A Bloodthirsty Angel:
Part Three - Confession
By: Kitty E.
Quatre emerged from his room for the first time in two days,
still foggy from sleep. It was a common refuge for those of his kind,
the death-like slumber that overcame them when they allowed it to, a
time when they could forget. He had slept hard these past two days,
waking for only a few hours at a time, and unable to leave his bed.
Not feeding caused the hole blown through his back to heal slowly,
the wound was closed, but internally he still felt like shit.
He glanced out the window, seeing the subdued shades of
waning twilight in the sky, It's evening, dammit, I've screwed it
up again. It had taken years to switch his centuries-old sleeping
habits from day to night after the gene therapy he'd undergone to
withstand the sun. While his genetic sunscreen allowed his body to
move freely in the sunlight, the light did nothing to make him feel
alive. Now it was shifted again, he was once against a nocturnal
creature, as much he hated to admit it, it felt right. You've
always loved pretending to be a human... and yet you know there's no
denying what you are.
As he walked down the hall he heard the faint sounds of a
body in water, his grim expression melting into a soft smile. Trowa
must be taking a bath, he thought, waving away the picture that
came to mind with a sobering thought. His own refuge from me.
They still had another week to spend together, a second base had been
found and the two of them would take it out at the end that week.
By the time he made it to the living room the sounds of
Trowa's bath had faded, leaving him in a heavy silence. In their
secluded cabin in felt like the quiet extended over the whole world.
It made his heart sick, and in this moment self-pity came
easily. I've lost him. No, I never even had him. He had made the
right choice to keep Trowa alive, but the execution of that choice
was killing him. Trowa hated him now, and had lapsed back into
silence, one that wasn't to be broken. How can I live with myself
knowing how much I've hurt him? And yet, what else am I to do? To
tell him that I love him, to say everything I feel would only mean I
would have to leave the next day. To support the lie, to let him
believe I don't want him, means I can stay, but he'll always be out
of reach. The paradox was ripping his mind apart, he hated either
choice, and yet there was no alternative.
"I shall lose my mind for a mortal," he scoffed. He disliked
the sound of his own voice in the still air, and so he continued in
thought. Would to God I could give him my bloodline. He'd make a
horrible vampire, as terrible as I, but he would be mine, bound to me
until he killed me in hate or spite. What is this? he demanded of
himself. Does love bring to mind such thoughts?
He realized that he must already be insane. The very idea of
a vampire in love was crazy. To love anything but themselves was
against simply their nature, contrary to their very existence as
harbingers of death. They were dedicated to one thing only, their
immortality. They fed to stay alive, guarded their secrets to protect
their future, and created endless laws to promise safety within their
own kind. They were forever in fear of death, of the end to their
lonely but extravagant existence. Now he was to believe his dark
heart belonged to a human, even though they were only food, weaker
beings to be used or fed upon. Quatre sighed almost in exasperation
when a clarifying thought came through his confusion. But forever
means nothing compared to what I want from him.
Quatre headed back to his room, finding nothing in the cabin
to distract him from his thoughts, and wanting to retreat to his only
haven before he was forced to face Trowa again. As he passed the
single bathroom they shared, he reached out, fingers sliding over the
wood, tingling at the thought of being mere feet away from the lovely
creature inside. He thought about opening the door, about stealing
another kiss from Trowa, and then taking his life. Shouldn't I just
end what I've started? Kill him and free myself from this torture.
He'd be one of thousands, no different from any of the others save
this stupid attachment... and yet if I- if anyone were to end his
life, I know I'd want to follow him.
Fleeting images of a murder/suicide crossed his mind and he
knew he had to go. His removed his fingers from the door, surprised
to find they had wandered down to the doorknob, ready to turn it and
do as he would. He pushed away, and hurried down the hall to his
room, Such thoughts, he mourned. Old as I am I don't want to
die, and he... he doesn't deserve it, not yet, not ever. I could
never do anything so selfish.
I have to leave, he ordered himself. He pulled out his
drawers violently and began shoving the clothes into his bags. I
won't kill him, and I won't hurt him any longer. I was right, he's
not mine, and I don't have the right. He's life will change soon,
he'll find someone new, his heart, guarded as it is, is more open
then mine. For as long as I live I shall love only him, but he...
it's stupid to think he could feel the same.
