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Weeks have passed since The Night. I have managed to avoid thinking about it in too much detail and I had hoped that
that would last forever. I don't think I can handle it.
Trowa has tried off and on to get me to talk to him, to get
me to tell him anything... but I can't. I won't let myself. I just don't want to. He's trying right now.
"Quatre..."
he pleads, "Talk to me."
No.
"Quatre." His voice is more firm now; I think I'm frustrating him. I can't think
of how I am, though. I'm just sitting on the opposite end of the couch, curled up, silently staring at the TV that he turned
off moments ago.
"Quatre." His voice is harsher now and he moves to sit right next to me. I don't move at all, just
continue to stare. I don't want to talk to him and usually, when he tries to get me to talk, I can avoid it by staying silent.
It doesn't seem to be working this time.
He turns my head with his hand, forcing me to look at him. "Quatre. Please
talk to me..." His eyes are searching mine, begging me to... I don't know, just begging.
"I don't want to talk right
now," I tell him simply and move my head out of his hands.
"You never want," he replies, grabbing my face again, "How
long are you going to be like this Quatre?"
I don't answer. I close my eyes, trying to get him to leave me alone and
to understand that I don't - want - to talk - about - it. He doesn't get the point.
"It wasnt your fault," he tries,
"You didnt know, it was a mistake..."
I don't give him a chance to finish. Instead of listening to him, I stand up
and try to walk away. I don't want to hear this. It was not a mistake, it was my fault and I just have to deal with it. I
ran after him. I aimed the gun. I didn't stop to consider that I might be wrong. I pulled the trigger and I murdered an innocent
man. What happened, happened, but the fact that once it was over, I ran after him and killed who I thought was he, is what
was wrong. I don't care what was done to me, I sunk just as low as the man I was after when I aimed that gun.
But he
doesn't know what my mind is focused on most of the time. What happened before I killed that man...
I think for a moment
that I can escape it before Trowa grabs my arm and stands up to look me in the eye. "It was not your fault, Quatre - "
"Stop!"
I interrupt him before he can finish. "It was my fault, Trowa! Stop saying that it wasn't! I put the gun to his head! I shot
him! It was my fault. Mine!"
"No!" For the first time in, I think ever, Trowa raises his voice. "Stop this, now! It
was not your fault, you didn't have time to stop; you were just doing your job! It was an accident! Quatre, stop putting so
much blame on yourself."
I stare at him for a few moments, not knowing what to say. How can he say all this? If it
was a mistake, if it wasn't my fault, then whose fault is it? There is no one to blame but me, why is he trying to argue that?
"I
love you, Quatre. I just want you to talk to me. I want to help you with this, I want to know what happened in that warehouse
so that I can help you deal with -
I can't listen anymore. I rip my arm from his grasp and almost run to the bathroom.
Leaning
my back against the door, I sink to the floor, breathing as best I can. My heart is racing and my mind is full of contending
thoughts and feelings. I can feel tears begin to sting my eyes. I don't want to talk to him about what happened, but I want
him to hold me and help me because I don't think I can do this. Something seems to be preventing me from letting him, though.
I
lean my head back and stare up at the ceiling. I lock my eyes closed but tears escape anyway and travel down my cheeks. I
sit in the bathroom for a while, attempting to calm myself and the headache comes back.
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