Week #102 - Abandoned
Title: Ashes to Ashes
Author: tohellwithromeo
Rated: Teen
Characters/Pairings: Matt, Mello, mentions of L and Wammy's peeps
Word count: 3,818
Warnings: Underage drinking, some language
Author's Notes: Apologies for the ridiculous length. My first time writing Matt and Mello, so I'd love feedback! I've succumbed to the temptation of this pairing. Damn you, Sun B|
"I was eleven years old when I took my first drag."
I inhaled as I said this, as if I were demonstrating. Everyone insisted that smoking was bad. The images that were associated with smoking were often too intense to convince anyone otherwise. Tar formed in the lungs, nicotine (along with hundreds of other poisons) pervaded the bloodstream, breathing grew labored, organs turned grey and spotted, but the results outweighed the underlying effects of what it did to my body.
"I watch movies and play video games more in one day than most people do in a lifetime, and what I saw was immensely contrary - all the cool, chill characters had cigarettes hanging from their mouths, aside from the leather jackets and sunglasses... that’s probably where the goggles came in." A smile formed on my lips, and I laughed to myself, softly because I wasn't sure if anyone was there to hear me anyway.
"I remember the day I stole from Mello’s assortment of black leather, and found that the style didn’t suit me at all. When he walked in on my solitary fashion show, he burst out laughing before promptly beating me to a pulp for wearing his clothes. You’d think I’d have learned by now, but I can rarely resist the urge as I walk by his closet while he’s not around. I've only avoided his leather pants because they'd never fit in a million years."
Finally I decided to sit down, because I realized I was going to be here for a while and my legs hurt. "You, as ironic as it sounds, were the one who introduced me to cigarettes. Until then, I thought it was something only pretentious grownups or rebellious teenagers did, and you seemed to fit in neither category. But as I sat there, watching you stare into the distance with a far-off look as you had your first smoke just for curiosity’s sake, I realized that it was the one time I would be on the same level with you. You were just as interested to know as I was what the big hype was all about." I straightened my legs out and played with the grass, pulling out the blades that had burnt edges. Then, wincing and stifling a choking sound, you handed me the cigarette and said in a strained voice I only ever heard once: “'Go ahead. It’s disgusting, and you’ll never want to try it again.'”
"And you were right." I laughed again, louder this time, breaking the silence around me. "I held the cigarette between two fingers and straightened my back, as if I were some sophisticated bachelor acting suavely undercover at a party, like in those secret agent movies. As I inhaled, I remember telling myself that I would be stronger than you were at this... but in the end I coughed just as much as you had, if not more."
"Remember? Watari had discovered us, sitting on the back porch, and had demanded to know why we both seemed green in the face and sick to our stomachs, but I let you do all the talking - well, lying through your teeth, something you were too good at. Ha. Instead of dropping the cigarette on the ground and covering it with my foot, I hid it in my fist and tried to hide the burning pain that seared through my palm behind a fake smile."
Smoking proved to be an acquired taste. "I made another attempt later with the same cigarette I'd stashed, around the back of Wammy’s where I was out of sight of all the other kids on the playground. The second drag was just as bad as the first, but I wasn’t coughing anymore."
“I can’t breathe, you idiot.”
I coughed as I remembered Mello's first reaction. "Mello couldn’t stand my growing habit. Whenever I lit one around him, he’d growl angrily, stomp over to me, snatch the cigarette from my hands and stamp it out with his foot. It was only natural that someone with such a thin frame, so seemingly frail, would be adverse to cigarette smoke." I took another drag and blew a trail of smoke into the cold air, and for a moment I thought it might condense and form acid rain. Now wouldn't that be neat? "I only quit once, when Mello fell ill with bronchitis after I tried to hide the needs of my addiction in the late hours of the night. We shared a room, so it was understandable that the smoke would eventually take a toll on his health."
My head drifted down to stare at the ground again. I would have been sitting on the grass, but there wasn't enough for me to fit and I'd probably get in trouble. The cold cement beneath me made my butt hurt, though, so I shifted my weight. "It made me learn all too quickly that secondhand smoke was more dangerous than firsthand. But while he was sick, and a few weeks afterward in his recuperation, I couldn’t stop shaking, my eyes were always bloodshot, and it was difficult to concentrate on my games - sometimes I worried who was more sick, Mello or me. I longed for just one smoke, but when I’d come back to our room Mello would surely be able to smell it on my breath just as surely as I could smell the sweet chocolate on his, everyday. I fought it all back for his sake, but I was weak, and eventually I had to start up again."
