A/N: Another oneshot. I've felt that I haven't shown enough flaws in Layla's personality, so I finally decided to write this. I've had this idea in my head for a while that Layla is a bit of a klepto, so I hope this shows some of the flaws she has. Thanks for reading! Love you guys!
Disappointment
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or any of it's respective characters. However I do own Layla Levandi. Please do not use her without my permission.
Quick, she's not looking.
Small, delicate fingers slipped inside Madame Meri's purse. The woman was stupid, sinful. She talked away to the other ladies quietly about meaningless things, men, hairdressers, the latest fashions that had been seen in Russia.
And they were in church no less! Oh how she wished they would be quiet. If mama overheard them from where she stood in the choir singing, there would definitely be no food for her tonight. Layla swallowed hard as her fingers grasped the tiny trinket and she pulled her hand away from the woman's purse fast, clamping her prize in her fist.
She'd stolen it, Madame Meri's pearl ring. Perhaps later she'd drop it in the donation box just outside of the door. Maybe then God would take some pity on her, show her mother she wasn't sinful. Biting her lip, Layla focused on her mother standing up in the choir, her heavenly voice ringing out above all the others and she felt a knot of shame in her belly. There was no way God would take pity on her. She is a thief, and stealing is a sin. But still, her hands tightened on the ring, her prize, she would keep it for herself.
Snap!
The crack of chocolate made Layla jump and she turned sheepishly to face Mello.
"So, what are we here for again?" she asked, gazing around the tiny convenience store, the smell of bleach and Pine-Sol filtering through her nose.
Mello huffed, looking annoyed as he tilted his sunglasses down to peer at her. There was the brightest flash of sapphire and her heart went right up into her throat. But, it disappeared after a moment when he covered his eyes again.
"Are you getting Alzheimer's or something?" he sneered, "You're the one with the memory after all. You tell me what we're here for."
She shuffled through her thoughts quickly, then turned to smile cheerily at him. "I needed cigarettes."
Mello let out a sigh, "Don't see why you needed to drag me along. Couldn't you have pried Matt away from his video games long enough to make him go to the store?"
That was true, she could have gotten Matt to go with her, but she hadn't spent much time with Mello the past few weeks, and to be truthful she'd scarcely seen him at all. Only long enough to feel him slide into bed beside her in the wee hours of the night and leave a few hours later. Today was the first day she'd woken up and he'd remained sleeping next to her.
"Because, I missed you!" Layla said fondly, wrapping her arms around one of his own. "I haven't seen you in ages. I like being with you, Mello."
Like always, he pretended not to take much notice of her affection, but she knew from the way he squeezed her palm that he appreciated her words.
When they walked to the checkout counter, something shiny caught her eye. It was a small, silver compact mirror in one of the small bins beside the lighters. A useless thing really. But, it was pretty. She glanced over, almost ready to ask Mello for it, but he was already placing bills on the counter, counting them with slow deliberation as he asked for a carton of cigarettes.
It would be an inconvenience to ask Mello for such a thing now, he'd be mad that she hadn't asked before he'd pulled out his money.
But, she wanted it.
Then, the idea popped into her head so fast she nearly fell. She could always steal it.
Right when the checkout guy turned to get the cigarettes and Mello was putting change in his pocket she could swipe it, put it into her coat without a soul knowing. Then, the pretty little thing would be hers.
Layla had always been good with timing, good with her thoughts. She waited for just the right moment when Mello was leaning down to reach at his change and the checkout clerk was turning to reach for the cigarettes in a clear shelf above his head.
She struck then, quickly snaking her hand into the jar where her prize was kept. Wrapping her fingers around the object, Layla snaked her hand out of the jar.
Just as Mello turned to look at her, the compact was safely in the pocket of her coat and she offered him a slight smile.
As always, Mello didn't smile back, just shook his head and thanked the clerk as he handed him a packet of cigarettes.
He tossed the pack of cigarettes to her and she mumbled a slight thank you. Instead, her thoughts were focused on the compact in her pocket and a faint sliver of greed slid through her.
Stealing was one thing she was naturally talented at. Sure, she could paint a portrait in someone's likeness, but that was work, that took practice. With stealing, you could just take and never offer anything in return.
Layla Levandi liked to steal. She liked the idea of taking something from another, even if it was something as small as pack of chewing gum. It wasn't really about the object, it was about the feeling, the minor feeling of having power over someone, when she so often felt powerless.
As a little girl, during the church rituals Layla would sneak through the women's purses, taking small trinkets, a ring, a handkerchief, perfume. All underneath the watchful eyes of God and her mother while she sang up in the choir. The real thrill had been her mother's ignorance of her sinful daughter's actions. She kept all her little trinkets underneath the mattress of her bed where her mother never would look. She wouldn't have been surprised if her stolen prizes were still there.
The stealing had lessened when she had arrived at Wammy's House. The House had provided her with everything she could possibly want. But occasionally her thievery would surface then too.
She didn't like Nate Rivers, Near, the brilliant albino boy who bested Mello with almost no conscious effort. She had hated seeing Mello get so upset every time Near beat him in a test. She didn't like his unemotional attitude, but mostly she hated him because Mello did.
Near had one puzzle that he had so dearly loved, a solid white puzzle with a tiny N in the corner. N for Near. She'd recalled Mello raging about it one day, saying that it was an outrage that Near had gotten a birthday present from L.
Layla had done it late at night, taken a single piece of that puzzle.
The following day was the only time she could ever recall seeing Near show any emotion at all. He'd cried over that puzzle piece, practically bawled when he realized that he would not be able to complete his puzzle like he did every morning.
