Mello's hands weren't shaking yet. The bottle kept slipping from his hand from the dew on the sides. It was still wet since he'd taken it out of the cooler that lay next to him, but also because his palms were sweating. He passed it off as wetness from the bottle, not accepting that he'd be nervous at that moment.
Every few minutes, when he bothered to think at all, his heart would clench painfully and his stomach would churn, like he had a bad case of stage fright. Mello laughed mirthlessly at this thought. His life was a theater production, the Earth his stage, and he was definitely afraid to face it.
No, not afraid. Too sick. Too hurt. Too unhappy to face it with anything close to interest. At some point, it had become a duty to even breathe. Mello focused on that then, closing his eyes to the floating illusions his drinks were creating. He filled his lungs to the brim, breathing in and in and in until it felt like his ribcage would crack if he breathed in any more so he tried and then held it.
Lightheadedness started to come over him. It hurt to hold his breath. He kept holding, counting 98, 99, 100, 103, 127, 164, 201 seconds. Mello let it go with a cough, cursing loudly and taking a long drink from his bottle. Why was he so weak that he couldn't hold his breath for longer than 201 seconds? He let go of an unexpected giggle, which made him furious.
Mello did nothing for a long time, lying motionless on the cold cement rooftop, staring mindlessly at a tiny star directly in his line of sight. He hadn't even meant to look at it, but he didn't have to try, so he stared. Time passed this way until thoughts began creeping into his head. Conversations, words screamed across a room, things thrown.
"I told you to clean your room," she said lazily without paying much attention when her son thundered down the stairs.
"So you fucking toss it all out the window?" he bellowed, violently flinging a nearby remote at her head.
The woman jumped up from her chair, slamming her laptop closed, and whirled around to face her son. "You do not treat your mother that way! Go to your room! You're grounded until you fucking die!" she screamed.
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he spat, turning his back on her. He walked over to the hall closet, wrenching it open and slipping on a pair of shoes that he didn't bother to tie. Suddenly, the woman was at his side, a hand fisted in his hair. She yanked him towards her harshly.
"You're not fucking leaving this house, you hear me?" she snarled in his ear.
The boy gritted his teeth in pain, grabbing a knife from his pocket and bringing it up to his hair. He cut right through the bunch she was grabbing, causing her to stumble backwards. Her screaming threats faded into the night as he ran out the door, running aimlessly until he realized where his feet were taking him.
It played out like a movie in his head. How stupid they seemed from the outside. How dysfunctional the neighbors must've thought they were before they moved. Maybe they even moved because of his family. He bared his teeth in a grin that was not amused. "Of course they left because of us," he whispered, his voice hoarse from yelling and then not being used.
That woman wasn't even his mother. After fifteen years at an orphanage, a rich, single heiress without the ability to give birth adopted him based on looks alone. She wanted people to think that they were mother and son. But that had been a huge mistake. From day one, they'd hated each other and fought constantly, loudly, violently. No one could've put up with that for long, and he commended the neighbors for sticking around two years longer than they probably wanted to.
Attempting to sit up, Mello felt his body fall back down like a boneless mass with no free will. He grunted with the effort it took to sit up long enough to grab another bottle of the cooler, struggling to open it. His hand, as boneless as the rest of him, kept flopping around. Eventually he succeeded and laid carefully back down, trying not to lose his bones again and hit his head ungracefully on the concrete.
Mello drank this bottle by putting his mouth on the opening and resting the bottle on his chest so he didn't even have to tilt it in order to drink. His stomach sloshed around when he moved a little to scratch his back, making him feel sick. The pile to his left told him that he'd drank too much, but there were still three more in the cooler, so he kept drinking. Soon, he was crying. Tears pricked his eyes, threatening to fall, and then they did, and they didn't stop.
Sobbing like only a man in agony could, Mello curled up against his second to last bottle, finding that his thoughts only started getting worse and more jumbled as he drank.
"Nice haircut," the redhead commented upon opening his door. He looked his friend over, noticing that something was wrong right away from the way his glare was more lifeless than usual. Stepping aside, he let the boy walk in.
