"Boys don't cry, but they do bleed."
//Meiran...
Stupid onna... you just had to fight didn't you?
"Wufei..."
Her voice - so soft, so gentle... like the flowers. Why did I never notice?
"...What?"
"I... was strong, wasn't I? You weren't ashamed of me as your wife, were you?"
Ashamed? I could never be ashamed of you.
"Yeah... You're strong. ...Stronger than anyone."
Too strong for your own good...
"No... You are... stronger..."
What?
*Meiran slumps onto Wufei's shoulder*
"Hey, get off of me."
Her eyes are closed...
"Hey...?"
She looks so beautiful... so peaceful...!
No...
"Hey!? Open your eyes! I haven't yet shown myself worthy of being your husband! NATAKU!"
No...
Nataku...
MEIRAN!!!!!\\
Wufei sat straight up in his uncomfortable cot, tossing the thin, blue blanket away from his trembling body. His fine, black hair, unbound by his sudden awakening, fell about his flushed face. A quivering hand pushed back the ebony curtain, in an attempt to clear his weary mind. As he did so, he felt the beads of sweat that had transpired on his bronze forehead and a strangled sob escaped from his dry throat.
Meiran...
Tears threatened to fall as he curled into a tight ball, fighting the war within him.
I failed you... I'll never be worthy...
How could you say that I am... I am stronger?
Another sob racked his body - but he would not cry.
He would not.
"Boys don't cry."
Wufei slowly disengaged himself from his fetal position and got out of the makeshift bed. At first his steps were unsteady, but he forced himself to calm down as he made his way to his duffel bag in the dark. He unzipped the top, and slipped his hand inside, searching for something - something to relieve the pain in his heart.
A small, deprecating smile appeared on Wufei's face as his long fingers wrapped around the all too familiar blade of his scimitar. The cold steel against his palm brought about a sense of respite, and he headed toward the bathroom, blade still tightly clutched in his hand.
//"Wufei, why do you not weep for your wife? Did she not mean anything to you at all? Was she not good enough?"
How can you ask that? She was EVERYTHING to me...
"Boys do not cry."
Meiran had told me that.\\
Wufei silently entered the bathroom and firmly fastened the lock on the door. It would not do if someone walked in - would not do at all.
He winced as he turned on the light, but adjusted to it quickly enough. He stood in front of the mirror with his head down cast, afraid to face the coward that he was.
I am weak, Nataku... not strong.
Still avoiding his reflection, Wufei laid the sword on the cheap plastic counter of the bathroom, and took off his tank top. Without the tank top on, scars, both large and small, presented themselves all over the taut, bronze flesh of Wufei's chest and back.
But the faded marks were not just random ones - they were carefully carved Chinese characters. They were words of hate, words of guilt, words of sorrow, but most of all, words of pain - forever etched into Wufei, body and soul.
I am not worthy of you, Nataku...
Wufei picked up the gleaming sword, studying it for a second before slashing his torso in slow, but practiced movements. He felt the pain, and welcomed it. It made him feel strong; made him forget.
Wufei finished the character 'weak' across the firm flesh over his stomach and deftly created the word 'unworthy' on the flesh over his heart. He could see the crimson seeping through the cuts, immortalizing the word for a moment in time before streaming like delicate ribbons over his chest.
So very weak...
He continued to create more words and phrases, never wavering to open his skin with the cool blade, but taking the time to solemnly watch his lifeblood gush forward in eagerness. With his chest done, Wufei twisted his arm around and without any hesitation, he carved several large Chinese characters into the golden flesh of his back. Those words were the most disparaging words one could describe oneself with in the Chinese language, and no English phrase could do it justice.
He could feel the liquid essence leave him in scarlet floods, burning as it touched the air. Thick ruby tendrils coursed their way over his torso and drowned into his stark white pants, making Wufei resemble a slowly melting cherry Popsicle on a very hot summer day.
Forgive me, Meiran...
The stained scimitar fell out of Wufei's bloodied hand as he finally took a glance at the mirror. Shame and guilt were bright in his onyx eyes, and he quickly turned away, disgusted at his pathetic... meditations.
Wufei stripped of the stained pants, and stumbled into the shower, slightly cringing as the warm water set raging fire to the open wounds, but endured it nonetheless. This was the only way he knew how to grieve, how to release his the agony locked in his heart.
The water from the showerhead, rained down onto his body, mixing with the blood. The blood-red water fell to the floor and churned around him like a sea of demented tears before falling down the drain, never to be seen again.
Wufei turned off the water and shivered, standing there cold and empty. Only one thing repeated in his mind as he collapsed onto the still bloodied floor...
Boys don't cry.