Mello didn't sleep that night.
The planning and their serious conversations were finished by midnight. Matt didn't even bother changing; he fell into bed and, leaving his game lying open, instantly fell into a deep sleep. Mello sat in the seat, staring at his friend. A sick feeling twisted in his gut, congealing there, turning his insides into a sickening mass of self-loathing.
He twisted the crucifix at his neck. Guilt. That was what he felt. Guilt. His plans were wrong and everything he was going to do was wrong, and yet he had to do it. There was no other way.
He sat in that chair for another hour or so, and then he peeled off his clothes and fell into the bed opposite Matt. He stared at the clock on the bedside table. Two AM. Three. Four, five. Mello had barely moved in hours. He was staring at the clock, waiting for it to change, waiting for another minute to pass so Matt would wake up and he wouldn't have to be alone with his thoughts.
And then Mello sat up in bed and passed a hand over his face. He had a deep urge inside of him, something that he desperately wanted to do but knew that he could not. It would be wrong of him. It would be heresy.
Ignoring that, Mello dressed himself – warm, because he knew he would be walking for a while – and he was almost at the door when Matt shifted slightly. He paused and looked back at the other boy. A quiet groan, and then Matt turned over and opened his eyes and blinked slightly. He glanced at Mello.
"What are you doing," he sighed, not even bothering to ask it as a question.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" asked Mello, already irritated at how uncaring his friend sounded.
"It looks like that dumb cross punctured your heart. Why are you suddenly so religious, Mells?"
Mello felt like his heart stopped. "Religious?" asked Mello belligerently. "What makes you say that, asshat?"
Matt raised an eyebrow. "It's almost six AM on a Sunday morning. Where the hell else would you be going?"
"Maybe I'm going on a fucking walk."
"I thought Catholics didn't swear."
"I'm not a fucking Catholic."
"'Fucking' and 'Catholic,' now there are two words you never expect to hear in the same sentence."
"Fuck off."
"Hey, feel free to leave. Nobody's stopping you."
Mello stood at the door for a few moments, fuming. He hated that Matt knew him so well. He almost debated taking his clothes off and going back to bed, or walking down to the shop beside the hotel and buying breakfast for his friend, just to prove him wrong.
But the second he was out on the streets in the cold English air, he knew that he couldn't avoid it. He shoved his hands in his pockets, sourly glancing at the other people hurrying along on the street. It was November, and there was snow on the ground. No, it was more like a dirty slush. Mello hated snow. He hated the frigidity of it, he hated the way it always made him shiver, and he especially hated the way it used to keep him inside, back at the House. He was not about to be restrained by mundane things like a little snow on the ground anymore. He was above that now.
They weren't staying in a particularly large town, and within minutes he was at the small church he had seen on the way in. Yes, it was a Catholic church. But Matt hadn't been right about him. Mello was by no means Catholic.
He had read the signs correctly and he slipped into the church. It wasn't that small. They were preparing for a service, he could tell. Despite its size, it looked just like all the other Catholic churches Mello had been to. That was one thing he admired about Catholics. They were by no means subtle.
Mello knew enough about the religion to know where to go and, essentially, what to say.
He slipped into the confessional and he whispered, "Bless me Father, for I have sinned."
Silence. Something like fear twisted in the pit of Mello's belly.
Someone on the other side asked softly, "How long has it been since you last confessed, my son?"
"Never," said Mello, too quickly. "This is my first time."
"I see," replied the priest whose face Mello could not see. "Do you know what to say?"
"Of course," said Mello, almost scathingly. "This is the part where I tell you what I've done."
"Your sins. Yes."
Sin. What a ridiculous word.
"They say sometimes that the Devil disguises himself as God, or as a hand of God," said Mello slowly, choosing his words carefully. "I have sinned because I don't know which is which."
A pause. "My son," said the priest. "To be tested by the Devil is hardly a sin."
"Yeah, well, I take it it's a sin to disregard what the Bible says. And I've done that." A pause. Mello considered what he could say. "I'm going to hurt people," he breathed. "I am willingly choosing to go down a path that will cause harm to people, in the name of the Greater Good."
"There is no Greater Good," announced the priest, "than caring for our neighbour, and serving our Lord."
"I've got the caring for your neighbour part down just fine," said Mello. "It's the love your enemy thing that I've yet to master."
"We can do all things through God who strengthens us."
"Can we, now. I wasn't aware."
Mello's sharp reply was out of line. He knew this as soon as he said it, and regret filled his chest.
He said gruffly, "I'm sorry. This is hard for me."
"Take your time."
Mello thought about what more he had to say. "Is arrogance a sin?"
"Pride. Yes."
"And...anger?"
"Wrath. Indeed."
"So it would be better to disregard all emotion."
A pause. "On the contrary," said the priest, "it is a tragedy when we are untrue to ourselves and our emotions. But we must not let our feelings betray us."
"Betrayal," spat Mello. "I guess I'm guilty of that too. Betraying the people who raised me. Does it count as dishonouring my father and mother, even if I was only raised by them after my birth? No, no. Don't answer that. I'd rather not know if I should have stayed."
Silence.
"I'm done, by the way."
There was a pause.
Mello added, "For these and all the sins of my past, I am truly sorry."
Another pause. "Pray, my son."
Silence. "Pray? My penance is prayer? You're not even going to assign me a couple Hail Marys and an Our Father who art in Heaven, or whatever the hell you usually do?"
"I sense that you would rather choose the prayers on your own, my child. I hope that however the Spirit moves you, you will respond."
The priest paused again. Mello knew that the old man would say more in a few moments, to remind him of the prayer that he needed to say now. But Mello knew the words, he knew the Act of Contrition by heart. He had known the words for years, waiting for the right time to use them.
"O my God," whispered Mello, just before the priest spoke again. "I am heartily sorry for having offended you and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven and the pains of hell."
Heaven. Hell. Mello couldn't believe he was actually saying the words.
"But most of all because they offend you, my God, who are all good and deserving of all my love."
Pathetic.
"I firmly resolve with the help of your grace, to confess my sins, to do penance and to amend my life."
That was a lie. Lying in confession. Oh, the demons down in Hell were going to love him.
"Amen."
The priest sounded tired as he began his Words of Absolution.
"God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and send the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church, may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit."
"Amen."
Silence. Mello sat there, resting in the small confessional, dreading having to walk back into the hotel room and listen to Matt's taunts.
"Your sins," said the priest softly, and something in the man's voice sent a shudder down Mello's spine, "are forgiven." A pause. Sincerity soaked the air between them. "Go in peace. Give thanks to the Lord for He is good."
Mello suddenly felt spooked. "For his mercy endures forever," he muttered quickly, and then he tore out of the confessional and out of the church and he was nearly sprinting back to the hotel when he realized that he wasn't shivering because of the cold.
He walked into the hotel room and sat down on the end of Matt's bed and buried his head in his hands and started crying.
"What the hell?" demanded a bewildered Matt. "What the hell are you doing? Mello? Mells? What the – the fuck happened to you?"
Mello sniffed and wiped his nose roughly and looked at the ground.
"Some people say that forgiveness is a powerful thing, Matt," said Mello harshly, blinking, wiping his face. "They're fucking right."
Mello tried to hold back his breaths, but they escaped in short, terrible gasps.
Matt reached out and put a hand on his friend's arm, and neither of them moved for a long time.
I don't think I wrote Mello right.
I am not Catholic and I've never been to confession, so I have nooo idea if this is anything close to OK. But I did a totally unnecessary amount of research online to get this stuff right. So. Yeah.
It does mean a lot to be forgiven, for anyone who doesn't know. It's breathtaking.