When the redhead closed the door and turned back around, the younger boy had already taken off his shoes and fallen face-first onto the couch, not moving. He circled around a backpack he'd set between his two couches a few days ago and didn't bother moving yet, since he lived alone anyway. Crouching down, he poked the younger boy's cheek.
He grumbled in annoyance, turning his head in the other direction. The redhead got up with a sigh, knowing that it would be useless to cheer him up, and headed into the kitchen. He'd returned from work only fifteen minutes ago and hadn't gotten a chance to start making his ramen yet. After finding a cup ramen in the back of the pantry, he realized that he was definitely running low and went to search for a pencil to write it down or else he'd forget and starve for a week before remembering. It had happened a couple times already.
"I've only got one cup ramen left," he yelled from his bedroom, frustrated that he search turned up nothing. The redhead poked his head out to hear his friend's reply but he still laid on the couch, motionless. "Mello, quit it."
"Then let me have it." His response was muffled by the couch.
"What?"
Snapping, the younger boy sat up and glowered at his friend. "I fucking said, let me have it. If you've only got one," he repeated agitatedly.
"Don't be such a baby," the redhead said, rolling his eyes. He walked into the kitchen and started boiling some water. "I only told you so that you wouldn't think I was purposefully keeping you from eating. Besides, you've got the best food service in the world at that house. Let me have my junk food."
"Tch." The blonde boy got up and strolled into the kitchen. He grabbed the pot of boiling water and dumped it down the sink. "If I can't have any, you can't."
"What the hell?" he shouted, staring at his friend in disbelief. He couldn't help but shove the younger boy angrily. "What the fuck is wrong with you? I have bad days, too, but I don't go fucking taking your food away, do I? God, Mello. Fuck off if you're gonna be like this."
Gritting his teeth, he pushed the other boy out of the way, leaving in such a rush that he tripped over the backpack in the middle of the two couches. "Fuck!" he yelled, getting back up to kick it in anger. "Fuck you! Fucking fuck!" He turned on his best friend. "You're fucking throwing me out just like everyone else! You don't fucking need me, do you? I was always just there, right? Never meant more than a fucking rag doll or some shit! Always second to someone, something more important, like your damn 360, you fucking gamer!"
"Calm down!" the redhead shouted back, his eyes wide. He wondered what had made him tick so bad. "Jesus, what happened?"
"Nothing," he snapped, shoving his feet into his shoes. "Never mind. You wouldn't fucking care."
"Mello…"
"Shut up." And he left.
How could he have been so stupid, once again? Mello had been a ticking bomb for the past month or so. After L's death, he hadn't been the same. It was just a matter of time before he completely broke down. Everything wrong started to happen that one day in school, when he was just playing basketball and some kids started making trouble in the neighborhood. He'd gotten into a fight, almost sent back to the orphanage, but for some reason that woman kept him, and he kept pushing his luck.
Matt had turned eighteen the year before, fulfilling his promise to always stay by Mello's side by moving into an apartment nearby the bitch's rich-ass house. It was only with Mello's begging that she agreed to help his friend out in exchange for staying out of trouble in school. All hell broke loose when those kids poked and prodded him, teasing him and looking to be beat up. They were, pretty damn good. Their faces were an assortment of colors the next day—or so he heard, because he was suspended after that.
The fights kept coming. He kept winning. That woman stopped helping Matt. Feeling guilty, he went other place instead of school, trying to find scrap money to help Matt because he couldn't live there for long on his own. If he was gone, where would Mello be then? Things spiraled. Drugs were experimented with. Alcohol was abused. In the span of one month, he'd lost it all. Lost his fucking mind. So fucking stupid. The little fights with that woman, the big ones that got nasty, the bickering between him and Matt escalated. They weren't able to handle him anymore.
He was unwanted.
Pressing his palms to his eyes, Mello tried to stop the tears. He rubbed his eyes until they stung. Blinking them open, he flopped on his back again, the sky blurrier this time. He reached over with an arm that didn't feel attached to his body and grabbed the last bottle. #24. It was gone within two minutes. Somehow, it was easier to down than all the other bottles. Maybe he'd just had enough and wanted it over with.
"You think I'll be something great?" a younger version of himself with starry-eyed innocence asked.