Taking a few seconds to gather my thoughts, I swallowed. "I smoked even more when Mello left the orphanage."
My sense of loss had climbed exponentially. I knew deep down that he had left because L had died and Near had won, but... "Underneath it all I wondered if it was something I'd done. If I had driven him away. It came as a shock when I was left the only successor still at the orphanage, but at the same time I'd somehow expected it. I turned into a recluse, sinking deeper in the magical game world where I could always start over if I died. One pack daily turned into five; it grew increasingly difficult to acquire them without someone to secretly buy them for me, so I snuck out occasionally to get them myself. Don't ask how or where I got the money - for now, let's just admit that I resorted to drastic measures. What can I say? I was desperate for the one craving that was keeping me sound and sane on this earth." But smoking was only a substitute for something I'd let slip away.
You never even bothered to say goodbye.
"I hid myself behind my console, but I wore clothes that made me stand out, because if I didn't pronounce my presence I would dissolve into the background," I confessed. "Just as the ash falls from the end of a cigarette after the chemicals and paper've been used up; just as the virtual enemy fades when a simple combo of A's and B's kill it and it's gone, because it has no identity - it's just a tool, not even worthy of gender or a name."
"There was I time when I'd grown tired of my games and set them aside. I thought about life, and what it could mean, and what the overall point to it was. We all die eventually, no matter what we do with ourselves. 'You are dust and unto dust you shall return,' said the Bible, though I like to replace 'dust' with 'ash'- it's better that way, seems more appropriate. I was a meaningless existence. I spent too many nights alone, crying without the shoulder I'd had for nearly ten years until now, even contemplating suicide but rejecting the idea because in the end it wouldn't mean I'd see Mello again." My long striped sleeves hid the countless failed attempts at cutting, but only thin faint scars as shallow as papercuts, as I could never bring myself to do it- the pain I felt from being abandoned was pain enough. Even though they were pretty much gone, I rolled up my sleeve and showed them off anyway, bracing my bare skin for the icy bite of the late winter frost. "Around everybody minus one, it was too easy to pretend I was okay when I wasn't, not really."
I paused for a few minutes. It wasn't easy talking about my glass-half-empty life, even when it failed to reach anyone's ears. "Although I'd moved into an apartment as far away as possible from Wammy's, cutting off all contact and erasing any information about me left behind, Mello had somehow managed to find me."
"My cellphone ringing was the first clue, and at three in the morning no less. Who would call me at this time of night? Who would call me, period? I knew no one. I'd bought the cell purely for its convenience; it wasn't like I really had anyone to call aside from the woman I chatted with at the bar from time to time and my neighbor who sometimes played video games with me on nights that seemed especially lonely." I sighed in recollection. "But when I heard Mello's voice on the other end, I suddenly couldn't recall their names."
There was a long pause. I could hear my old friend's breath, shaking and the sound of his mouth opening and closing before "...Matt?"
"For years I'd imagined what I would say should we meet or speak again. In my head or aloud to the bathroom mirror, I'd gone through everything I'd say and anything with which he might respond. I thought of it as an RPG- a set of choices to choose from, but there were only so many right answers. When it came down to it now, however, my preconceptions were tossed out the window. Just my name coming from his voice tightened my throat. I could barely trust my own voice enough to get the words out, and I still don't know why these exact words came to mind and formed themselves on my tongue:"
"...Y-You have the wrong number."
"It took all my strength not to add 'I'm sorry,' but in the end I couldn't stop myself." My thumb came down on the End button halfway through my apology, and I found myself crying, the phone still clutched tightly in my hand as I fell asleep with tearstained cheeks.
I'd been fully prepared to face you- that is, until you came into the picture and screwed it all up. I'd had it all down, practiced and memorized, but with one word you tore up my script and threw it into the unforgiving flames. I was a fool to think you would disappear from my life completely.
I'd never expected that you'd actually try to come back.
"In the morning I refused eat, because I considered it self-inflicted punishment for what I'd done. I hadn't picked the right answer. GAME OVER. Except this time I'd run out of lives."
"I didn't eat for the rest of the day, too. I wasn't not hungry- I was famished, in fact, and the smoking had the opposite effect to easing the sense of starvation that ate away at my stomach- but I just could not keep anything down; what little food I tried to eat forced its way back up my throat."
