or get with anyone else.
Trowa desperately hoped that Quatre didn’t–he didn’t want his blond with anyone else. He wouldn’t be able to bear that sort of thing. Maybe he’d take it into all his power to keep anyone from hooking up with the blond, and if that meant using devious choices in sabotage and rumors once more, then by God, he was going to!
Then he had to shake his head in disbelief over his thoughts–he was so deranged...