L, who was still alive and had no idea of his coming fate, showed a rare smile. "Keep striving to become better, and you definitely will."
What a load of bull.
His eyes strained with the struggle to keep tears back again.
"I'll beat you, Near! Next time, I'll make sure you can't cheat!"
"I didn't cheat," the stoic albino said, flipping his last piece. The entire board was black. Mello's Othello pieces had been white.
"You made up rules," the blonde boy accused, flipping the board over in fury.
"Those were the rules from the beginning. Challenge me to a game you actually know how to play, next time." The white-haired boy got up and exited the room, leaving the other boy to sit there and seethe.
Near had always pushed him to keep going. With his eye on number one, Mello never fell back. He'd never fallen this far. Why wasn't Near here, now? Hadn't he always promised to stay one step ahead? One step ahead was over the railing. Near wouldn't…
Near wouldn't…
but Mello would.
He rolled onto his stomach first, lifting himself up in a pushup position before flipping onto his butt. Mello knocked into his beer bottle pile, making them roll together and clink. The sound echoed in his head painfully. He used all his strength to get up and stand straight—wobbling, but upright. Cold metal of the railing under his hands instantly cleared his mind. It felt like winter air had blown his thoughts away, leaving him with the motivation needed to fling one leg over the railing. His hands gripped it fearlessly, even loosely as if to dare the wind to blow him down.
And then the other leg came over, his back to the railing and the steep drop to the city street below at his front.
The winter air suddenly blew the other way, a stream of unstoppable thoughts rushing his mind.
"Mello! Check it out! I got a new game for my birthday and I beat it this morning."
"Matt, your birthday was yesterday."
The redhead just grinned.
"Shit," Mello gasped.
"Only your third day at Wammy's and you're already number two. Congratulations, Mello."
"Thanks, Roger, but it's not number one."
The old man ruffled his hair affectionately.
"Shit," he said again.
"…and finally, Mello. You have shown great perseverance in addition to intelligence and I've heard some amazing things from your teachers. You have the qualities of a top-class detective, and I will be honored when you join my ranks."
"I'll do my best!"
He found himself unable to breathe.
"I'm afraid… L is dead."
It was coming.
"Hey, kiddo! I'm your new momma! Let's go home, huh?"
"Fuck." He bit his lip.
"You little shit, I told you not to touch that!"
Bit harder.
"Yo, you're that girly-looking tough guy. Bet you've even got a pussy, you pussy. Didn't your ma teach you how to act like a man? Oh, right, you don't have one!"
He let out a dry sob.
"Fucking Christ, you broke my 360! Go learn some anger management and then come back, you fucking hormonal, high-strung teenager."
"I didn't mean to," he said, voice cracking. "They… they… I…"
"Oh, great, bruises again? God, you look so shitty. Get out of my face."
"Fuck off if you're gonna be like this."
"You're grounded until the day you fucking die!"
"I… I'm so sorry I couldn't be strong."
Finally, he was shaking. His fingers slipped from the railing, wet from the bottles he'd drank. Mello's heart beat frantically as he was thrown into free-fall, thirty feet from the sidewalk. He screamed. He screamed and screamed and screamed, regretting everything, regretting his anger, his hatred, his weakness, his fights, letting go of the railing. He wanted to take it all back, but it was too late.
It was always too late.
They say that even if he hadn't jumped, he probably would've died of alcohol poisoning.
Instead of playing his new 360 with his best friend, Matt was dressed in all black at a small funeral.
Instead of going to her parents' anniversary dinner, a woman in all black went to the funeral of a boy she didn't even care about until that moment.
Instead of watching a new string of Wammy kids enter the orphanage with bright eyes, Roger was sitting in all black next to a former student.
Instead of playing basketball, three boys were lined up in the back wearing all black, silently crying.
Instead of standing among them, alive and well, Mello was in a closed casket due to the horrific nature of his death, but underneath he was dressed better for his own funeral that he had for any classy party his adopted mother dragged him to.
It was a strange funeral. An incredibly difficult one for each one of them to attend. Finally, Mello was taken away, and everyone returned home, feeling emptier.