"At, uh... 9 PM the next night, only a few crackers and some soda had gone down, my stomach having complained all day for being neglected (ha. Now it knew how I felt). There was a knock on my door, and I trudged my way to it, demanding to know who it was before I let them in."
"'It's Brandon.' And that's all he said. That's all he usually said, my neighbor was the silent stoic type, but this time seemed different, awkward. But my head wasn't really in the right place (somewhere in my digestive system, most likely), so I opened the door only to stumble sideways when Mello nearly trampled me as he stormed into my apartment." Brandon shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his attention to me. "You okay, man?"
"I'm fine," I lied, attempted smile forcing its way to a grimace.
He shrugged, muttering something that sounded like 'Okay.' Mello brought his arm around and slammed the door in Brandon's face, then held up a large plastic grocery bag. I squinted; it took me a moment to make out the dozen cans of Heineken and the pink outline of a Pepto Bismol bottle.
"You're not fine, stupid," Mello growled, but I still spotted some concern in his tone. "I'm surprised you're still alive."
I smirked, stifling a cough with a hand to my chest, the other gripping the wall to keep me from falling over. It was a good thing I couldn't move without my head spinning, otherwise I would've wrapped my arms around him by now. "Did I really sound that bad?"
He returned my smirk with a grin. "Bad enough for me to get all my best men to track you down."
"Three doses of thick stomach medicine and a few hours later, I'd managed to keep down one beer while I hesitated to drink the last half of my second. The combination of the two seemed counter-intuitive, but the alcohol had taken its effect and by now the schematics of everything didn't matter. A formula for disaster, alcohol for a minor, not to mention two. Mello sat on the sofa across from me, our legs intertwined after we'd drunkenly wrestled like we used to at Wammy's. The blond was on his fourth beer- his face was flushed, head hung back over the armrest, and laughter bubbled from his throat as he sluggishly waved his hand about and muttered something unintelligible." I laughed once. "Doesn't sound like him at all, does it? But believe me, I'm telling the truth."
"Mello?" I asked cautiously after it had gone too quiet. This wasn't like him at all. Then again, I hadn't seem him in years, much less under alcoholic influence.
"Who walks among the famous living dead," he sang with a lopsided grin. His singing voice wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either.
"What?"
"Drowns all the boys and girls inside your bed..."
"Mello, you're scaring me." "Ha. No, what scared me more was how much more sober I was. I finished my beer in one swig and grabbed a third, hoping to drink myself to his level of drunkenness."
"And if you could talk to me, tell me if it's so..."
"I had no idea what the hell kind of song this was, much less why Mello was singing it in the first place, but I laughed and tried to sing along even though I didn't know the words. Together, our voices butchered the song and any chance at harmony." My hand came up to my mouth as I stifled another laugh at how ridiculous it was.
"That all the good girls go..." Mello's grin widened enough to split his face in half. He opened his mouth as if he was going to sing more, then closed it. "I forgot the rest," he deadpanned. Were I sober, I would've caught his lie.
"'The hell was that?" I asked, kicking him jokingly.
He was calmer and more irate now, more himself. "Fuck if I know."
I sat up to put down my beer and light a cigarette, then stopped just as the flame touched the filter, glancing at Mello, waiting for a furious reaction. "Oh. Sorry." I fumbled to close the lighter and reached for the nearest ashtray.
He peeked one eye open from underneath his mess of hair, then let his head fall back. "Do what you want."
"Mello had certainly changed." I laid back and ran a hand through my hair, tears springing to my eyes. "As much as I enjoyed his company now, I began to wonder how long it would last. How long would he stay? Would he leave me again? Did he expect that he could just show up and disappear just as quickly?" I asked these questions as if my confidant had all the answers.
"Why did you leave?" It was painful to say. Alcohol was a key to the door that locked away my inhibition and restraint. Mello's smile faded as my voice choked. "Was it me? My addiction? What did I do?"
Mello groaned and pulled himself upright with some reluctance, letting his head hang forward and hair shield his face. His hands cupped around the beer can, fingers tapping the sides absently. "It wasn't anything you did."
The tears came fast now, rolling down my face, but I didn't bother to wipe them away. I wanted Mello to see them, as if it were my intention to make him feel guilty. Or maybe I was just too drunk to do anything about them. "You abandoned me." Suddenly I was the one feeling guilty for having accused him of having done wrong, even though these words seemed truer aloud.
