So, this is the sequel to I've had it, now I'm leaving you. Know I said to some there wouldn't be one but I suddenly got this idea… I apologize.
English is still not my first language, but I'm doing my best XD! My titles are low class, I know XD, just can't help it!Disclaimer: none of us own it and we know it.
Hide the bruises, take the blame
Part 1 of 3
Mello was not happy.
Well, that in itself wasn't very unusual; he was the angsty type. He didn't go through life laughing as much as cursing, fighting and hating. To not mention fucking and drinking.
However, his unhappiness these days wore the unchangeable blackness of a depression. That was fucking pathetic and sad, but he just didn't have energy enough to hold it back. To tell the truth, he was exhausted.
These days, he barely slept. He had lost a few pounds from not eating the same amount he used to eat -he was starving, and absolutely not hungry.- and he tried to avoid breathing when it wasn't necessary.
Unfortunately, it always was.
It was five weeks since Matt left him and he still couldn't help but clinging desperately to the hope that the redhead would come home. Fuck, Mello didn't even know where he was.
If he had, he would have paid him a visit only to kick his ass for making him such a weakling, a victim for the stereotypical disease of heartbreaking. This shit was screwed up big time.
Of course, one of the reasons Mello hadn't seen him again could be that he hadn't been out of his apartment for a disturbingly long time, except to go buy the chocolate he ate furiously and the food he barely ate at all. Why buy it? Habit, or whatever.
That hooker. That son of a bitch following in the steps of his late mother. To hell with him.
Mello felt like he was standing at an edge, he actually had that image in his head, slipping, but he didn't want to be it, to see it. The reason he hadn't been outside longer than necessary the last few weeks was… um, because he didn't like going outside. Suddenly and in some odd way. Besides, he wasn't feeling well. In fact, he felt sick. Some weird illness had broken him down completely and that did explain the distinct pain in his chest.
That night, just to prove himself wrong, Mello left the apartment and his isolation.
He went to a club which was one of the few places where he and Matt had used to go together. He tried his best convincing himself that it wasn't for it being Matt's favourite club.
Who the hell was that Matt anyway?
"Damn it, Mello, you're not fooling anyone," he informed himself.
He ignored that comment.
Well, the person he apparently knew or at least had heard of somewhere wasn't there. The fucking establishment was small and more like a parody of a club than a real club: all cheap and ugly, and badly illuminated. Mello cursed, frustrated, and didn't even care to hide his disappointment. He…whatever. He had just needed to tell him something, that was it, that was why, but thinking about it now, he couldn't remember what it was.
Probably nothing important.
He saw someone he did recognize, though. It was some random girl whose name he couldn't recall- if he had ever known it- one of the sluts Matt had fucked.
She gestured for him to come closer. She obviously recognized him, too.
She was dressed like some cheap whore, fitting in the environment so perfectly it was almost scary. Fuck, did Matt's taste vary. Mello: good choice.This place and that piece of white trash: enormously sucky choices.
"Hi Mel!" she greeted when he stopped in front of her.
Who gave the fucking bitch the right to use his nickname?
"Hi," he said awkwardly.
What was he doing here anyway?
"So, you and Matt are through," she continued matter-of-factly. If she noticed the rage in Mello's face, she didn't show it. "Hell, I thought you were, like, what, made for each other or something."
If he hadn't been so damn tired, he'd have gladly crushed her teeth to get that stupid grin of her face. Despite her being female.
"Whatever," he said, silently cursing his lacking vocabulary.
It wasn't like it meant something to him.
For the first time in his life, Mello actually wished he had been as drained of emotions as the freaking cotton brat alias Near; it would have made the indifference façade a lot easier to put up.
The woman just shrugged.
"Whatever," she agreed. "Hey, what a coincidence! I met him… yesterday, you know. A shame, really… you've met him lately?"
"No." Mello did his best to smile unaffectedly. "Why?"
"He looks like shit," she said. "Not cause you're that pretty yourself, honey, but…"
'Honey?'
"Oh, get to the point, you dumb slut!" Mello interrupted.
She frowned at him. She wore too much make up and represented all he had ever found disgusting in a girl. Or it was just him being generally pissed.
"Hell, calm down," she said. "Why would I if you're screaming at me?"
Mello's smile was even more forced now.
"Please?" he said, an 'or you'll die' statement hidden in that one word.
"Okay." She shrugged again. "He looked, like, hurt."
"In what way?" Mello asked, trying not to sound too impatient.