He knew it was cowardice, he knew it was impractical, but he
was ending the life he'd chosen only a year ago, tonight. Quatre
Raberba Winner was no longer his name, fighting the war as a Gundam
pilot was no longer his purpose, the sunny disposition, kindness, and
caring he'd exuded were discarded in exchange for whatever character
he would choose next. He stripped away the clothes of a child he'd
picked for 'Quatre' and put on something new.
He was a blur of motion, mind and body both working to
destroy what he had taken such time to create. What he knew was
Quatre's, he threw onto the floor, smashed, and cast aside. He kept
with him only enough clothes to get by for a week or so, an ancient
edition of the Koran, and his credit cards. Everything that was
Quatre was forgotten, he stared into the mirror, someone entirely
different looking back at him. He was dressed in black now, his smile
vanished, and the light faded from his eyes. Quatre, sweet, and
strong thing that he was, was dead. What stared back at him, was the
closest he would ever get to his true self.
And I still love him! he screamed internally. He was no
more capable of actually leaving than he was when he had started.
Only now everything he owned had been destroyed by some ridiculous
temper tantrum. He picked up his violin and was about to swing it
against the wall when he realized it was his. Not Quatre's, but his,
the one thing he had kept, and cherished over all his time on this
earth. The instrument he'd been reared to play. He grimaced, the
talent he had for music was what fascinated his maker, what had
caused him to be raped, abused, and then turned into what he was. For
all the pain it had caused him, he had kept it.
The music he played was his, his glory, and damnation. And
so is Trowa. He dropped his violin and heard it thud onto the
carpet, he buried his face in his limp hands and wondered what he was
going to do now that he knew what he felt penetrated to the very core
of his damned soul. "I've got to tell him," he whispered.
He didn't know what he'd do once he did. Once Trowa knew how
he really felt, where was there to go after that? He couldn't stay,
the fact that he loved Trowa so much was reason enough to leave him
before the others had a chance to find out. He pushed such thoughts
from his mind, and focused on his next task. Trowa would ignore him,
push him away, and probably run from him if he were to wait any
longer. No, he had to do it now when he had Trowa cornered. He stood
before the bathroom door a moment, assessing himself for a final
time.
I couldn't forgive myself if I didn't say it, just this
once. I've lied all my life, but this is the one true thing I've ever
felt. I'm chained here now, iie, I'm chained to him. Either I say it
and see if it sets me free, or drive myself mad. He knew his mind
was made up, for better of for worse. He used his every skill and
gift to open the door without a click or creak, and enter silently.
Trowa's head was lolled against his shoulder, eyes closed but
breathing indicating he was merely resting his eyes, so lost in
thought he didn't recognize Quatre's prescence.
Allah, why did you make him so beautiful? he implored. He
didn't know if he would have fallen so hard for Trowa if he hadn't
been so gorgeous, but right now it wasn't helping. He put his hand
over his mouth to prevent from uttering a sound until he had taken in
the scene in every detail. Trowa's tall, slender, *wet* body half
submerged in water with just enough lingering soap bubbles floating
about them to leave his picture incomplete. He exhaled a careful
breath, and decided it was now or never.
"Trowa," he said softly.
Trowa jerked violently, splashing the water hard enough to
spill over onto the tiles. His eyes snapped open and they stared at
each other a moment, Trowa blinking repeatedly as if he could not
believe Quatre was really there. "Get out," he finally said,
hesitantly as if he was still unsure this was really happening.
Quatre shook his head, "I mean to talk to you. I knew you
wouldn't be receptive-"
"I'm not receptive because I'm taking a bath, leave," Trowa
said. Despite the words, it was nice to hear conviction in Trowa's
voice again. The words they'd spoken since the night Trowa had first
woken up had seemed so flat.
"This is too important to risk you running away. You're not
going anywhere in your state until I've said what I needed to say."
He grabbed the towel on the counter, and placed it on the floor, both
sopping up the puddle of water, and keeping it from Trowa's reach. He
knelt down next to the bathtub, keeping his eyes squarely on Trowa's
face. "Do you hate me?"
Trowa looked him at him levelly for a moment, and then turned
his gaze to the sky. It was clear he had no choice but to sit here,
confused and utterly exposed. "No, not really," he replied.
Quatre mulled this over in his mind, terrified of the next
question he would ask, and yet unable to stop himself. "Do you love
me?"
Trowa brow furrowed, the fact that Quatre would be so
incredulous as to ask him whether he cared angered him. He has no
right to ask, he lied to me, doesn't care for me. "What does that
matter now?" he asked.
Quatre cringed at the words, wondering if perhaps he'd killed
off whatever small affection he'd pulled from the stoic pilot with
his previous actions. "It's important, Trowa. Could you please just
tell me if you loved, or ever did cared about me?"