He was silent for a few moments, probably thinking of how best to put his answer. Finally: "...I couldn't take you along."
I sniffled, wiping my nose with all sides of my hand. I felt gross and wet and sick, like I would throw up again. "Are you coming home?" I asked hopefully. I wanted nothing more than for him to stay with me. I'd give up my games, my smokes, anything if he would just be in my life, however long that turned out to be.
"...No."
Heart falling, my eyes drifted down to stare into my lap. "I was to be abandoned again, left for dead on the side of the road like a dog. I'd always been compared to a dog - loyal when it came to Mello, willing to unconditionally love him no matter how many times he kicked me down. But being kicked down was the hardest part to bear." I tore out a few blades of fresh grass now, plucking each one out forcefully in emphasis as I spoke.
Mello gently pushed my cheek with his knuckles in a fake punch, then cradled the side of my face in his hand, wiping my tears with a few strokes of his thumb. "Physically, it was cold from the beer he'd been holding, but to me it seemed hotter than the sun. My face flared up at his touch. He'd never done anything like this before: like he was trying his best to comfort me."
"He growled, as if I were some naïve nuisance who couldn't grasp what he was saying - and I probably was." He slid his hand up to tousle my hair roughly. "You're the one who's coming home, idiot."
My cigarette fell from my fingers and dropped to the sofa cushion with a hiss. "The look on my face must have annoyed him, because he frowned, showing teeth." "Get it together, Matt. Just sell the apartment and come with me." I blinked in surprise.
"Now?"
"Are you fucking serious? At least wait until we're not blind drunk."
"It hadn't occurred to me that more tears had formed, spilling onto his hand, but I realized it when Mello let out an aggravated sigh and angrily ordered me to stop crying or he'd kick my ass. I couldn't help but throw my arms around his neck and pull him as close as possible. Naturally he protested, trying to shove me off, and would've punched me in the gut if I still weren't feeling nauseous. I didn't bother to count how many times I thanked him as I buried my face in his shoulder and took in the scent of his hair that brought back too many memories, refusing to let him go. Eventually he patted my back twice and asked, 'Done yet?'"
I gave him one final squeeze before lowering my arms and nodding. "This is for the Kira case, isn't it?" I ventured.
Mello finished his beer, dropping the empty can to join the collective pile that had scattered on the floor, and coughed once. "Sort of."
"Then he looked me square in the eyes and said three words that utterly erased any feelings I'd had of being abandoned. I wasn't just a convenience to him, I couldn't be discarded." My smile grew with each word, so wide my mouth hurt but I didn't care. "I was determined from there on out to prove to Mello that I could be of use to him, and not just after the case, but always. Always. It was my new favorite word, right up there with 'forever,' 'eternally,' and 'permanent.'"
I would have hugged Mello again, but his arms were crossed and there was an agitated look on his face, so I settled for a cheery smile and in my head repeated over and over those three words he'd said to me:
I need you.
My cellphone vibrated in my pocket for the third time, something that until now I'd thought was just my own body shivering. I glanced quickly at the screen.
M. Let's get moving.
I don't have all day.
________________
sent 01/26/2010
11:35:40
Then, for some reason, I saluted to the stone cross with my free hand. "Sorry, L. Duty calls."
Where is Mello now?
The question might have come from beyond the grave, or maybe I'd just imagined it. But it had sounded distinctly like L's voice: steady, clear, and monotonous. I answered regardless. "Back at HQ. He's planning something big, but he hasn't told me the details." I shrugged. "Not like it matters, I've found it's better not to question him. I just do what he tells me to do."
And you're okay with that?
"Absolutely," I said without hesitation. I stood, dusting whatever may have gathered front and back off my pants, and shoved my now-freezing hands into my coat pockets. "It felt nice to talk to you, even if you're probably not there to listen. I'll come back tomorrow if I'm still kickin'."
I lit my third cigarette and was about to walk off when I heard L's voice again, like it was in the back of my mind, as if my presence still rooted him here.
I never meant to abandon you.
L may have seemed like a blank slate, but he did have emotion. The voice I heard was edged with regret and pain, a plea for my forgiveness. But all of that was behind me - there was nothing to forgive. I looked back at the tombstone and smiled brightly, now sure that L was there, watching from afar, always.
"I know."
