Okay. This is more for me than anything. I'm not feeling my best right now, so this was written just to help soothe me.
I wrote this because I like Matt's character. I know where he ends up, but not where he starts.
This is MY INTERPRETATION of Matt's past. It has not yet been specified, to my knowledge. Therefore, you are free to your own opinions. =D
Hope you enjoy, nonetheless.
Matt and Mello and Death Note do not belong to me. Duh. I just like to use them to help me get over stuff. BD
(By the way. is being silly with the formatting and is bolding everything. I am working on fixing this.)
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A poke in the dark.
I hear Mello clambering up onto my bed and sit up to make some room for him. We no longer need to ask permission to seek each other's company in this manner if we need to talk about something. We made the shift from casual acquaintances to friends; and from friends to best friends a long time ago. After all, we had been stuck to each other like glue since we were little kids. We were teenagers now, full of vigor and ready to take on the world. But even teens need a little comfort now and again, I suppose.
He sits on my bed beside me for a long time. It's probably only a minute or two, but in the dark silence the time stretches into what seems to be an eternity. I can hear him opening and closing his mouth, making small sounds as if he doesn't know how to start. I am almost tempted to say "Spit it out all ready!", but restrain myself. I can hear his hands fidgeting with my blanket.
"So… Matt." He says finally, his small whisper piercing in the silence.
"What?" I respond, catching on his sudden nervousness. I can feel my heart fluttering. Something tells me that his request cannot be good.
"Well… you know when you, when you asked me how I got here? To Wammy's, I mean."
Oh. That.
"I… I trusted you, and I told you. I told how my family… How they… you know."
I nodded, not realizing that there was no way he could see it.
"You never told me how you got here. You just changed the subject. I… I want to know. I trusted you. I want you to trust me too." He said. The absolute betrayal in his voice is shaming.
The history of my family. How I got here.
Well, I put it in simple terms, I guess the easiest way to say it is… well… the condom broke.
My mother told me that it was the one temptation she had been unable to resist. The one, and the only. He was new to town, still figuring things out, like where the grocery stores were. I think they met while he was asking directions or something. One of my mom's friends had given out her phone number, as a joke. Ha ha, very funny. Until he called, that is.
He promised her everything. He had a steady job, no criminal record, no illness. He told her of their wedding night and their honeymoon. How everything would be perfect.
Well, until I came along, that is.
A mistake. An accident. Unwanted.
Dad skipped town before I was born. I guess I wasn't part of his idea of a perfect life.
Mom was engrossed in her religious views. No abortion for her. No more college, either. Bye bye, scholarships.
Of course, a child can't see the signs of postpartum depression.
I had always wondered why mom's face showed sadness and devastation when everyone else's moms' faces were alive with joy and pride.
She never got over her depression.
But her views wouldn't allow her to give me up. I was precious, but only because her sacred texts told her I was.
She carried her burden as best she could. Dragged me to mass every single week. Taught me to be good. Wished I put out a little more effort in what I did. Loved me, but not truly. Loved me just because it was commanded.
Unfortunately, as best she could wasn't very good at all. She was a horrid mother. Unable to relate.
They say that when someone is faced with a traumatic experience, details may become blurred. It's a defense mechanism of sorts.
I'm glad my body takes care of my mental status. If it didn't, I don't know where I'd be right now. I wouldn't be beside my best friend. I'd be in some asylum.
Because of this defense mechanism, I can't remember much. Only little things that seem unimportant.
I had just come home from school. I was five years old. It had been show and tell day, my Yoshi plush still clutched tightly in my hand by his saddle. I had thrown off my backpack by the front door, like always. I shook off my sneakers, too lazy to untie them. I walked through the hallways, shouting "Mom, I'm home!" The usual. Concern crept into my voice and I could feel my heart start to beat as I searched room after room.
I descended down the creaky staircase to the basement, and stopped dead. Yoshi fell from my grasp. There she was, suspended from the ceiling. The noose was tight.
Funny. Even now, I can't picture her. All she is is a black silhouette. I can't remember the pattern of her dress, the colour of her hair… her eyes… the rare smile that played on her face. Nothing. I think that's the defense mechanism coming into play.
I couldn't do anything. I just stood there, watching her as she swayed, the movement so minute it would be unnoticeable to the casual viewer. Heh. Casual viewer to a suicide. The stuff I come up with.
It took me a while, but I eventually picked up my Yoshi and called nine-one-one. With stuttering breaths, I told them my address and what had happened.
No one asked me why I wasn't more distraught. To be honest, I don't know myself.
I found out that there was no way to contact any family I might have. They had abandoned my mother when they had learned she was pregnant. Her friends didn't have the legal proceedings to adopt me. I was shipped to an orphanage.
Don't ask me how Wammy's found me. I don't know. I don't care to know.
But it was due to what happened that I realized that life is far too short. Sure, it's the longest thing we do, but all it takes is one moment in time to shatter all that you have. Which is why I live my life like I do. I do whatever I want, when I feel like it. I don't care about the consequences, and live in the moment.
Does it haunt me? Yes. Does it scare me? Oh yeah. Does it remind me? Every day of my life.
I swallow thickly. If there was light, I would seen that my knuckles had turned white from clutching the edge of my blanket so hard. I thought of Yoshi, tucked away under my bed.
"Mel… I… I'll tell you later, okay?" I croak, my lip trembling ever so slightly. Mello can sense my anguish, and he leans in and gives me a quick hug. I lean into his embrace, seeking the warmth.
"Oh… alright. Fine. Be sure that you do." He says, scooting off of my bed and crossing the room.
But… I never will. All I can hope is that he forgets.
Because I never will.