The other Wammy's boys had crowded around Near, vainly attempting to comfort the boy while Mello had looked like Christmas had come early.
He'd told the kids when they were playing outside that he would offer twenty chocolate bars to whoever had made "the bigheaded twit" cry.
She'd just smiled quietly to herself and continued painting.
"I need to go do some laundry." Mello mumbled lazily against her neck.
Layla sighed, her chest still heaving as Mello lifted himself off of her with a groan. The sex had been good today, especially with the added little thrill of the compact in the pocket of her coat.
"Our sheets are disgusting." Mello grumbled. "We need new ones, really, I'll get some soon Kiska."
"If you want to," Layla replied, planting a kiss on his forearm as he knelt over her to lift her off the sheets and into the leather armchair beside the bed.
She watched him, smirking slightly as he shimmied his thin waist into black leather pants. He then made quick work of the sheets, bundling them tightly before slipping them into a bag they used to carry to laundry.
"Want me to wash some of your stuff too?" he asked as he tossed several pairs of leather pants in the bag.
"Go ahead." she replied, watching Mello bend over to pick up her clothes she had just worn today.
It didn't hit her until he had gone that her stolen compact was still in the pocket of her coat.
The roar of the washing machine made Mello feel oddly peaceful as he slowly lowered the bundle of sheets into the running water. Thankfully, it was late now, and no one inhabited the apartment's small laundry unit. Not that he would ever admit it to anyone, but Mello hated being out in public for extended periods of time, especially doing something as mundane as washing clothes.
The scar on his face often attracted a lot of attention, and it was irksome to have people shoot him disgusted looks and scamper past him as if he were a leper.
No, it was nicer when no one was outside.
Poking his tongue out from between his lips, Mello fished into the pockets of Layla's jacket. After pulling out several lighters, Mello's fingers had found the small silver compact.
Blinking strangely, he set the lighter on a nearby table and tossed the jacket in the wash before closing the lid.
He peered at the tiny compact mirror, noting that the protective plastic still covered the little object. He'd never recalled her ever even having a mirror like this, and he would know, considering he bought everything she owned personally.
Then he remembered faintly that there had been a small compact in the little glass jar of junk when they had bought cigarettes that morning.
Mello knew he didn't pay for it.
Had she...stolen it?
Already, he didn't like the idea of her stealing something and tarnishing the good girl image of her he had in his head.
Stealing too, often left a bitter taste in Mello's mouth, reminding him of a rather severe punishment he'd received from his father after stealing money from the maid. Stealing was a big no-no and Mello could still remember his mafia father's slogan.
"A Keehl does not steal, we may lie, and we may cheat, but we do not take from others."
Mello'd be damned if any woman of his stole things either. But then, another thought entered his head. When he had stolen from the maid, he'd in a strange sense been trying to attract his father's attention. His father was gone away for long periods of time on mafia business and Mello had thought that the thieving would make his father come home again.
After being punished however, Mello's father did spend more time with him.
Maybe Layla was lashing out. She hated being away from him for long periods of time, but she'd never seemed too upset about it. Why would she pick now to steal? Why do this when they were together?
He'd never know unless he asked her himself.
After the laundry had washed and dried. Mello carted their belongs back into the bag and walked back to their apartment.
When he walked inside their tiny home, Layla was curled on the couch reading a magazine. She seemed almost hatefully calm, and Mello had a feeling she'd known the mirror was in her jacket.
"You." he said.
She glanced up, blinking at him through calm gray eyes. "Yeah?"
He pulled the mirror out of his pocket and tossed it next to her on the couch.
She said nothing, only glanced at it mildly, her eyes remorseless.
"Did you steal that?" he asked flatly, already dreading the answer. She'd done it, he could already tell, and worse, she didn't seem to care.
"Yeah." she replied, flipping a page of her magazine.
"I would have gotten it for you, if you asked." he said. He was unable to yell at her, though he was dying to. For the first time, Mello felt honestly ashamed of her.
Layla swallowed. She hated the way Mello was looking at her. He often made her feel as if he was her parent, lover and friend all in one body, and now, hatefully he seemed like her parent. Being in trouble with him like this was very unnerving, and in all honesty, pissed her off.
"I didn't want to ask you for it!" she snapped, "I should be able to have something without asking."
He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers. "Without paying? Layla, that's wrong."
"Oh shut the hell up," she mumbled, "You're in the goddamned mafia. Don't even start telling me what I did was wrong."
Inside, Mello was staring at her with a twinge of disbelief. He'd always assumed Layla was a good girl on the inside. He was the bad kid, the fuck up, and Layla was the good girl. It was such stereotypical movie bullshit, but it was how he saw them. Now he was staring at Layla's flaws in astonishment.
Bitter resentment rose up in his throat. "Why'd you steal it? Were you scared to ask me? Are you mad that I'm not with you enough?"
He almost hoped she would say yes, and he could promise the theft away, blame himself and place her back on the pedestal he had kept her own since he was a boy.
Instead, she scoffed, "Mello, don't be ridiculous. I stole it because I could."
Now, he glared at her. "So you like stealing?"
She let out another shrug. "Sometimes. It's just knowing that I can, and that I got away with it."
For the first time since she had saved him, Mello felt sudden, bitter, contempt for her. How dare she fall off his pedestal like this, how dare she crush his hope over a fucking .99 cent mirror.
Turning to go and put the sheets one the bed, Mello turned and said the only thing he could think of that would make her feel the slightest thing.
"I'm really disappointed in you, Layla."