AN: Woah...I have no idea where this came from. I was all staring at a dumpster and what not, and I'm all like, "Matt rape!"...Or something like that...hehe. Anyway, I just cranked this out to hold you over until I update Dreamless Sleep. Chappy 2 is coming, I swear! Its just taking awhile. So here you be lovezzz.

Warnings: Ah, well, (attempted) MATT-RAPE! I sorry Matty! T.T
AU: altered universe. (Matt actually cares about school! le gasp!)
Pairing is up to you, though it is strongly implied.

Disclaimer: So I totally own Death Note. Matt and Mello get it on in every episode and on every page of the manga. Yep...
(lawlz)

Dedications: As with everything, this is for my Matt.

and on we go...

"Hey...w-will you come get me?"

Matt said quietly into his phone as he ran a hand through his crimson hair. He pulled his hand back and looked down at the flecks of blood on it.

"N-no. I'm fine. I just want to go h-" The word caught in his throat. What was he talking about? Of all the places he could go, home was defiantly not one of them. Especially after last night.

"Look man, I don't need the lecture right now...no, I know that, I just... Can you come get me or not?!" Matt raised his voice and it echoed on the tile floor of the restroom he was in. Slumped on the floor of the last stall, door locked and head pounding, the red head wiped away a tear of frustration.

"No! I don't fucking care!" he yelled this time. The speech he was getting from the other end of the line, about how he should stick it out until the end of day, he really didn't need it right now. Not one bit.

"I can't do this anymore! Don't you get it?! Dad fucking threw me out! Disowned me! I don't have parents anymore, understand?!..." Bile rose in Matt's throat as he slammed his head into the stall door. "I don't have a fucking home anymore man...I don't have anything..."

Matt was quiet for a moment, and then a small, sad smile graced his features.

"Yea...I know," he said almost in a whisper, "I know..." He let one more tear fall, and quickly brushed away it's track with his fitted and cuffed navy blue sleeve.

"So does that mean you'll come get me?"

"Okay...thanks man."

Matt stood up, his smile growing a bit as he unlocked the stall door.

He closed his phone and stepped out of the stall, looking himself over in the mirror. His khaki dress pants were dirty from having been crouched on the floor for the past half an hour, and his tie was wrinkled. A few spots of red were visible on some of the white stripes.

He tucked a hand into the back of his fiery locks again.

The bleeding had stopped at least. He untucked and lifted his shirt to see a large, sickeningly purple bruise forming under his ribcage. Wonderful.

"Ah, hes not ganna be happy..." the red head said out loud, poking at the bruise a little, causing himself to wince. "Not happy at all..."

Matt pulled his shirt back down and brushed off his trousers. Well, that would have to do for now. His body ached, but there was nothing he could do about it here, in this hellhole he called high school. Matt halfheartedly shoved the door open with his shoulder, and emerged into the hall at a slow, exhausted pace.

"Hey fag," Matt heard footsteps accompanying his own, "wondered where you went off to." Matt quickened his pace a bit, not even sparing a glance over his shoulder.

"Where ya goin so fast, Jeevas? Why don't you stay and chat a bit? C'mon fag."

Matt pushed his way through a pair of double doors and onto a landing. He galloped down a staircase and through another door into the courtyard. If he could get to a more crowded area, maybe this guy would leave him alone.

No such luck. Two rough hands shoved Matt backward. He staggered into the guy who'd been following him. Matt glanced back and forth between the two thugs for a moment; he had them to thank for his lovely bruise and pounding headache. Matt began to wonder whether or not his headache could be due to some brain trauma, but the subject quickly flew from his mind as he felt a large pair of hands close around his shoulders, and another pair pushing him back.

The redhead glared at the two. They were tall, taller than Matt at least, and built muscularly. They were probably wrestlers, Matt thought to himself, then took a quick glace in the direction they were shoving him.

"Shit!" Matt yelled and tried to wriggle out of the tight grasp he was in. He was being backed into a shadowed short of alley way between two of the campus buildings. A complete blind spot for anyone looking out into the courtyard from a classroom above.

The redhead was still struggling when another hand clamped roughly over his mouth. 'Another one?! Where the hell did he come from?!' Matt's first instinct was to bite the hand, but he thought logically and decided against the action, still continuing to squirm and writhe.

"You scream, Jeevas," said one of the thugs next to his ear, "and you die. Understand?"

Matt nodded weakly, closing his eyes, readying himself for the inevitable fist-to-face fiasco that had been let loose upon him earlier that afternoon. However, to Matt's surprise, terror, and utter bewilderment, the contact he felt was not knuckles colliding with his jaw. Rather, it was a sloppy, wet, hard pair of lips forced upon his own.

Matt's eyes widened in surprise, then closed tightly in pain and humiliation as he was forced against the brick wall of what he assumed was the admittance building.

The redhead thrashed against the wall and the body holding him to it; it was no good. This guy was just too strong.

