Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Scar Tissue ❯ Morning Battles ( Chapter 2 )

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Part 2

"Duo? Is that you in there? Are you okay? It's four in the morning!" Quatre's voice, laden with concern, traveled through the door.

Shit.

"I-I'm fine, Quatre, just a minute!" I replied, hoping my voice didn't betray the coil of panic racing down my spine. I hastily climbed to my feet, swaying momentarily as the blood rushed to my head. I quickly shoved the razor blade into its little case, and then put the case away in the toiletry bag that contained the rest of my bathroom stuff, which was on the bathroom counter. I glanced into the mirror and was dismayed by the hollow look in my eyes. Then another realization struck me, sending another cold coil of panic through my body. I had neglected to bring a robe with me to the bathroom. I had to pass Quatre in the hallway, wearing only my boxers.

"Think, think, think…" I muttered to myself. I couldn't let him see me like this. See the scars, the bandage, the fresh cut. The thought sent a wave of nausea over my stomach. Okay, he probably hadn't turned the hallway light on. If I turned the bathroom light off as I opened the door, then I could probably brush past him in the darkness and be out of range when he turned the light on himself. Yeah, that would work.

As an afterthought, I reached over and flushed the toilet, so he would think I was finishing up. I ran the water in the sink, splashing some on my face. Taking a deep breath, I reached up and flicked the light off as I unlocked and opened the door.

Forcing a sheepish smile (which he probably couldn't even see since I had just plunged us into darkness) I brushed past Quatre, who was no more than a dark shape in the near-black hallway, and started towards my room, calling over my shoulder: "Sorry, Quatre, for hogging the bathroom. That'll teach me to not drink so much Pepsi right before I go to bed."

"Well, you were in there for quite awhile, are you sure…." His voice trailed off as I continued on to my room as if I didn't hear him. He sighed and went into the bathroom.

Once the door shut, I paused and slumped against the wall in relief. That was close. I had to be more careful. I had a robe, one that I had bought for the sole purpose of covering up my scars on occasions just like this, but I had left it in my room. Stupid! I smacked myself in the side of the head, hard, and was gratified by the resulting tingly ache. I resumed the trek down the hallway to my room.

The next morning I was woken up by the smell of pancakes. I rolled over, groaning into the pillow. I didn't want to get up. I never wanted to get up. The very thought was almost enough to have me in tears. I rolled over again, and stared up at the ceiling. I really did have to get up. Quatre probably had stuff planned. It was, after all, the first time that all five of us were under the same roof in almost six months, since the war had ended. I sighed, pressing my hands into my face for a moment, and then I forced myself to sit up. Who knew getting out of bed in the morning could become one of life's greatest struggles? It's not like I would even sleep more if I stayed in bed. I'd probably just lie there like a log all day, maybe dozing a bit now and then. Sighing again, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, and stood up. There. I was out of bed. First battle of the day won.

God, this was pathetic. What does it say about you when you consider getting out of bed in the morning a victory? Unwilling to think about that right now, I got dressed, pulling on my customary black pants and priest-style shirt. Sleeves rolled down, of course, but as I glanced out the window I saw that it was probably going to be a pretty warm day. Damn.

I went to the bathroom and washed my face, splashing on cold water to try and make myself feel more alive. It didn't really work. I half-heartedly braided my hair. I hadn't been able to muster up the energy to shower for a couple of days now, and my hair was starting to feel greasy. I promised myself I would shower that night. When I was done I just stood there staring at my reflection in the mirror for a moment. I was too pale, pasty even. I had lost weight, and I had never had much to spare in the first place. My eyes looked hollow and sunken. Sighing, I realized that I wasn't going to get through this day without some help. I turned away from the wretch in the mirror with a sneer of disgust and returned to my room.

I dug around in my backpack and pulled out the bottle I was looking for. The label read: Ener-G. They were a combo of caffeine and a host of other chemicals, with some stimulant herbs thrown in for good measure. The guy at the store where I bought them laughingly called them "legal speed." The instructions said to take 1 or 2, but I shook out 4, my usual dose, and quickly swallowed them, washing them down with the glass of water on my nightstand. Great. In a little while, I'd be feeling much better, and I'd be able to play the joker for my friends, pretending everything was okay.

I would be the only one who knew that nothing was okay.

Now, to face breakfast. I sighed and left my room, heading downstairs, where I could hear the voices of the others.

TBC