Gundam Wing Fan Fiction ❯ Scar Tissue ❯ Escape ( Chapter 22 )

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Part 22

The early evening air was heavy. The temperature controls on L4 were kept higher than my usual comfort level. I wasn't terribly familiar with the layout of the colony, but it was simple enough to find my way downtown.

My thigh burned as I walked. My pants felt slightly damp and sticky as the still-beading blood soaked into the material. It didn't matter. The stain wouldn't show on the black fabric. My arm was throbbing hotly. I rubbed my hand over it and felt the tender raised swelling. By morning it would be a dark bruise.

God, how had this happened? Why was this happening? Why was I such a fuck-up? I swayed on my feet, and had to grab onto a storefront window to keep from falling down. I resisted the urge to press my forehead against the glass until the wave of dizziness passed. Perhaps eating something would not be a bad idea. I tried to remember the last time I had done so and came up blank.

I spotted a small café across the street and headed for it. All I ordered was some tea and a bowl of soup. I had no appetite, and I didn't think my stomach could manage much anyway. I sat on the small café verandah and watched the colony lights darken into evening as I mechanically ate my food. I wondered if the others had noticed I was gone yet. Would they even care? Maybe they'd be glad to get rid of me. Maybe they would hope that I didn't return. A small voice in the back of my head told me I was being foolish, thinking such things, but the thoughts came all the same. They hurt all the same.

I decided I had been sitting there long enough. It was time to resume my original search. The food in my stomach had cleared a bit of my light-headedness, but I knew something that would make me feel even better, if only for awhile.

It didn't take me long to find it. Even a high-class colony like this L4 satellite had its seedier areas, catering to the blue-collar workers who kept the colony running. And that's where I found the club. Loud music poured out into the street. A fair number of people milled about outside, even at this relatively early hour. They were probably what passed for `shady-looking' on L4. This place would suit my purposes just fine.

A small group of men hanging around outside the door called out to me in drunken voices as I passed by, but I ignored them and went inside. By L4 standards, this place was probably considered a dive, though on L2 it would have been one of the nicer clubs. The interior was dark, the only light sources being the neon beer signs over the bar and the coloured strobe lights pulsating over the dance floor. The ceiling was low, with bare rafters. Besides the bar, which stretched the length of one wall, and the dance floor, which took up a good two thirds of the space, there were a couple of pool tables. The air was heavy with the musk of beer, sweat, and smoke. The music was loud. Very loud. Some kind of techno-industrial. I liked it. It was perfect.

I made my way to the bar, taking a seat on one of the rickety stools. I ordered a drink. The bartender eyed me incredulously for a moment, but I met his gaze evenly and he poured the drink. Though there was technically a legal drinking age in the colonies, most places didn't really care, as long as you had money. Perhaps it was a part of the contempt for authority that came naturally to so many colony citizens, as a result of living for so many years under oppression.

I spent several hours without moving from that barstool, throwing back drink after drink, becoming pleasantly numb. The music overwhelmed me, drowning out the pain in my brain. Nothing mattered anymore, just the hard bite of the vodka and the driving beat of the music. Finally I gave into temptation and joined the thronging mass on the dance floor.

It felt wonderful to lose myself, to let everything slip away. The fog of alcohol in my brain made everything okay. The loud, angry music filled my mind, filled my soul. I was just one more person lost in its grip as I moved on the dance floor. The throbbing lights were hypnotizing. This was wonderful. This was peace. Frequent trips to the bar kept my mind wonderfully numb.

Hours later, exhaustion and the vast quantities of alcohol I had consumed began to win out. I was stumbling more than dancing, and the room had begun to spin and tilt alarmingly. I headed back to the bar and collapsed onto a barstool, gesturing for another drink. When it arrived, I reached for my cash card to pay for it, but a hand on my arm stopped me. I looked up at its owner with bleary eyes.

"Here, let me get that for you," the man said, handing the bartender his own card. He turned back to me, smiling lecherously. He was easily twice my age, and reeked of whiskey. Great.