"In the 'my husband beats me' way," she replied. "You didn't know? He has a new boyfriend anyway, he wasn't with him though, and…"
"So you think he beats him?"
Mello couldn't help getting worried. What had that asshole gotten himself into now?
But it wasn't like Matt hadn't gotten hurt before. It wasn't like Mello himself hadn't beaten the crap out of him sometimes, and received some in return. Ah, sweet memories…
"Don't know," she answered. "He had his goggles on and… well, it's not like the lights in here are the brightest. And I was drunk, so… but he was different somehow, really." She smiled weakly. "It sounds really stupid and all, but he didn't seem… happy. He was all nervous, looking around him all the time, like whispering when he spoke… kinda creeped me out."
Mello tried to come up with something more, another question, a way to keep the conversation going, but his brain didn't function properly and within two minutes the woman had said 'good bye' and wandered of somewhere.
"Fuck, Matt," Mello said to the one who wasn't there.
And then he left the club feeling even more miserable and a whole lot more infuriated.
He got so drunk that night that when he woke up next morning- or more like lunchtime- he didn't even remember where in hell he had been. Or why there were dried up blood all over his knuckles. Or why his nose hurt like hell, or why his left shoe was missing.
Seriously.
Mello spent three days in hiding again feeling worse than ever.
Wasn't there a bottom?
This was so embarrassing: he needed someone to make him pull himself together. He needed someone to tell him how fucking ridiculous, how annoying, how irrational and desperate he appeared.
He needed someone to dislocate his fucking shoulder to turn the pain in his mind into something physical. Something you could treat by going to a hospital, a pain that stopped, a wound that healed, a hurt you could handle with medication. A non psychosomatic infection.
Fuck it all.
The fourth day, he went out again. He walked the streets feeling misplaced and restless, without an actual goal. This whole situation must be killing his sanity, because he felt invisible, like a ghost or some sort of lost spirit.
He also felt like writing a ton of poor poetry, but that's a famous by-product of heartache.
Did the people going past him really see him? He glanced at them with a hint of paranoia: did they?
Well, at least that would mean they couldn't possibly be out to get him. Always something.
He walked in the streets -not indicating he sold sex- trying to think of something constructive to do, to avoid feeling so awfully worthless, but no. He couldn't. Damn. He walked them till the evening, welcoming the darkness that hid him from the eyes that couldn't see him anyway.
Wasn't that illogical. Crap. Damn it. Fuck.
Mello went to them same place again, the club where that slut had been, the club where the music wasn't loud enough, the alcohol wasn't illegal enough , the people weren't rude enough for him to like it. It was a small place, too. You could stand at the door and basically notice everything going on and everyone being there, despite the limited illumination.
That was good. It meant that even if he saw Matt, he could escape before the redhead saw him. Mello, the most screwed up strategist in the history of this screwed up world.
In a nothing- to- do- with- sexway, which sucked.
In a nothing- to- do- with- blow jobsway.
He was lucky and unfortunate. Matt wasn't there. How come that piece of shit suddenly found something better to do with his life?
But the slut was there, again, she sat in the back of the room behind a soiled table covered with bottles. She obviously had nothing better to do with her life. She'd obviously gotten too much to drink tonight, too. Mello went over to her without caring for that she was literally drooling.
She couldn't even sit straight, she wagged from side to side with a dim look in her eyes, repeatedly giggling for no reason whatsoever.
"Hello?" He shook her by the shoulder.
The slut didn't react at all. All she did was giggle, which made Mello frown. He didn't really want to talk to her anyway. He went over the options in his head:
1. He could slap her, whatever difference that would make. A bad one, since he didn't want to draw attention to himself.
2. He could leave without accomplishing anything. Utterly depressing, that would be.
3. He could do what he had wanted to ask of her himself. That is, get her cell phone and make a call. That is, borrow it as careful as possible, hoping nobody would notice, and then return it to her.
3 was indeed the most appealing alternative. Yeah. It wasn't like he couldn't do it. He was a genius, to not mention he had been the head of the fucking mafia for some time. He was good. And people at places like this wasn't very observant. And he was invisible. Ha ha.
A goddamn mastermind with a really pretty doll face… Hell, that was Matt's words. Fuck that bastard for infecting Mello's memory with his shit.
Mello stole her cell phone without trouble. Piece of fucking cake, in fact.
She had Matt's number, which annoyed him. True, he had had his number too- until a little while ago when his cell broke. That second-rate crap couldn't even stand getting thrown into a wall.
