DISCLAIMER: I do not own Death Note. If I did, I'd...well, I dunno. I don't have anything clever to say. Don't hate. ;A ;
NOTE: This is my first fic. o3o I used to be absolutely OBSESSED with Death Note fanfiction a couple years ago, and since I'm just getting into it again, I decided to give making an account and writing a fic myself a shot. Yeah. You've been warned. C;
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Harsh, artificial light still filtered in through the moth-eaten orange-and-green spotted curtains covering my window. They were thin. Inadequate. Hell, if there's any sort of light – other than the TV, of course – in my room at three in the morning, something must be wrong. Very wrong. But they had come with the place, just like the rest of the furniture – I couldn't get them down if I tried, anyway. I didn't own a ladder, and they were hung high above the actual window, for whatever reason. Besides, exerting too much effort at decorating makes you a pussy. A total pussy. I didn't need to waste my energy going to buy a ladder and replacing the ugly curtains with something more functional.
It was still aggravating, though. I couldn't deny that. There was a street lamp glowing brightly right at my window. And when I mean right at it, I mean if I opened the window and busted the screen I'd be able to touch the bulb. And of course, my apartment faced east, so I also got a wake-up call each morning – undeserving, mind you, and completely unwelcome – by the cruel, cruel sun. That's one of the reasons my one-room apartment was so cheap, I suppose. It was a steal for an apartment that came with furniture, let alone one with a working toilet. Of course, I had the nagging suspicion that this apartment once hosted a murder scene and it was rented out quickly to get rid of the evidence, but I decided to take the more optimistic route and believe that it was so cheap because of its shitty location. Eh, whatever. It came with furniture. I needed that.
I yawned loudly and stretched, throwing my Xbox controller and thoughts of Nazi zombies to the side and reaching for the remote. I grinned proudly to myself – I had been smart when I decided to never put my pull-out sofa back into a couch and just sleep where I spent my days. Living in one room had its advantages – no walking to bed after a gaming binge, and lord knows any apartment I could afford wouldn't have a bedroom big enough to contain my huge-ass TV and all my consoles and games.
I drifted off with my body turned away from my window. The street lamp still brightened the small, cramped room and the glow of the TV was still burned into my retinas, but I fell asleep quickly anyway. I hadn't slept in about two days, so my exhaustion was to be expected. I slept like I was hibernating – the best sleep I'd had since I had started living here two weeks ago – and probably the best sleep I'd have for several more years.
I had a good dream that night, despite the fact that it marked the last full night of sleep I'd have for a good, long while. I couldn't remember much about it, aside from the scent of chocolate and the intense feeling of warmth – oh, and the fleeting notes of soft laughter echoing in my ears...
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Just as every other day I'd spent in my new apartment, I woke at dawn. I wouldn't have minded the sun waking me up in the morning, if, say, it was highlighting a cute face lying next to me peacefully after a night of epic proportions...but I had no such luck. Even though I was living on my own, I was sixteen, and I looked it – if not younger. Legally, I shouldn't even be able to rent my own place – but I had my own ways of dealing with annoying things like that. What sucked about the situation was the fact that prostitutes – the only girls I'd expected to be able to pick up, looking like I did – ignored and scoffed at me out of fear that my parents might discover us when I took her home and report her to the police. I had tried numerous times to catch the eye of a willing street walker, but to no avail - I decided that it was because I looked young, so I picked up smoking. I think all I succeeded in was making myself look like I was trying way too hard to not look my age. In conclusion, if you thought living on your own at sixteen would give some much-needed rest to your right arm, you thought wrong.
I toddled off to my miniature kitchen after I realized I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep because I was hungry as hell. My black-and-white striped sock feet slapped the tile floor in harmony with my stomach growling. My eyes focused on them, a bit irritated, as I walked. I wasn't too fond of sleeping with socks on, but it was better to just leave them on when I went to sleep – while the apartment remained almost stiflingly hot, the floor was icy.
I rubbed at my eyes, not used to seeing the world in technicolor. I felt around my neck for the goggles that I thought would surely be hanging there...they weren't. I then felt around the tangled mess that could barely be referred to as "hair" atop my head for the orange-tinted goggles that would make my unfamiliar world feel less foreign – my only source of true comfort in a world that had crashed and shattered around me...but they weren't there, either.
I stopped dead in my tracks, halfway to my fridge, my jaw going slack with shock. If there was one thing I always kept with me, no matter what, it was my goggles. I slept with them covering my eyes – they were like extensions of my body. I wouldn't be surprised that if they were sliced open my own blood would pour out and I would feel pain worse than my own leg being amputated. They had truly become a part of me over the years.