"Stop it," Trowa pleaded suddenly.
Quatre looked up, not having realized his eyes had wandered
down from Trowa's face. "Stop what?"
"This," Trowa said, gesturing widely with a clenched
fist. "This teasing, this damn game you're playing, I'm not
interested in being you entertainment in this godforsaken forest."
"It's not like that at all," Quatre whispered. "Trowa," he
said, but the emerald-eyed pilot refused to look at him. Quatre
leaned forward, placing his lips nearer to Trowa's ear. "In six
hundred years of existence I've never said this... I love you."
Trowa's head snapped back to look at him, eyes wide, staring
back in confusion. Quatre leaned further over, their faces only
inches away now. "I didn't want to admit it. When I fed from you, I
planned to take your life, but something stopped me, the same thing
that stopped me from leaving just now. Trowa, I love you with every
part of my soul. Do you know how insane, how impossible that is?"
Trowa was utterly still, taking fast, deep breaths, and
trying to work the situation out in his mind but failing.
Quatre smiled faintly, lifted one of his hands to trace over
Trowa's brow. "I'm sorry for what I did, for the lies, for what I am,
for everything. Just tell me, Trowa, please, say the words. I've
never heard them meant only for me."
"You tried to kill me," Trowa said softly, forgetting
everything but the impossibility of the moment.
"It isn't the same for me," Quatre explained, he left his
hand fall from Trowa's face, letting it hang over the edge as he
swirled the water with his fingers. "Killing is something I do every
night, it's not motivated by hate or fear, it's what I do to live.
I've killed more people than you could ever guess, I never regretted,
never gave it a second thought, but for you... for you I became
helpless. Perhaps it would be better if you did hate me, I've given
you enough reason, but you said... you said didn't, and so I have to
know. Do you love me?"
Trowa took a deep breath, hesitating for he still had
reservations. How could he not? Everything about Quatre, about
himself made him think it was better to leave it be. He could deal
with not getting what he wanted, and he knew that it was to love
Quatre. But even ignoring the fact that he's a fucking vampire,
there's still so much standing between us. Everything, in fact. God,
why does it all have to be so complicated? Why does this have to be
so damn difficult? He saw Quatre's eyes fall, looking to the floor
in defeat, small body curling around itself as if incredible
pain. "You know I do, Quatre," he said suddenly.
Quatre smiled weakly, still not looking up, "Tell me, Trowa,
please. Say the words, let me hear it just once."
Trowa reconsidered everything in the moment before he spoke.
In spite of everything, despite his best instincts going against the
decision, he knew he still wanted Quatre's kiss, knew that every
emotion Quatre had stirred in him still somehow lay untainted. "I
love you, Quatre," it came out a hoarse whisper. I don't know why,
though.
Quatre closed his eyes, and Trowa saw a more genuine smile
spread across his lips. "I don't know what we'll do now," Quatre
said, opening his eyes and looking at Trowa as if it were the first
time. He cupped both of Trowa's cheeks in his hands, "We're both so
stupid, ne?" he pressed his lips to Trowa's softly, not asking for
too much just yet. "We both fell in love with out least likely match,
me with an angel, you with a monster."
He moved for a deeper kiss this time, and Trowa responded it
to it warmly, one wet hand coming to cover Quatre's. In turn, Quatre
sighed softly, letting his other hand wander where it would, slowly
sliding down Trowa's bare chest, taking in the softness of the skin,
and firmness of the muscle beneath it. Trowa broke the kiss abruptly.
He suddenly remembered just where they were, and in what state he
was. "Quatre, you should... probably leave now."
Quatre nodded, "I'll be waiting though." He stood and took a
lingering last look and left.
Allah, I've said this before, but so help me, this time I
mean it. I hate you. I hate you so much I could scream. How could you
give him to me like this, and still I can't stay? Curse you, a
thousand times over I curse you, for making me leave. He leaned
against the wall and closed his eyes. You give me one night to
experience a love that lasts forever?
Now that he knew Trowa loved him, he was filled with resolve
to protect him. If the Council found out, and they would find out,
our numbers are too many to go unnoticed, they'd kill him, and likely
kill me. My other nature, my enemies, my love... it's all dangerous.
We're tempting fate enough as it is fighting this war. If I leave
tomorrow, he'd be safe, and I could come back to him, a few months
down the road. Hai, that's the best choice, I always knew that.
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Part Four