Weiss Kreuz Fan Fiction ❯ Lost Purpose ❯ .. and their result ( Chapter 4 )

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Yohji was shaken, utterly and thoroughly. Ran was there again. He wanted to touch him, to embrace him. The longing almost overwhelmed him. He wanted to kiss him and taste him, to feel him. However, somewhere in all this time, this last year, he - on the way to the thing he was now - had lost his courage, his spontaneous abilities, his careless mask and - the strength to pretend.

So he settled on silence, all the way to the apartment and later, talking only, when prompted. Inwardly his body trembled. He almost dropped a few goods, as he stocked the fridge. Only the cat roaming around his legs, Neko's bodily presence, prevented him from finally falling apart just here and now, anchored him.

Ran looked good. Healthy, lean but muscled as always. Yohji had to lean against the wall a moment, after he put their coats on the hangers. He was glad, that Ran had to use the bathroom, so he could wipe away the spilled water, due to his traumatized condition, as he prepared with shaking hands their tea.

He sat down on the kitchen chair and the cat jumped in his lap. Absently he petted and coddled with it. Ran looked fine, at ease. Finally he would be, too. The limbo, he lived in since that day Ran left without a word would go away, at last. He could make peace with the world.

He didn't dare to hope, that Ran had come to stay. Not anymore. Ran would have said so already. But he would get an answer. An answer he waited so long for. Because this unanswered question had hold him back, let him hesitate that day he stood in the bathroom to end his life.

He had stood there, Knife in hand and suddenly was overwhelmed with the urge to know why he left, and to be sure, it would not be an irrevocable mistake, if there were any hope for Ran to return to him. Instead, in a haze and full of rage because he was unable to archive something, he chopped off his hair as a substitute for bodily harm.

He knew, he was unable to go on. His life, as it was now, was without reason anymore. He was a bloodstained murderer. He had no one, to go back to. No one, to live for. And after Kritiker had let them finally out without the use to do something worthy, he had no function anymore, too. Not alone. He always had needed something to hang on to, some small reason. He needed to be kept, and if it was someone to love, a purpose for going on.

There was no need of money, for they were always paid well and he, like the others, had enough to last for a few years without need. Therefore, there was nothing he needed to do. He had settled on existing merely. He had realized that loving Ran had been his last chance of a life. Nothing he tried or did the few weeks after he was left alone had satisfied him, had lessened the overwhelming pain, the feeling of loss. He was simply not able anymore to go back to his former life.

Therefore, he had simply stopped clubbing and drinking, because the pain had been stronger, after he had been sober again. Therefore, he had simply stopped chasing women, because he had no interest in them anymore. After a few attempts to pretend, he was tired of explaining the lack of obvious bodily reaction. He simply didn't get it up anymore with them. The great playboy had creased to exist. He was only an empty shell anymore. He simply got numb.

He was so deep in thought; he only noticed Ran had returned as he addressed him. The deep rich voice let ripple a shudder over this back. Let his skin crawl and the small hairs stand up.. Although, Ran's presence put him at ease, some.

After a short and weak display of a temper, he fell back to numbness. All he understand was that Ran was not going to come back, never. That he had never loved him. That he left Japan. That there was someone other, he loved. He realized that he had his answer, now.

He suddenly felt relieved. He knew now, that he was no longer needed. He doesn't have to wait anymore. The numb shell fell from him. He looked up and gazed for a last time in the beautiful violet orbs of the person, he loved more than anything. A last view of the striking face. The lean form of the beloved person.

No need to pretend anything anymore. He said his final goodbye and went away. Not that it was any less painful. But there was a purpose now. Something to do. He stood there, in the middle of the room, hot tears streaming down his face, and smiled sadly. Finally. He glanced at his watch after he heard the front door close. Ran was gone, again. At least four hours, for Mariko to return home. He had enough time for what he had to do to succeed.

He sat down on his desk, picked up a sheet of paper and a pen and began to write. After finishing his task, he put the three letters he had written in envelopes and addressed them. He got to his safe and picked a stack of bills, put it in one oft the envelopes, too. Then he grabbed the still full bottle of pills he had stored in his drawer and went out to the kitchen.

Placing the envelopes on the middle on the table, he grabbed a bowl, emptied all of the sleeping pills in it and crushed them to fine powder. He filled a big glass of water and mixed all of the powder in it, until it was white like milk. In four great gulps and without hesitation, he swallowed all of it down. After a glance at the clock on the wall, he was glad; it took only fifteen minutes, to finish all his tasks. The medicine would not need long to kick in.

He went out to the hallway and slipped one of the letters under the door of the apartment across his own. After returning to his own apartment, he grabbed one of the sharp knifes from the kitchen and went back to his bedroom. Nothing more required. He switched on the stereo and put in one of his favorite CD's. Listening to the music, he lay down on his bed.

Neko mewed at him from the windowsill. He smiled again. Mariko would take care of him, he was sure of it. After a while, he felt dizzy, sleepy. Time to finish it. He raised the knife and in one swift motion, he slid it across one of his wrists. There was hardly any pain. Spellbound he watched the blood spill in a thick line from the cut, pulsing with his heartbeat and run down his arm, flowing from his elbow down on the white sheets.

He furrowed his brow. This really would be a mess. He should have put some towels there. He sighed. After cutting his other wrist, he let the knife drop, settled down in the pillows and closed his eyes. It would be over, soon. He felt at peace, now. Utterly sad, but finally at peace. Listening to the music, he slowly drifted away.

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