A/N: So this is just something that I came up with after watching Mello die again. *Sobs Loudly* Anyways, I only wanted to post this to see the kind of response I get. If it's good, let me know, if it's not, still tell me. I know it's short but it's just the introduction. So, I guess we'll see. Enjoy

Things to note: This may be OC centric, however, it is not a romance by any means. You'll understand what I mean by that if I post more. It may be a slight bit AU in places, but nothing major at all. I'm not changing the original Death Note story line to fit in my OC. That's all I can think of for now.

One

The Beginning of My End

I should have known. Everything had been right in front of me, hanging by a delicate tread, glaring me in the face, ect., ect. Heck, it was practically screaming 'You fucking idiot, look at me, and I'll spill all my secrets.' Yes, it had been obvious. However, me being me, I was somehow able to overlook it time and time again, and now. . . Well, now my naivety, my dull wittedness had cost me my life.

Not literally of course. How else would I be telling you this? Why am I telling you this is the bigger question, but I know the answer, and so do you. I need someone to talk to. I always have. I was so dependent on others.

And, yes, I've come to terms with the fact that you hate that about me. How clingy I am. I know you wish that I would just shut up and let you rest in peace. I also know that you can't hear me, and, worst of all, can't respond. None of that, however, will stop me, and you know it.

It's okay though, I've decided that even though you can't hear me talk, or read these words for that matter, I'm going to write everything down. From the time we met on that horrid yet wonderful day, right until you. . . well . . . you know.

I understand that you would call this dumb, call me a failed writer who shouldn't try and get their hopes up by penning some worthless story, and then rip the notebook out of my hands in a sadistic attempt to humiliate me. It would work, and I would storm out of the apartment in a embarrassed, angry huff.

I'm rambling now huh? Alright well, I guess I'll begin with, well, the beginning.

Here we go. The date is June 2, 2009, the time 4:30 am. The setting, a dingy seven eleven in New York City, New York in the beginning of what was going to be one fucking blazing summer.

I lay still on a bench outside of the small gas station, trying to block out the annoying neon lights with my forearm placed over my eyes firmly. I needed some sleep before wandering off to the next subway, or hitched a ride from someone who would drop me by JFK.

Ha, as if I'd try hitch hiking. The ideas I come up with sometimes. I thought sarcastically, and shifted awkwardly. I was trying and failing to find a comfortable sleeping position, so I gave up and lay still on my back.

I continued to lay there, on the bench in front of seven eleven, not caring that my back was sweating, sticking to the plastic, and heat of the summer was already starting to press down on me.

I kicked my feet back and forth in the air. My calves hung over the arm of the bench, seeing as it was too short for me to support me fully. It wasn't the best sleeping accommodations I'd had before, but it beat the streets where anybody could find me.

There at that Seven Eleven, I found some comfort, but not security. No, never security.

I continued this way for a while, kicking and drifting in and out of consciousness, until I felt my foot connect with something solid that let out a slight 'ooff'.

I wondered, vaguely, if I was dreaming, and then decided to lay there a minute to see if anything happened. If I was a dreaming, I didn't want to wake up because it would mean I had finally fallen asleep.

I have this problem you see. It's called Fatal Familial Insomnia, or at least that's what the doctors called it. I, however, have a rather enduring term for my 'condition': fucking torture that's slowly killing me.

Beautiful name isn't it? I do have a way with words, but I digress.

Basically, I was tired all the time, and hardly able to rest. Now you know why every moment of sleep I managed to snag was precious to me. It kept me sane, and, most of all, it kept me alive.

I didn't hear anything after my pause, and determined that it was safe for my legs to go back to swinging. The bends were starting to ache where the arm of the bench dug into them, and I felt like tiny spiders were crawling up my thighs.

Uhg, no don't tell me I have fucking RLS too! Fuck my life.

Anyways, when I started again, I felt my foot hit something, then heard some very colorful and imaginative swearing. Swearing, that would've given a Marine a run for their money.

"What the fuck is your problem? Do take joy in kicking random people exiting Seven Eleven?" A voice asked, recognizably male in tone, filled with irritation that bordered a bit on the angry side.

Sighing loudly, I came to the conclusion that I was not dreaming, after pinching my right arm twice and feeling the slight sting. I groaned and leaned upward slowly, fixing a glare at whoever it was that had disturbed me.

It was a man, I think. Well, at least he sounded male, but in all other respects he might as well be another chick. His hair was blond and about shoulder length. He wore thick bangs across his forehead that reminded me somewhat of the Little Dutch Girl minus the dress, clogs and bandanna. His outfit was far from that by all means.

He donned a sleeveless, tight, zip up vest that left nothing to the imagination, and black pants that were obviously leather. These were as clingy as his vest. The whole thing was rather risqué if you asked me.

"Well you got some sort of explanation, or are you just going to gawk at me?" He asked, a slight smirk on his lips. I could still tell he was peeved though, by the crease between his eyes and the glare he sent right back at me.

Realizing that I had kicked the guy, I understood that, yes, he had a right to be annoyed, but he didn't have to talk to me like that. Besides I was tired and hadn't slept for three days. My patience was nonexistent.

Quickly, I came up with a reply, which was no reply at all really. I just slowly got to my feet, swung my small drawstring back over my shoulder and started to walk away.

So much for a safe place to sleep. I thought, wondering where on earth I was going to go now. JFK, duh. Oh yeah. Man I'm dumb sometimes.

Stunned by my abruptness, the man didn't move. I could however, feel him glaring a hole into my back as I walked away.

I didn't know it then, but that meeting would be the beginning of my end.