A/N: Hello, this will be the first you might hear from me since I just started writing fanfictions. I stopped for a while because my mom does not like me writing, she likes me studying. I don't. I cannot stop writing since this is my passion. I am happy when I write.

Anyways,this is my first story about Death Note, the actual outcome when you mixed sugar, coolness and badass Mello together.

Those were for Mello!

J is for Jeilin: The Wammy's House

Prologue

One could immediately deduct that I forever am and forever will be insane. But don't confuse me with a schizophrenic person or a bitch with anxiety and obsessive compulsive disorders. Neither do I have mood dissociative or personality problems. No. I am far more mentally unstable than that. I don't know what my disorder is called but I do know that I have a screw lose in my head.

You see, a normal person won't dream of dimensional travelling what with rumors spreading that dimensional travel is dangerous. He won't try risking his own life just to accomplish something that is only defined in sci-fi movies. He won't trade the comfort of his bed and the amusement of his television, accompanied with salty potato chips and diet sodas, with twisting environments, portals and unfamiliar realms. Of course, not! He will just snuggle in his bed and go with the flow of mechanical lifestyle rather than dimensional travelling. But what if I preferred travelling instead? What if I don't like a mechanical lifestyle? What if I wanted and dreamed to go to another universe? Will that make me mentally stable?

Some of you will say that I am seriously screwed, that I'm a deranged person, a nutcase, a psycho, a sociopath. Is it my fault to be like this? Is it my fault why I want to get the hell out of here and go to another dimension?

Well, fuck me sideways. I don't care about your opinion. I decided this for my own self. And who are you to judge me in the first place?

Anyways, the name's Jeilin. Jeilin Cruz. I'm currently twenty years old and I'm born on October 22, 1993. I have short black hair and black eyes, features that contrast my sickly pale skin. I am about five feet seven inches tall and I weigh 114 pounds.

My life? Well my life practically sucks. I was supposed to inherit and run our family's company at the age of eighteen but here I am in Los Angeles, The Angel City, working as a waitress in a diner. You might think that I had run away or something like that. No such thing happened. Let's just say my parents were killed by the current owner of our company—my uncle, I don't know if I should call him "my uncle"—and took everything I have away. The only thing he left was our family's mansion in Lincolnshire and my brother. Maybe he left the mansion since he pitied us. How could a murderer pity someone? And it was worth a million dollars, how could he not take it?

Anyways, I sold the mansion since I don't want to remember my…history. I used the money to fly us to Los Angeles, buy a house, and live happily ever after together with my brother.

NOT!

Did I mention that my life sucks?

"Jei, move that piece of shit over there," my boss, an old, fat man with a tomato as a nose, ordered while pointing a stubby finger at a pink box in a corner. He kept the foul language away from customer's ear shot, of course.

I silently obeyed, shuffling over to the box. I stared at it for a while, looking at its red ribbon neatly placed on top. I peered inside and saw chocolate.

For Valentine's Day, funny how I'll never have these. I thought as I lifted the box.

Another string of orders spewed out of my boss's mouth a few minutes later, making him literally puke rainbows. Or maybe it's just my imagination going wild again? Whatever. I wonder what my co-employers are doing right now as I finish all the work. They're probably banging the bastard. Bullshitters.

"I wish I have a Death Note," I muttered unconsciously while I'm in the middle of washing the dishes, mopping the floor and serving the customers. I paused what I'm doing as I realized what I had just said. I requested for a supernatural notebook that brings death to those whose names are written in it. I wanted it not because I want my boss dead (part of me wants that but then, where will I get money for my daily expenses?) but because I wanted to meet Mello. Not that he exists here in the first place. And that's next to impossible.

…Or is it?

I've been dimensional travelling for the last five years now…

…Teleporting to be exact.