"Thanks," I mumbled, and then pointedly turned away from him, looking back out at the dance floor. But he was not deterred so easily. He put his hand on my arm again, a bit more firmly.

"You're awfully pretty, I don't think I've seen you around here before," he said, leaning in close. His breath was fetid. I shot him an evil glare as I sipped at my drink. I jerked my arm away.

"Look, I'm not interested, okay, buddy?" I shot at him. I was slurring my words badly. Christ, I was drunk. I resisted the urge to rub my head, which was starting to pound. The man smirked at me.

"Hey, honey, no need to get worked up, I'm just being friendly," he replied, laying his hand on my shoulder. I shrugged it off angrily, getting to my feet. I threw back the rest of the drink in one gulp and slammed the empty glass back onto the bar.

"Fuck off," I said to him, and stalked away. The room was spinning, and my head was really pounding now. I headed for the bathroom, intending to splash some cold water on my face. I was finding it hard to maintain my balance.

I stumbled into the bathroom and over to a sink. The small room was empty, and I was grateful for the privacy. I splashed water on my face, and then gripped the sides of the sink, willing the world to regain its focus. Fuck, that idiot had spoiled my mood, broken through the nice little mental fog I had going. Now I just felt miserable, and very, very drunk.

The door opened. I looked up into the mirror. It was him. Fuck. I spun around, ready to tell him to go fuck himself. I was taken by surprise when he grabbed my shoulders and slammed me back into the sink. I swore as the hard edge dug into the small of my back.

"Listen you little whore, no one tells me to fuck off. Now, you're going to be nice to me you understand? Very, very nice to me," he seethed, one hand snaking down to grab my crotch.

I saw red. I slammed an elbow into his ribs. He grunted in pain and released his grip on me.

"Why you little…" he seethed. "I was going to be gentle with you, but if you want to play rough…" He reached into his jacket and withdrew a knife, advancing on me again. I really wished the room wasn't spinning so much. Everything seemed so unreal. He made a grab for my arm, and I lurched away clumsily. But the alcohol was pulling me down. I wasn't fast enough, and I couldn't help but cry out when his hand clamped down on the arm that I had pounded earlier. He smirked, slamming me back into the wall. Suddenly the knife was at my throat, and he was pressing his body against mine. "Now baby, it'll be over a lot quicker if you don't give me any more trouble."

Fuck. There was no way this loser was getting the better of me. I summoned all of my willpower and kneed him in the groin, while simultaneously knocking away the arm that held the knife. I felt the blade whisper against the skin of my throat before it went flying across the room, his grip on it lost. He stumbled back, cursing, but he still gripped my left arm. I kneed him again, much harder now that I had a bit of room to maneuver. He let go, doubling over in pain. I swore and bit my lip as pain shot up my leg from the all-but forgotten cuts on my thigh. The impact had probably ripped open some of the scabs. When the jerk started to straighten up, I punched him in the face, gratified by the feel of his nose splintering under my fist. He flew back, his skull hitting the wall, before slumping to the floor, out cold.

I stood there for a moment, staring at him, my body shaking with rage and adrenaline. Suddenly feeling sick to my stomach, I stumbled into one of the stalls, fell to my knees, and started to retch into the toilet. When I was finally done, I propped my elbows on the seat, holding my head in my hands. I was so unbelievably drunk. So out of control. So scared. I couldn't believe what had almost happened. How close I had come to not being able to prevent it. If I'd had even just one more drink…

I shakily climbed to my feet. I had to get out of here. It was only a matter of time before someone else came into the bathroom. Plus, I didn't want to be anywhere near here when that bastard regained consciousness.

I hurried out of the bathroom and out of the club, barely able to walk in a straight line. My brain was consumed by a different kind of fog, all the more pleasant aspects of drunkenness having long since taken flight. My nerves still hummed with adrenaline. My hands were shaking. Outside, I headed in the direction I was more-or-less sure I had come from. I had to stop in an alley to retch again. Dark spots were dancing in front of my eyes. Fuck. Experience told me I was very close to simply passing out. I didn't relish doing so in some back alley, alone. The perfect target.