My breathing must have stopped for at least three minutes before I got a hold on myself. I attempted to look at the situation rationally – they must be around here somewhere. I went to bed with them on, didn't I? Yeah, of course I fucking went to bed with them on! I don't sleep walk...do I? I'd know by now if I did, right? Wait. Think. The bed! Oh, God, they must be in the bed! Fuck, I'm stupid! But if they had somehow fallen off, it would have been the first time. They always ended up around my neck or on my head if they didn't stay on my face...I pushed away my doubts and nearly sprinted back to my bed, the hunger gripping my stomach suddenly irrelevant and minor.
I searched. Oh, God, I searched. I threw off the covers, the sheets, the pillows, frantic - I looked under the bed, under the mattress, between the cushions of the couch after I folded it back up...they weren't there. I tore apart my already-messy apartment in search of them. My mind went down dangerous paths – I began to recall the origin of my goggles, and thought about what it might represent if they were really gone. I remembered why I was here for the first time in the six months since I'd left. It wasn't often that I was so emotional, but the floodgates really did burst that morning – pardon the over-used metaphor, but "the floodgates bursting" was a frighteningly accurate description of my ordeal.
I shed more tears than I would like to admit that morning. I screamed louder than I ever had, the vocal chords I rarely used anymore stretching beyond their means. I pounded my knuckles onto the tile, morphing them into a bruised, bloody mess. By midday I was lying numbly on the tiles. Hunger, thirst, shock, and an extreme need to piss dulled my senses. I eventually sank into an apathetic, melancholy state, my mind becoming almost completely blank by mid-afternoon – I fell into a fitful sleep by evening.
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I woke up around midnight with a curious feeling of suspicion sharpening my mind above the numbness. My knuckles and throat hurt something fierce, but I drew myself up off the floor to uncover the source of my unjustified paranoia. I paced the room for a while, before wondering vaguely whether I'd be evicted for being so loud earlier. Ah, well. Hackers have to move around a lot anyway, I guess, and I stole that dead guy's identity...he's a good source of income, I can make it...I forced myself to think about other things as I tried to figure out what was making me so paranoid.
Not being able to bear them anymore, I began attending to my various needs – I ate some ramen, drank some Mountain Dew, and pissed. My daily routine went underway, despite my discomfort and the fact that my eyes kept shifting around my apartment, jumping nervously whenever I saw movement. At this point, I wasn't even thinking about finding my goggles – I was thinking about what kind of demon (at that point I'd ruled out anything else) could have taken them away from me and what I'd do when I found it.
I ended up folding out the couch and climbing into it glumly after an hour, some of my earlier hysteria replacing the shreds of suspicion that were still present. Despite my concentrated efforts to calm myself, I started to cry again. Quietly at first, and then almost as intensely as I did that morning. I retreated under my sheets for a while, seeking the comfort I so desperately needed from my goggles. It just ended up returning me to my horrible early childhood spent under my covers with my Gameboy, hiding from the chaos erupting around me, and then taking me back to my wonderful life at the House, hiding under the covers from responsibilities that didn't include my DS. Once I started having those thoughts, I sat up and distanced myself from the blankets. It helped quell the sobs that I hadn't realized were now racking my body.
I sat like that for a while, crying quietly and staring at the window brightened by the street lamp. My body ached.
At the window, I soon started to see shadows and hear muffled curses. Hallucinating, now? Fuck. You're a pathetic creature, kid. Get a fucking grip! I tried to turn the other way and go to sleep, angry with myself, but I couldn't. I caved after a few minutes, my eyes seeking the window out again. I heard a sudden banging and sliding noise. The window was open. My heart gave a start, and I felt my tear-stained eyes widen. A knife found its way through the window, skillfully tearing apart the screen. The ugly orange-and-green spotted curtains began to flutter out the window in the light summer breeze. My eyes consequently got even wider.
I stood up and walked toward the window, one part of me wondering what the hell was going on and the other part intuitively relaxing. I threw rationale out the window and pushed the curtains aside. I was greeted by a lithe man straddling the street lamp and holding onto my windowsill, a knife grasped in one slim hand. The light of the bulb lit a halo around his hair, casting his face in mountains of light and shadow. He was wearing goggles and a smirk.
"Care to help me up, Matty?"
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ANOTHER NOTE: Yeah, it's long. Congrats for getting this far and all. 8D Pleassssse review. I want to know what you think about it so far. Am I rambling too much, do you like my portrayal of Matty (I don't like the ultra-uke most people make him out to be), are you eager to read more, blah blah blah...? I adore feedback. C: I've got some stuff planned for the future, so don't worry about long waits between updates. C; By the way, I'm going to switch POVs - however, I'm not following a pattern, and the next chapter will probably be Matt. In conclusion, if you're the least bit interested, review! 8DD