Hello again. So soon. I know. I couldn't help it.
I'm aware that a lot of you are waiting for other fics (Breakeven/Switch Out) but I just don't currently have the drive for them. Whenever I don't have the drive for those, I just don't write, which has been happening for the last few months.
So, I decided to hell with it and I'm just going to write whatever the hell I want. Cause it needs to be done. Especially this one. I don't have as much time anymore, so I hope this one hasn't already been done…
So… If you're a frequent reader of mine and have seen a pattern to some of my fics… You are well aware what is coming. (Solora, put the banana away. And, yeah… this isn't the fluff…)
Enjoy the terrible.
Her breath hitched against his ear and he could hear a small whimper coming from her throat. She was biting her lip. Already.
He managed to steal a look at her just before her eyes screwed shut and her back arched beneath him.
He kissed that quivering lip, his knuckles as white as the sheets.
A stinging pain shot across his shoulder blades, making his head dip down to her neck at the sudden rush. His own breath had been coming out in tumbles and waves.
He hissed as the water hit his back, the first sound he made in about two days that actually had something behind it that didn't feel like ice. His back. Dammit. Felt like it had caught fire or something.
It had at least brought him out of his thoughts, which had been wondering around like mad for what felt like months now.
It had only been two days…
Six allowed a hand to trail around to his back, feeling for the culprit, when his fingers ran across a stinging, warm groove on his shoulder, making him stop all movement for a second. Eventually, he let a finger run across it again… and again, letting it hurt.
Forgetting about the whole bathing thing, Six quickly stepped out of the shower again, heading over to the mirror. He was still bruised, still broken up in places. He had refused treatment from everyone that dared to get near him, so what was bandaged, he had patched on himself… It wasn't much, though. Simple, little things. Things to keep his mind off of other things.
As many cuts as he had on his face and arms, though, there were no open wounds along his torso. He hadn't even thought to look over his back, until he turned against the mirror looking over his shoulder.
His back was peppered in purples and yellows, but two small, bright red lines on his shoulder blade dominated the rest of it, one longer than the other.
He stared at it, not in surprise or wonder or shock, but almost in anger or annoyance. It brought back that memory of her breath against his ear. Of her whispering his name in her climax. Of her arms holding him close after. Of her gentle voice apologizing over his new wounds. Of him telling her that he was fine. He liked it.
He was fine. Don't cry. Don't apologize. He's fine. Just stop. Just stay. Don't apologize. Just stay.
Six punched the mirror, shards of glass flying against the counter top and floor, the entire mirror shattering. Blood from his knuckles dripped through the cracks…
It didn't hurt. It felt so numb on his hand. His deep eyes stared into the same eyes through the cracked mirror, the anger gone, replaced with a hollow nothing that felt like it was going to make him crush in on himself. That's what hurt. The hollow nothing.
Slowly, he took his hand back from the mirror, letting some more shards drop down… He had done a number on it. No big deal. Just pull the pieces out and wrap it.
He must have seen her do it a million times. He wished he could see her do it again. He wished he could listen to her rage at him again for doing such a stupid thing. He wished she could get angry and wrap it to the point where it hurt for days.
He wished he wasn't naked, on the floor of a bathroom, glass all around him, shower still going, and crying like a child.
He wished his hand would hurt a little more.
His bruises were starting to heal up, the yellow and greens going away, leaving behind deep purples in the worst spots. It had only been about a week or so. He knew it was a week, at least, because when the seventh day rolled over, he remembered doing some things that he was supposed to regret.
The bones were slow in healing, but the cuts on his arms and face were starting to fade. He noticed that he was taking less fascination with small things. He was starting to spend more and more time in the real world again. They still wouldn't let him do any actual work, but company and people stayed at a distance, especially any of the med staff.
He even managed to drive away the kid a few times, but the boy kept coming back like a kicked puppy. Then he would just drive him away again. Like a game with himself. He didn't know if it was okay to be close to him or keep him away. He didn't know what to do.
That was happening more and more often, lately. He didn't know what to do, but he would do anything to keep himself busy, moving, working, not thinking, never thinking, barely sleeping.
A cotton ball drifted over a few of the cuts on his arm. Didn't look like they would need bandages anymore. He looked up to the broken mirror, because there wasn't a force on this Earth that could make him tell someone to repair it, as he looked over the few dotting his face. Most of them were gone, some were still there, though. Not as deep as before, but still there.
He started rubbing those, too, making sure to go over every one as gently as he could, like a ghost across his face. Not like her, never like her, but always trying to get it perfect, just like she did.
Six hissed. The one against his temple still stung. He frowned at its reflection through the mirror, his annoyance and anger rising again… until it stopped… replaced with actual shock this time… almost fear…
The cotton ball fell into the sink while Six scrambled to get his shirt off, almost tearing it in the process. He turned his back to the mirror, a hand flying back to that familiar spot.
It was gone. It was almost gone. The smaller two had healed away and the long one was a faint dotted line on his shoulder. He tried to stretch his fingers to touch it, at least along the edges, but it was too high, too small. Too gone.
Fear filled him again. His hands were shaking. "No." He darted out of his room, striding to the dresser. "Don't go. Don't go." Grabbing what he needed, he quickly got back in front of his mirror, making sure it was the same as it was before. "I need you to stay. Just stay."
The shuriken glided over dotted skin, a red line appearing again, just as it had that night she gave it to him. He stopped when he was exactly sure of its length, dropping the weapon to the counter. The other two had vanished, they couldn't come back, but this one…
His hand moved over it, little beads of blood getting on his fingers, and he smiled into the mirror at the pain he felt. He planted a kiss against his shoulder, resting his chin there, watching his wound through foggy eyes and a cracked mirror with a smile.
Yeah… She's dead… If you didn't catch it somewhere that she had died, just let me know and I'll revise. Wanted to put it in there without actually saying it. I think I did it.
So, anyway, this isn't the fluff everyone wanted… because it's ME you are talking to, but I still hope that you enjoyed this. I, myself, think it's a bit ooc of Six, but… I'm not really sure… Still, the idea hurts… and that's what FanFics are all about! Right?
Read and Review