Of stone. From the other side of the room. Very hard.
He should sue somebody.
The first time he called the number, he couldn't bring himself to wait for an answer. He hung up almost immediately, calling himself a lot unpleasant things. Worse words than 'coward'.
Damn, he needed to snap out of this. This was a bad idea. He knew why he just couldn't let this go, in theory, but it didn't mean he could end it.
One-sided love, care, desire or whatever was an incurable disease. You want what you cannot get and such shit.
He was about to drop the phone in one of the girl's half full drinks when it started vibrating in his hand.
Fuck. Mello answered, even though he knew he would live a fucking sad amount of time regretting it.
"Liz?" Matt's voice called.
It felt awkward after missing him for so long, to hear him speak, and it made an unwanted picture appear in Mello's mind. Fuck, he was angry- a cute, smiling Matt wasn't the right thing to increase the frustration he damn well needed.
"Hey Mattie," Mello replied in a not particularly steady voice.
He was as cool as a day in the desert. Great.
"Mel." Matt did, of some reason, not sound very surprised. "Um, how are you?"
'Stupid fucking question, asshole.'
"Me? Yeah, well… I'm fine," Mello said out loud. "You?"
"Uh, well." Matt hesitated. "Fine, I guess. Really. I'm… happy."
'Why do I even bother, you bitchy cocksucker?… Oh, right. Because my IQ dropped when you left. Because irrational things like affection makes you dumb.'
"So," Mello continued, not capable of repressing a weird chuckle. "You, eh… I heard you met another…"
'Which means nothing to me. Apparently. Shit. Why did I ask?'
"Uh, yeah," Matt answered, sounding kind of uncomfortable.
"How good for you." Mello could more or less feel the fake smile creeping across his face.
"Yeah, whatever. Was it something you wanted?"
Matt's tone clarified that he was tired of being polite.
"Is he beating you?"
Mello bit his tongue the same moment that question had left his mouth, but too late. He glanced over at the slut; she was humming something to herself now, rocking back and forward.
Matt was very, very silent for some awfully, absurdly long seconds. Was it possible for seconds to be days?
"What the hell…" Mello then heard. "What the fuck do you… how in… What's your problem, asshole?!"
Click. He hung up. Just like that. Mello stood there like a paralysed idiot, staring at the phone in disbelief - for what he didn't really know- before he put it down on the table. This was insane.
He left having memorised Matt's number, just in case he would want to… have to call it again. Hell, if Matt were so happy, why had he sounded hunted?
'What's your problem, asshole?' Screw you Matt, what is yours?
Mello learned an important lesson that night. An obsession does not ease by talking to the object of it. What an annoyance.
Not being able to fall asleep, wading through the broken mess which spelled his apartment, Mello came to a decision. He had to meet Matt. Yeah. If nothing else, just to punch him in the face. Or to give him some goddamn clothing he had left or something. That was an excuse, at least.
Mello wasn't very subtle when it came to this sort of stuff.
He found a sweater that belonged to Matt and that was only a little bit torn. He put it on -it really wasn't his style at all, black and white stripes- and left to go wasting his fucking life again.
He had no idea where to look, but he figured that the club where had spent illogically much time at lately was a good place as any to start.
No luck.
Motherfucking retard.
However, the next night he had better luck. After a day he couldn't remember more of than some fuzzy sequences, he decided to go there again: man, he who hated it.
He actually got so shocked when he spotted the redhead in the crowd that he didn't know what to do. He wasn't prepared for this.
Something you had been waiting and fearing and hoping for wasn't supposed to just happen. That was not how it worked. Mello was so close to turn and run. However, he did have some pride left. Not much, but enough to make him stay.
He even had the bravery to enter the crappy place with a barely visible smile curling his pale lips. Furthermore, he stepped right up to Matt, who stood next to the bar counter looking rather lost. That in itself was a challenge.
"Hey," Mello said.
Matt started. He looked at Mello the same way you might look at a person you believed to be dead and buried, or at least who had been out of town for a few centuries. Mello was still wearing the black and white sweater, and he let his eyes rest on it while he felt the blush painting his cheeks.
Why the hell was he so embarrassed?
Matt didn't have the courtesy to pretend he couldn't see it.
"Hi," he said, small smirk on his face, made obvious by his voice. "You look like a tomato. Fuck, blushing doesn't suit you, Mel."
It pissed Mello off. Okay, many things pissed Mello off, that was how he functioned. This was more; it made him furious. Out of pure anger he lifted his head, looked Matt right in the eye.
