Gone With The Sin
Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note in any way, shape or form. However I do own the situations entitled here and the character Layla Levandi. Please do not use her without my permission.
"You're gone with the sin, my baby
How beautiful you are..."
-H.I.M
Mello could feel Layla's breath, warm and hot on his shoulder like a flame. He wasn't used to sleeping next to someone yet, still accustomed to feeling the quiet loneliness of his own bed. But now, when he awoke he could feel the warm dampness of Layla's cheek on the healing part of his shoulder.
He felt odd, sleeping next to her in the same bed. He remembered being a child with her, the slow painstaking process of teaching her english, the way her lips wrapped around the words.
Mello turned, his burned shoulder aching as the bed creaked in protest. Layla murmured something softly and without waking, turned to place a warm palm on his chest. He flushed and let his fingertips brush the edge of her knuckles, the skin was pleasantly soft to the touch. The edge of his mouth twitched slightly and Mello heaved a sigh.
He pulled himself upwards and flung the blanket over Layla who remained asleep. Hissing, he brought his feet to the floor, the wood was cold as ice. Mello swore quietly and limped to the bathroom.
Turning on the light, Mello made his way to the mirror and stared at the bandage that covered his face and eye. Layla had insisted on covering his face again after having sex, and Mello had not complained. But now, it was itchy and bothersome and he wanted it off.
Slowly, he reached upwards and pulled at the medical tape at the corner of his temple. Wincing, he pulled it free. Thankfully the gauzy material had no blood staining it and for that Mello was relieved. He sighed, gazing into his reflection. It would be hard to get used to the massive scar on his face and he tentatively reached up to touch the jagged tissue on his face. The skin that had grown back was overly sensitive and Mello found himself surprised that the layer of nerves had still been unharmed in the explosion.
"Layla's not going to be happy you took off that bandage." a voice said.
Mello swore loudly, nearly falling back into the bathtub as he jumped. Matt stood in the doorway, a cigarette dangling on his lips.
"Chto za huy!" Mello swore, the Russian falling from his lips without thought.
Matt merely blinked at him, "I didn't think you would ever wake up."
Mello glared, his icy eyes narrowing. "Why is that?"
Matt shrugged, "We found you a month ago, and when you did wake up you didn't seem to recognize us."
Mello let out a low, defensive growl, "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll melt half of your fucking face and see how much you recognize."
The goggled boy held up his hands, "Easy mate, take it easy." Then he looked around, "Where's Layla?"
Mello slowly unclenched his fists, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he gazed at his childhood friend, "Bed." he said shortly.
Matt blinked, and for the first time Mello could detect a faint note of surprise in his green eyes. "Did you," he murmured, "sleep? With Layla? Did you sleep with her I mean?
Mello tried to keep his heart from racing in his chest. "Yeah."
Matt let out a soft whistle and led Mello into the kitchen where he watched the blond man make himself a glass of chocolate milk.
After a moment, Matt pulled his cigarette from his lips and leaned against the counter. "Are you happy about it?"
Mello faltered, his fingers stopping on the opening of the milk carton. "No."
"Why not?" Matt asked, giving Mello a questioning look.
He continued pouring the milk, then closed the carton. He put the milk back in the refrigerator, and took a long sip from the glass. His adam's apple bobbed slightly as he swallowed and after a moment he let out a sigh.
"I didn't want you to get involved in this. That's why I left in the first place. How did you find me?"
Matt let out a small sigh, "It was her idea. When we were at the orphanage, a man came to her asking her to draw Near and you. She did. When she was sketching, she got the guy to tell her a little about what happened to you. He told her you were a criminal in the mafia.
We left like a week after that, and we lived on the streets until Layla sold a painting to a man who had owned a small plane. She told him something, and the next thing we knew, we ended up here in LA. Layla's art became really well received and she opened her art gallery.
We'd been watching television and I saw the plane hijacking and I knew it was you. It just seemed like something you'd do. We tracked down your hideout fairly quickly and we got there right as it exploded."
"I remember her art gallery." Mello said suddenly. "I snuck in on opening night."
Matt blinked, looking surprised, "Why?"
Mello shrugged and took a sip from his glass, "I just...wanted to see her. It made me feel better, knowing she was safe. That...I hadn't hurt her too much by leaving."
Matt shook his head, his long reddish hair falling into his eyes. "You love her. It has nothing to do with hurting her, not really. She loves you too, more than I think you realize. She wants to be with you, and she'll follow you to the end of the earth."
"I know," Mello murmured suddenly, "I don't want her to get involved in this bullshit. She's going to get hurt."
"She's not going to-"
"Matt," Mello snarled, "Half my goddamned face is melted off! She doesn't need to be here. You don't either. You'll get in my way."
"Quit being so fucking selfish!" Matt grumbled, surprising Mello with the heat in his tone. "Do you not realize that she's busted her ass to find you? She's sat up with you every night for a month, bawling because she didn't want your damn burn to get infected. She's been terrified you'd die and she'd never get to tell you she loved you."
"She deserves to be fucking happy!" Mello snapped, slamming the now empty glass on the counter. "She deserves a family, a guy who'll marry her and keep her goddamn head on straight. She doesn't need me, a fucking mobster who will blow someone's head off as soon as he can."
"She's happy with you!" Matt roared, slamming his fists loudly on the table. "You toss away happiness like its nothing! What if she's happy being around you and your bloody murdering arse? Are you going to make her unhappy? If you leave again, she'll die."
He calmed abruptly, "Look, I'm going to the store. You go if you want." Then, without another word, Matt disappeared out of the door.
"So done with this shit." Mello grumbled, grabbing for his jacket and vest. He turned to go back into the bedroom and began sifting through the doors, packing quietly.
When he opened the bedroom door again, Layla's voice reached his ears, hurt and accusing.
"Mello, you promised you wouldn't leave."
He turned, looking quietly at her. Her grey eyes were dark and he sucked in a breath as the light from the open door hit her face.
Sighing, he dropped his his bag and climbed up on the bed. "Layla, you're going to get hurt, I don't want you involved in this."
The slap that resounded across his face made his blood boil and without thinking he pinned her down by her wrists.
"You think this is a fucking game?" he snarled through gritted teeth, leaning close to her face. "You think that you can just come to LA and suddenly I'll just give up on my fight with Near? Do you honestly think we'll ever be able to be together?"
She looked surprisingly hurt, and Mello tried to ignore the glass that flickered in her eyes.
"Yes." she said softly.
"Stupid fucking bitch, you'll never understand."
He let go of her wrists then, pushing her away from him as if her skin burned him.
She sat up, her long brown hair covering her eyes, and Mello could tell she was crying. However, when she spoke her voice sounded strangely level. "I'm sorry."
Then, Mello hated her. He hated her so much, hated the weakness in her. He hated the way it made him feel, like he should protect her from everyone. She needed to survive alone, without him. That was why he'd never attempted to contact her again after his departure from Wammy's. She got too dependent on him, she needed someone else, someone who could provide for her the way he could not.
She had always been like a baby kitten, soft and trembling whenever the slightest thing upset her.
After a few moments of watching her shoulders shake pitifully he let out a defeated groan. Then, he was pulling her to him, pressing her face against his leather vest. He combed her hair between his fingers, marveling at the silkiness of the strands.
"Please don't go," she begged, her voice softly muffled against his coat.
"Fine," he said suddenly, "I won't go. My stupid Kiska needs someone to give her a saucer of milk every once in a while."