Author: tohellwithromeo
Rated: Teen
Characters/Pairings: Matt, Mello, mentions of L and Wammy's peeps
Word count: 3,818
Warnings: Underage drinking, some language
Author's Notes: Apologies for the ridiculous length. My first time writing Matt and Mello, so I'd love feedback! I've succumbed to the temptation of this pairing. Damn you, Sun B|
"I was eleven years old when I took my first drag."
I inhaled as I said this, as if I were demonstrating. Everyone insisted that smoking was bad. The images that were associated with smoking were often too intense to convince anyone otherwise. Tar formed in the lungs, nicotine (along with hundreds of other poisons) pervaded the bloodstream, breathing grew labored, organs turned grey and spotted, but the results outweighed the underlying effects of what it did to my body.
"I watch movies and play video games more in one day than most people do in a lifetime, and what I saw was immensely contrary - all the cool, chill characters had cigarettes hanging from their mouths, aside from the leather jackets and sunglasses... that’s probably where the goggles came in." A smile formed on my lips, and I laughed to myself, softly because I wasn't sure if anyone was there to hear me anyway.
"I remember the day I stole from Mello’s assortment of black leather, and found that the style didn’t suit me at all. When he walked in on my solitary fashion show, he burst out laughing before promptly beating me to a pulp for wearing his clothes. You’d think I’d have learned by now, but I can rarely resist the urge as I walk by his closet while he’s not around. I've only avoided his leather pants because they'd never fit in a million years."
Finally I decided to sit down, because I realized I was going to be here for a while and my legs hurt. "You, as ironic as it sounds, were the one who introduced me to cigarettes. Until then, I thought it was something only pretentious grownups or rebellious teenagers did, and you seemed to fit in neither category. But as I sat there, watching you stare into the distance with a far-off look as you had your first smoke just for curiosity’s sake, I realized that it was the one time I would be on the same level with you. You were just as interested to know as I was what the big hype was all about." I straightened my legs out and played with the grass, pulling out the blades that had burnt edges. Then, wincing and stifling a choking sound, you handed me the cigarette and said in a strained voice I only ever heard once: “'Go ahead. It’s disgusting, and you’ll never want to try it again.'”
"And you were right." I laughed again, louder this time, breaking the silence around me. "I held the cigarette between two fingers and straightened my back, as if I were some sophisticated bachelor acting suavely undercover at a party, like in those secret agent movies. As I inhaled, I remember telling myself that I would be stronger than you were at this... but in the end I coughed just as much as you had, if not more."
"Remember? Watari had discovered us, sitting on the back porch, and had demanded to know why we both seemed green in the face and sick to our stomachs, but I let you do all the talking - well, lying through your teeth, something you were too good at. Ha. Instead of dropping the cigarette on the ground and covering it with my foot, I hid it in my fist and tried to hide the burning pain that seared through my palm behind a fake smile."
Smoking proved to be an acquired taste. "I made another attempt later with the same cigarette I'd stashed, around the back of Wammy’s where I was out of sight of all the other kids on the playground. The second drag was just as bad as the first, but I wasn’t coughing anymore."
“I can’t breathe, you idiot.”
I coughed as I remembered Mello's first reaction. "Mello couldn’t stand my growing habit. Whenever I lit one around him, he’d growl angrily, stomp over to me, snatch the cigarette from my hands and stamp it out with his foot. It was only natural that someone with such a thin frame, so seemingly frail, would be adverse to cigarette smoke." I took another drag and blew a trail of smoke into the cold air, and for a moment I thought it might condense and form acid rain. Now wouldn't that be neat? "I only quit once, when Mello fell ill with bronchitis after I tried to hide the needs of my addiction in the late hours of the night. We shared a room, so it was understandable that the smoke would eventually take a toll on his health."
My head drifted down to stare at the ground again. I would have been sitting on the grass, but there wasn't enough for me to fit and I'd probably get in trouble. The cold cement beneath me made my butt hurt, though, so I shifted my weight. "It made me learn all too quickly that secondhand smoke was more dangerous than firsthand. But while he was sick, and a few weeks afterward in his recuperation, I couldn’t stop shaking, my eyes were always bloodshot, and it was difficult to concentrate on my games - sometimes I worried who was more sick, Mello or me. I longed for just one smoke, but when I’d come back to our room Mello would surely be able to smell it on my breath just as surely as I could smell the sweet chocolate on his, everyday. I fought it all back for his sake, but I was weak, and eventually I had to start up again."