The slut hadn't lied: his appearance was terrible. Red underneath his eyes, and had he gotten thinner? He had shadows darkening his face, they made him look pale and somehow older, and utterly fragile. Like he was a minute from falling to pieces and those shadows at his forehead, crossing his cheeks, hiding his eyes, were the cracks widening.
"You look like road kill," Mello giggled.
Although he was concerned, he was a hell of a lot more angry.
"And you, as always, look like a whore," Matt responded, the shadows deepening and the smirk not vanishing.
"Did I claim otherwise?"
Mello heard the false softness in his own words, teasing and lying. He wanted to make Matt lose it; he needed an excuse to yell at him.
"Well, whatever," Mello said, continuing his efforts. "You do, quote, look like shit anyway. You getting beaten up by your new, huh?"
It was only then he realised Matt wasn't wearing his goggles. That, if something, was conspicuous. For fuck's sake, Mello had even caught him sleeping with them on! He'd had to talk him into taking them off when they were gonna have sex.
Matt was born in and married to those ugly goggles.
"Hell, Mel, you have serious issues or what?" Matt said, somewhat irritated. "You stalking me, I guess. Wouldn't surprise me."
"Where are your goggles?" Mello asked, ignoring the question.
For a moment, Matt looked totally caught off guard.
"They… broke," he said with a vague gesture.
"How?" Mello couldn't help the laughter escaping with the word.
"Leave me alone."
Matt sounded hurt, and when he turned to go, Mello could swear he saw tears sparkle at the corners of his eyes.
"Goddamn it, Matt!" He throw one arm out to stop him. "What the fuck is wrong with you, asshole? You're completely depressed and unhappy and out of it, the hell is it?"
Matt looked over at the hand holding his arm, and it made Mello tighten the grip even though the other didn't try to get loose.
"Cause you're just a ray of sunshine," he said weakly, eyes dry: had Mello just imagined things?
"Oh fuck you, you cocksucking dickhead!" the blonde snapped.
Matt smiled at this, a misplaced facial expression, a tired and faint smile which made Mello strangely sad.
It wasn't supposed to be misplaced. Matt was the smiling one: everybody of the few who knew them knew that.
"… Wouldn't that mean I'm sucking my own head?" Matt asked.
Mello didn't get it at first. Then he just groaned.
"Shut the fuck up, fucker! I didn't mean it literally!"
It was there Mello started to hope, for something, at last. Of no other reason than a dull joke, but hope is a stupid feeling. He was about to try some other crappy line, to test his luck.
But Matt's cell rang. The tune was a theme to some idiotic game, Mello knew as much.
For a few seconds, he had the possibility to stop Matt from answering it, but he was surprised and he let the opportunity pass.
"Hello?" Matt said, looking paler than ever, those shadows coming back, consuming the colour of his skin.
Mello couldn't make out what the one at the other end was saying, though he did see the change in Matt's gaze.
"Yeah, I'm, uh," Matt said nervously, watching Mello with frightened anxiety. "No, no, I'm alone…mm, sure… I'm sorry…right…"
It was like seeing someone shrink; during the conversation, Matt got smaller. When he hung up he didn't spare Mello a second glance, he just started walking.
Towards the exit, the night and the person whose voice made him shrink.
"The hell?" Mello ran to catch up with him. "What it is? And who was that?"
"Be nice and piss off," Matt said, keeping his eyes neutrally fixed on the doorway.
"Hey, you…" Mello tried to grab hold of him again.
"DON'T!" Matt spun around, screaming so loud the whole club seemed to stare. "Don't you fucking dare! Just leave me ALONE, you hear me?! FUCK OFF!"
Harsh desperation in his voice, but Mello was persistent. In hell he could let him get away like this.
"You wait, fucker!" He screamed pretty loud himself now. "What the fuck does all this mean?!"
To that, Matt smiled. This one wasn't warm, wasn't charming or ironic; not the type he often used. This smile was all throughout hypocritical.
"He'll kill us both," he said in a monotone voice.
'Brainwashed' was the only description Mello could match to his unfocused, empty look. Without knowing why, he now let Matt leave without trying to stop him.
'That fucker forgot his sweater,' was his only rational thought.
What did all this mean?
So… hope you liked it! I know, I know, it's very… Mello just runs back and forward, I'm sorry! Please so much, review! Reviews make me happy and really, really helps my writing.
I have the second part and have started on the third, will try to post them soon.
Thanks a lot for reading :)!
