Matt stared at the alarm clock, willing time to go faster. Of course, it didn't. It may have even gone slower, just to taunt him into feeling like this.
He'd done nothing but stare for the past hour and… twenty-six minutes. It was the only thing he could do that didn't have an immediate mental link to…. him. Which was a reason to remember him, in a funny sort of way. But at least staring at a little clock and counting down the seconds, minutes, hours, meant he'd not quite get a mental image of his best friend every few seconds. Now it was more like minutes. He'd count for a random amount of time, and then suddenly a flash of blonde, black and sharp blue would cloud his mind, along with the painful stab that came with it, and his mind would completely blank, and he'd be forced to start counting again.
In the space of two days he'd tried anything to see if it would work. The first day when he heard about his best friend's leaving; he'd cried a little, not just for the blonde, but for L as well.
Then he had slept.
He never really slept much, but now he couldn't stand being awake. The second day he'd been edgy. It was…. unnatural not to have the older boy pulling and guiding him around the house, ordering him to do a random job, most likely involving chocolate. He tried anything to make the feeling of being lost go away. Sweets reminded him of the chocolate constantly being munched. Looking around the once shared room wasn't helping; anything there was a link. Video games failed miserably, they simply reminded him of a few nights ago, one of the rare occasions he'd convinced his friend to play with him.
Screw any of that, he wasn't doing anything today. He'd…. he'd just…. sit. That was fine with him. He really didn't need anyone to show him what to do, to help him out if he was being beat up, to make him feel like he mattered, that he was important, cared for, needed….
"Argh!" he cried out, doubting anyone would be awake to hear his cry. He tore himself of the bed, spinning round, flying his fist into the nearest wall, not thinking anything. He was almost numb with rage now. Suddenly he snapped his eyes down to his now bloody knuckles, anger disappearing into shock of actually feeling something. It didn't take long for his rage to return, not caring because it was so much better than the nothingness that he'd been filled with for the past two days.
He began attacking his bedroom wall, blindly punching into the once-cream-now-red paper. He eventually realised his arms were tingling from the effort of punching, and collapsed onto the floor. He was panting, and stared straight at the ceiling.
He'd looked around desperately, not allowing the tears that flooded his eyes to escape. He squeezed them shut, balling his hands into fists, and gasping in pain. Looking down at his hands, he saw they were bloody and bruised.
"Shit… why did I do that?" he muttered. He knew exactly why.
He did need someone, he needed someone to show him what to do, help him, make him feel wanted. And not just anyone. He needed…. Mello.
With that thought he curled up into a tight ball on the floor. He was in pain, not just over his hands. Through his stomach, up to his chest, it travelled, stabbing in irregular pin-points. It was the worst he'd ever felt; yet he wouldn't dream of ever giving it up. He needed to feel like this, to remember how it had been. To remember every time the pair of them had laughed together, cried on each other's shoulders, blushed at an awkward hug.
Matt rolled over groaning, he rubbed his hand over his face, surprised to find water from his eyes decorating his hand. He sighed and rubbed the tears away. What hurt the most was the fact that Mello hadn't even bothered to say goodbye. He's thought he was the blonde's friend, maybe even his only friend, but now he wasn't so sure.
He wasn't sure how long he sat curled up on the floor, blanking everything out. But, a little while later he heard the cries and shouts of the other children, a little quieter than usual due to the news of the two deaths. He sighed and stood up, facing the mirror.
God, he was a wreck. Red eyes, messy hair, dirty face. He sighed and headed to his wardrobe to pick up his jeans, too numb to really care. He shifted through his short supply of clothes, looking for his black and white top. It wasn't there. He wandered round his bedroom, checking anywhere he could think of, until he got back to the wardrobe. He looked through again, just to see if it was really gone. He couldn't remember putting it into the wash.
He looked again. Not there, but this time he noticed that one of Mello's black tops was still hung up. That was odd; he'd assumed that Mello had taken all of his clothes when he left, as there wasn't any of his other things left.
Matt picked up the small top and hugged it. As he did he noticed a little slip of paper fall out. He picked it up.
Matt,
Sorry I didn't say I was leaving, didn't want to spend ages saying goodbye. I'll miss you.
-M
(PS, I took your t-shirt)
Matt looked at the paper again. He read it three times before he really understood it. He stood still and….
Laughed.
It was cold, senseless, and he let it take over him. He wasn't sure what he was laughing at, but it felt good to fill the empty numbness inside of hem, so he didn't bother stopping.
On the other side of the world Mello sat in a plane flying over an ocean. He tugged lightly on the stripy top he was wearing and pushed his head against the cool glass of the window. He shut his eyes, and started chuckling. He didn't know why, and he didn't care.