"Fuck, fuck, FUCK!" I cursed, slamming my fist into the alley wall. Pain shot up my arm. My fist was already tender from breaking that loser's nose. Now I had split the skin over my knuckles. Blood was running down over my hand. I leaned my forehead against the wall, cradling the arm to my chest. Pain was good, pain was keeping me conscious.

I had to think of a way out of this. Quatre's. Go back to Quatre's. But could I even find my way back there in this condition? And what if they were, like, waiting up for me or something? I supposed it was too much to hope that they had all gone to bed without checking on me, and therefore had no idea I was gone. So, what else? A hotel? I had my cash card with me, it would be no problem to pay for one. Then I could just deal with everyone tomorrow, after I'd sobered up. I could make up something about needing to be alone. They'd never have to know about this mess. Or maybe tomorrow I'd go down to the shuttle bay and buy a ticket out of here.

Okay, a hotel then. Now I just had to find one. And I just had to make my body cooperate, and make the world stop spinning… I stepped unsteadily back out into the street, leaning heavily on the wall for support. My head felt stuffed with cotton, and my stomach protested the movement.

"Duo? Duo!" a voice rang out behind me. What the fuck? I turned around, and froze at what I saw. Quatre and Trowa, hurrying towards me, relief and concern evident on their faces. Oh, shit. What the hell was I going to do now? I watched them approach warily, feeling very much like a deer caught in the headlights.

"My God, Duo, we've been looking for you everywhere! Everyone's so worried! Where have you been?" Quatre asked frantically when they reached me. I looked at him balefully. I was overwhelmed by the sudden need to cry. Fuck. Another unfortunate drawback of being completely blitzed. A tendency toward melodramatic tears. "Duo? Duo are you okay?" Quatre asked, putting a hand on my shoulder.

I almost laughed. Almost. I hated the way they were looking at me. I hated that they were seeing me like this. And who did I have to blame? Only myself. Only my stupid, idiotic self. I smiled at Quatre and Trowa humourlessly. They stared back at me as if I had lost my mind.

"No, Quatre. I am most definitely not okay," I replied, my words slurred.

"Duo?" Quatre asked uncertainly, his eyes wide.

"He's bleeding," Trowa said, reaching for my injured arm. I let him examine my split knuckles. "Were you in a fight or something?" he asked me. I just smirked at him. You could say that. Suddenly I turned and took a couple of faltering steps back into the alley before falling to my knees and once again retching. Fuck. Could this be any more humiliating? Trowa knelt beside me and started rubbing my back soothingly. Question answered.

"Quatre, call the others and tell them to go home, we found him. And have Rashid send a car, there's no way he's walking back to the estate," Trowa instructed. Quatre made a noise of agreement and then I heard him speaking on his cell phone. My stomach was long-since empty, and I was left helplessly dry-heaving. The smell of sickness hung heavily in the air. Finally, it passed, and I sat back, leaning against the alley wall for support. My head felt so heavy. Everything faded into a pain-filled blur. I was dimly aware of someone wiping my face with a cloth. Some time later someone gently pulled me to my feet and helped me into the back of a car. I remember nothing of the drive back to the estate.

Back at the house, Quatre and Trowa each took an arm to support me as we went inside. I was beyond walking under my own power. Of course, everyone was there, waiting for us. To see if I was okay. How touching. Voices assailed me, bodies pressed close, but nothing was registering anymore. It was all a blur. I just wanted to be left alone, to be allowed to retreat to my room to pass out in peace. I tried to tell them so, but I doubt my slurred words were making sense. Apparently someone was insisting that my bloodied fist had to be cleaned and bandaged. I was sat in a chair while said person went to fetch the necessary supplies. My unfocused eyes were vaguely aware of someone crouching in front of me and speaking to me in a low voice. I blinked a few times, swaying. It was Heero. I couldn't understand what he was saying. But I was filled with the horrible certainty that he was disappointed in me, that they were all disappointed in me. My last memory was of laying my face in my hands and starting to cry.

Damned drunken, melodramatic tears.

TBC