Taking a few seconds to gather my thoughts, I swallowed. "I smoked even more when Mello left the orphanage."
My sense of loss had climbed exponentially. I knew deep down that he had left because L had died and Near had won, but... "Underneath it all I wondered if it was something I'd done. If I had driven him away. It came as a shock when I was left the only successor still at the orphanage, but at the same time I'd somehow expected it. I turned into a recluse, sinking deeper in the magical game world where I could always start over if I died. One pack daily turned into five; it grew increasingly difficult to acquire them without someone to secretly buy them for me, so I snuck out occasionally to get them myself. Don't ask how or where I got the money - for now, let's just admit that I resorted to drastic measures. What can I say? I was desperate for the one craving that was keeping me sound and sane on this earth." But smoking was only a substitute for something I'd let slip away.
You never even bothered to say goodbye.
"I hid myself behind my console, but I wore clothes that made me stand out, because if I didn't pronounce my presence I would dissolve into the background," I confessed. "Just as the ash falls from the end of a cigarette after the chemicals and paper've been used up; just as the virtual enemy fades when a simple combo of A's and B's kill it and it's gone, because it has no identity - it's just a tool, not even worthy of gender or a name."
"There was I time when I'd grown tired of my games and set them aside. I thought about life, and what it could mean, and what the overall point to it was. We all die eventually, no matter what we do with ourselves. 'You are dust and unto dust you shall return,' said the Bible, though I like to replace 'dust' with 'ash'- it's better that way, seems more appropriate. I was a meaningless existence. I spent too many nights alone, crying without the shoulder I'd had for nearly ten years until now, even contemplating suicide but rejecting the idea because in the end it wouldn't mean I'd see Mello again." My long striped sleeves hid the countless failed attempts at cutting, but only thin faint scars as shallow as papercuts, as I could never bring myself to do it- the pain I felt from being abandoned was pain enough. Even though they were pretty much gone, I rolled up my sleeve and showed them off anyway, bracing my bare skin for the icy bite of the late winter frost. "Around everybody minus one, it was too easy to pretend I was okay when I wasn't, not really."
I paused for a few minutes. It wasn't easy talking about my glass-half-empty life, even when it failed to reach anyone's ears. "Although I'd moved into an apartment as far away as possible from Wammy's, cutting off all contact and erasing any information about me left behind, Mello had somehow managed to find me."
"My cellphone ringing was the first clue, and at three in the morning no less. Who would call me at this time of night? Who would call me, period? I knew no one. I'd bought the cell purely for its convenience; it wasn't like I really had anyone to call aside from the woman I chatted with at the bar from time to time and my neighbor who sometimes played video games with me on nights that seemed especially lonely." I sighed in recollection. "But when I heard Mello's voice on the other end, I suddenly couldn't recall their names."
There was a long pause. I could hear my old friend's breath, shaking and the sound of his mouth opening and closing before "...Matt?"
"For years I'd imagined what I would say should we meet or speak again. In my head or aloud to the bathroom mirror, I'd gone through everything I'd say and anything with which he might respond. I thought of it as an RPG- a set of choices to choose from, but there were only so many right answers. When it came down to it now, however, my preconceptions were tossed out the window. Just my name coming from his voice tightened my throat. I could barely trust my own voice enough to get the words out, and I still don't know why these exact words came to mind and formed themselves on my tongue:"
"...Y-You have the wrong number."
"It took all my strength not to add 'I'm sorry,' but in the end I couldn't stop myself." My thumb came down on the End button halfway through my apology, and I found myself crying, the phone still clutched tightly in my hand as I fell asleep with tearstained cheeks.
I'd been fully prepared to face you- that is, until you came into the picture and screwed it all up. I'd had it all down, practiced and memorized, but with one word you tore up my script and threw it into the unforgiving flames. I was a fool to think you would disappear from my life completely.
I'd never expected that you'd actually try to come back.
"In the morning I refused eat, because I considered it self-inflicted punishment for what I'd done. I hadn't picked the right answer. GAME OVER. Except this time I'd run out of lives."
"I didn't eat for the rest of the day, too. I wasn't not hungry- I was famished, in fact, and the smoking had the opposite effect to easing the sense of starvation that ate away at my stomach- but I just could not keep anything down; what little food I tried to eat forced its way back up my throat."