'Probably a senior' Matt though pitifully to himself as a rough hand ghosted up his shirt and over his welting bruise. 'Where the hell is everyone?! Why isn't anybody looking for me?!' He whimpered and bit back a cry as he felt himself being lifted and awkwardly balanced between his attacker's hips and the wall behind him.

"Stop!" he shouted, and received a blow to the gut for it.

"What'd I tell you Jeevas?!" Matt heard one of the other two whisper menacingly from somewhere to his right, "you scream, you die."

"Nah," the redhead felt the words panting onto his collarbone, "he wouldn't be as much fun..."

"Hah, looks like you get a break then, fag. Don't expect it again."

Matt bit his lip and tried with all his might to think of something other than the tongue on his Adam's apple. Other than the groin grinding forcefully into his hips. Other than the hands working his belt buckle loose.

And this was surely the admittance building he was pinned to. The same place he'd sat in, a little over two years ago, for the interview that would change his life. Matt remembered how proud his father had been when the redhead had arrived home with news of his acceptance into this most prestigious of academies. Now, sixteen years old, already a senior due to his acceleration in every subject, a day away from graduation (valedictorian no less), and Matt had been reduced to this. Restrained against a brick wall by someone older and stronger than himself. Brains were one thing, brawn was quite another.

Never bring a knife to a gunfight, as they say.

There was the sound of a motorcycle engine somewhere not too far off. Matt felt something wet cascade down his cheek, as well as his dress pants slide down his legs, and he wondered where the snowball effect had begun. Where it had all gone wrong.

Had it been last night? When he came out to his father, and was in turn thrown out of the house and the family. Had it been last summer? When he'd gotten the results of the nation wide exam, telling him that he was only THIRD in the national ranking. Had it been two autumns ago? When his mother left for some man she'd met on a soaring high at the bar.

No, Matt knew he was kidding himself.

It all started the second he'd set foot in that damn office for that damn interview.

And that damn angel walked in and ruined his life.

The dean's page; that was the excuse for his presence. But Matt was sure that God had sent that creature to earth for the soul purpose of Matt's own personal torture.

The redhead had been made sure of this theory the first time that angel spoke to him, said his name. "Mihael." And Matt had known, somewhere deep down, it was all over from that point on.

And Matt wondered whether he cared. He didn't.

The tears fell freely now. Matt wondered whether he'd ever see that angel again. His angel; his Mihael. A by now familiar, unwelcome hand crept around his backside, caressing his entrance. Matt bit his bottom lip, so hard he drew blood, and screwed his eyes shut as tightly as possible. There was nothing he could do; nothing he could say to stop them. All Matt could do, was silently pray to his angel, and hope it all ended quickly when--

BANG

'Gunfire?! The fuck?!' Matt's eyes flew open and scanned wildly around. He was still pinned to the wall, but his attacker's grasp had eased somewhat.

BANG

Again. Only this time, Matt fell to the ground, landing squarely on his behind. The redhead registered something resembling a yelp, but the sound was soon cut off by another gunshot. Something hit the ground with a dull thud.

Another shout. Another gun shot. Shout. Bang.

Matt scurried backward, pressing himself against the wall this time. Heart pounding, chest heaving. His headache was thumping dismally in the corners of his mind. Perhaps the sudden adrenaline rush had been enough to ebb it away.

Click. Gun being cocked.

Matt whipped his head around in the direction of the courtyard. Soft foot falls making him more and more apprehensive; suddenly realizing his trousers were still collected at his ankles. The redhead tugged them back up around his waste, just as the figure came into view.

Matt's photographic memory was being sent into overdrive in attempting to preserve the sight before him. He never wanted to forget it.

The toes and heels of snakeskin boots glinted from under skintight ebony leather, which ran the length of two well-toned calves and thighs, past a corset fly and up to an ornate platinum belt buckle. Above it, a strip of midriff flesh, followed upward by more ebony leather, this time in the form of a vest. Scarlet jacket accenting the blood red rosary beads that hung from a slender yet muscular neck. Golden hair swaying with every step, and cocked pistol hanging loosely from one of two leather clad hands.

Matt swallowed hard, as sapphire eyes locked with his own.

There were no words, as Matt was lifted from the ground for a second time that day, and placed carefully on the back of an onyx motorcycle. The engine roared to life, and some mere yards away, someone was screaming about some silly corpses in a shadowed corner in courtyard of some school that Matt did not know.

All Matt knew now, as he unconsciously wrapped his arms around the warm body in front of him, was nothing.

Yes, Matt knew nothing. In this one moment, his genius seemed to be on hold. In this one moment, every poem he'd ever read, every chemistry exam he'd ever aced, every equation he'd ever solved, had been thrown out the proverbial window.

In this moment, all Matt could remember, was a single, mumbled sentence, from the other end of a horribly serviced cell phone.

"You've got me."

AN: Unintentional fluff at the end, yes? Didn't really mean for that...heh...oh well. REVIEWERS GET KEY LIME PIE! x3