"At, uh... 9 PM the next night, only a few crackers and some soda had gone down, my stomach having complained all day for being neglected (ha. Now it knew how I felt). There was a knock on my door, and I trudged my way to it, demanding to know who it was before I let them in."
"'It's Brandon.' And that's all he said. That's all he usually said, my neighbor was the silent stoic type, but this time seemed different, awkward. But my head wasn't really in the right place (somewhere in my digestive system, most likely), so I opened the door only to stumble sideways when Mello nearly trampled me as he stormed into my apartment." Brandon shoved his hands in his pockets and turned his attention to me. "You okay, man?"
"I'm fine," I lied, attempted smile forcing its way to a grimace.
He shrugged, muttering something that sounded like 'Okay.' Mello brought his arm around and slammed the door in Brandon's face, then held up a large plastic grocery bag. I squinted; it took me a moment to make out the dozen cans of Heineken and the pink outline of a Pepto Bismol bottle.
"You're not fine, stupid," Mello growled, but I still spotted some concern in his tone. "I'm surprised you're still alive."
I smirked, stifling a cough with a hand to my chest, the other gripping the wall to keep me from falling over. It was a good thing I couldn't move without my head spinning, otherwise I would've wrapped my arms around him by now. "Did I really sound that bad?"
He returned my smirk with a grin. "Bad enough for me to get all my best men to track you down."
"Three doses of thick stomach medicine and a few hours later, I'd managed to keep down one beer while I hesitated to drink the last half of my second. The combination of the two seemed counter-intuitive, but the alcohol had taken its effect and by now the schematics of everything didn't matter. A formula for disaster, alcohol for a minor, not to mention two. Mello sat on the sofa across from me, our legs intertwined after we'd drunkenly wrestled like we used to at Wammy's. The blond was on his fourth beer- his face was flushed, head hung back over the armrest, and laughter bubbled from his throat as he sluggishly waved his hand about and muttered something unintelligible." I laughed once. "Doesn't sound like him at all, does it? But believe me, I'm telling the truth."
"Mello?" I asked cautiously after it had gone too quiet. This wasn't like him at all. Then again, I hadn't seem him in years, much less under alcoholic influence.
"Who walks among the famous living dead," he sang with a lopsided grin. His singing voice wasn't bad, but it wasn't good either.
"What?"
"Drowns all the boys and girls inside your bed..."
"Mello, you're scaring me." "Ha. No, what scared me more was how much more sober I was. I finished my beer in one swig and grabbed a third, hoping to drink myself to his level of drunkenness."
"And if you could talk to me, tell me if it's so..."
"I had no idea what the hell kind of song this was, much less why Mello was singing it in the first place, but I laughed and tried to sing along even though I didn't know the words. Together, our voices butchered the song and any chance at harmony." My hand came up to my mouth as I stifled another laugh at how ridiculous it was.
"That all the good girls go..." Mello's grin widened enough to split his face in half. He opened his mouth as if he was going to sing more, then closed it. "I forgot the rest," he deadpanned. Were I sober, I would've caught his lie.
"'The hell was that?" I asked, kicking him jokingly.
He was calmer and more irate now, more himself. "Fuck if I know."
I sat up to put down my beer and light a cigarette, then stopped just as the flame touched the filter, glancing at Mello, waiting for a furious reaction. "Oh. Sorry." I fumbled to close the lighter and reached for the nearest ashtray.
He peeked one eye open from underneath his mess of hair, then let his head fall back. "Do what you want."
"Mello had certainly changed." I laid back and ran a hand through my hair, tears springing to my eyes. "As much as I enjoyed his company now, I began to wonder how long it would last. How long would he stay? Would he leave me again? Did he expect that he could just show up and disappear just as quickly?" I asked these questions as if my confidant had all the answers.
"Why did you leave?" It was painful to say. Alcohol was a key to the door that locked away my inhibition and restraint. Mello's smile faded as my voice choked. "Was it me? My addiction? What did I do?"
Mello groaned and pulled himself upright with some reluctance, letting his head hang forward and hair shield his face. His hands cupped around the beer can, fingers tapping the sides absently. "It wasn't anything you did."
The tears came fast now, rolling down my face, but I didn't bother to wipe them away. I wanted Mello to see them, as if it were my intention to make him feel guilty. Or maybe I was just too drunk to do anything about them. "You abandoned me." Suddenly I was the one feeling guilty for having accused him of having done wrong, even though these words seemed truer aloud.
He was silent for a few moments, probably thinking of how best to put his answer. Finally: "...I couldn't take you along."
I sniffled, wiping my nose with all sides of my hand. I felt gross and wet and sick, like I would throw up again. "Are you coming home?" I asked hopefully. I wanted nothing more than for him to stay with me. I'd give up my games, my smokes, anything if he would just be in my life, however long that turned out to be.
"...No."
Heart falling, my eyes drifted down to stare into my lap. "I was to be abandoned again, left for dead on the side of the road like a dog. I'd always been compared to a dog - loyal when it came to Mello, willing to unconditionally love him no matter how many times he kicked me down. But being kicked down was the hardest part to bear." I tore out a few blades of fresh grass now, plucking each one out forcefully in emphasis as I spoke.
Mello gently pushed my cheek with his knuckles in a fake punch, then cradled the side of my face in his hand, wiping my tears with a few strokes of his thumb. "Physically, it was cold from the beer he'd been holding, but to me it seemed hotter than the sun. My face flared up at his touch. He'd never done anything like this before: like he was trying his best to comfort me."
"He growled, as if I were some naïve nuisance who couldn't grasp what he was saying - and I probably was." He slid his hand up to tousle my hair roughly. "You're the one who's coming home, idiot."
My cigarette fell from my fingers and dropped to the sofa cushion with a hiss. "The look on my face must have annoyed him, because he frowned, showing teeth." "Get it together, Matt. Just sell the apartment and come with me." I blinked in surprise.
"Now?"
"Are you fucking serious? At least wait until we're not blind drunk."
"It hadn't occurred to me that more tears had formed, spilling onto his hand, but I realized it when Mello let out an aggravated sigh and angrily ordered me to stop crying or he'd kick my ass. I couldn't help but throw my arms around his neck and pull him as close as possible. Naturally he protested, trying to shove me off, and would've punched me in the gut if I still weren't feeling nauseous. I didn't bother to count how many times I thanked him as I buried my face in his shoulder and took in the scent of his hair that brought back too many memories, refusing to let him go. Eventually he patted my back twice and asked, 'Done yet?'"
I gave him one final squeeze before lowering my arms and nodding. "This is for the Kira case, isn't it?" I ventured.
Mello finished his beer, dropping the empty can to join the collective pile that had scattered on the floor, and coughed once. "Sort of."
"Then he looked me square in the eyes and said three words that utterly erased any feelings I'd had of being abandoned. I wasn't just a convenience to him, I couldn't be discarded." My smile grew with each word, so wide my mouth hurt but I didn't care. "I was determined from there on out to prove to Mello that I could be of use to him, and not just after the case, but always. Always. It was my new favorite word, right up there with 'forever,' 'eternally,' and 'permanent.'"
I would have hugged Mello again, but his arms were crossed and there was an agitated look on his face, so I settled for a cheery smile and in my head repeated over and over those three words he'd said to me:
I need you.
My cellphone vibrated in my pocket for the third time, something that until now I'd thought was just my own body shivering. I glanced quickly at the screen.
M. Let's get moving.
I don't have all day.
________________
sent 01/26/2010
11:35:40
Then, for some reason, I saluted to the stone cross with my free hand. "Sorry, L. Duty calls."
Where is Mello now?
The question might have come from beyond the grave, or maybe I'd just imagined it. But it had sounded distinctly like L's voice: steady, clear, and monotonous. I answered regardless. "Back at HQ. He's planning something big, but he hasn't told me the details." I shrugged. "Not like it matters, I've found it's better not to question him. I just do what he tells me to do."
And you're okay with that?
"Absolutely," I said without hesitation. I stood, dusting whatever may have gathered front and back off my pants, and shoved my now-freezing hands into my coat pockets. "It felt nice to talk to you, even if you're probably not there to listen. I'll come back tomorrow if I'm still kickin'."
I lit my third cigarette and was about to walk off when I heard L's voice again, like it was in the back of my mind, as if my presence still rooted him here.
I never meant to abandon you.
L may have seemed like a blank slate, but he did have emotion. The voice I heard was edged with regret and pain, a plea for my forgiveness. But all of that was behind me - there was nothing to forgive. I looked back at the tombstone and smiled brightly, now sure that L was there, watching from afar, always.
"I know."