(A/N): My huge apologies for the superlong wait for this chapter, because it literally only took me two days to write. However, I was on a three week hiatus at the single best summer camp ever, and had no access to computers. So here you go.
After a stupidly long three weeks, you deserve it. =)
Oh right, I almost forgot. Sayu?
Sayu: Fiona K does not own Death Note.
Astreich: GAH! You used my real name! Now your brother'll kill me for making him look like an idiot in the other fic I'm writing!
Sayu: . . . . Sorry?
Astreich: *facepalms and goes to change story before she dies*
If you're still reading this, kudos to you XD!
CHAPTER 2: Don't Fear, My Darling
Mello was beyond annoyed. He was outraged. This wasn't how it was supposed to go down at all. He was supposed to barge in, ask a few questions, harass her a bit, then leave as quickly as he'd come. That had been the plan, quick, simple, infallible.
Stupid, stupid woman.
Why, why was she lying obnoxiously unconscious on the ground, before he'd had the chance to do any of those things at all?
At this point, Mello really had no idea of what to do anymore. All his hostages before had been tough nuts (or as they liked to call themselves, "unbreakable"): Mafia, drug dealers, even government officials, but not hopeless weaklings. For people like that, he just didn't know what course of action to take. What was worse was that if he didn't tread carefully, the Boss plus the rest of the thugs watching his performance in the surveillance room could interpret certain things as weakness on his part. That made just waiting for the woman to wake up of her own accord out of the question. It would easily be mistaken for kindness, and in the Mafia's almost bestial fight for the top position, that would be intolerable. Mello hadn't fought tooth and claw up the ladder of power for so many years for it all to eventually add up to nothing.
But then, what was he supposed to do? Shake her awake? Slap her? But he instantly knew the first option was out of the question. Too gentle. And he wasn't the kind of guy who carried smelling salts on their person, either, though at times like these, he wished he were.
But . . . . . hitting a girl?
This is so messed up, he thought, flipping over her limp body roughly, until her head lolled over to the side in unconsciousness. But there's too much at stake if I don't. What a stupid dilemma.
Then he spared himself one look at his victim and instantly regretted it. A slight hesitation was all it took to lose the resolve he'd built up, and a guilty expression lingered momentarily on his face afterward.
Because she looked so innocent. So sweet, and innocent, and most of all undeserving of all this. Short, raven-black hair had spilled out of it's high ponytail and fell out on either side of her face, framing it like a halo and bringing out the ugly, sleepless bags under her eyes. The eyes themselves were shut tightly, scrunched up and locking her away from the outside world as though she was having a nightmare. Her skin was chalky, pale as ebony, contrasting harshly with her dark facial features, but resulting in something oddly beautiful. With thin, chapsticked lips slightly parted, she looked almost kissable . . . .
Then his eyes widened as he forced the train of thought to come to a skidding, jarring stop. What had that been? Mello bit his lip and shook his head, golden hair fanning out in it's wake and gleaming in the lamplight. The lights . . . . that must be it. Their blinding glow, combined with the reflection off the white walls and floor, were strengthening his headache and not letting him think clearly. Because that was quite possibly the most stupid thing that'd ever crossed his mind. Great. Fucking great. To think that today, of all days, when my plans are finally bearing fruit, a distraction like this would come up and try to ruin it.
Mello growled silently and sent up a prayer to a God he didn't believe in that the others hadn't seen his setback, then promptly drew back his palm and slapped the girl, letting out his rage. When no reaction came of it, he snarled and tried again, and again, until a soft moan reached his ears. He stood up swiftly and balled his fists to keep from shaking with anger. Stupid girl, what could she possibly have done to have this effect on his practically nonexistent conscience?
He decided then and there that he definitely hated her.
Mello stuck his hand in his pocket nonchalantly and pulled out a foil-wrapped chocolate bar, bringing it to his mouth and biting down with a loud snap. The noise reverberated around the white room, filling and overpowering the tense, long silence that had hung in the air.
He watched in scorn as slowly, her eyes slid open. She took one bleary glance at him and groaned, which, strangely, annoyed him to no end. Was there anything wrong with the way he looked? He felt a sudden urge to kick her, his momentary reluctance at hurting a woman forgotten.
The urge, of course, didn't go unfulfilled. As his black leather boot connected with her side, he snarled out a loud, "Look at me," and watched her eyes go wide. They were bloodshot, he noticed, but didn't hesitate in producing new tears. Salty drops leaked from the corners of her eyes in tiny streams, and she looked so sorry for herself that Mello couldn't help but feel guilty all over again.
Nevertheless, he gritted his teeth and put on his best fear-inducing face. "Get up."
Snap. He stared down at her over his chocolate.
But she didn't, only sat slowly, and something about her face hardened. Instead of doing as she was told, her cheeks puffed out like she was holding her breath, and Mello realized idly what she was trying to do. Stubborn little fool. Had he not been in such a decidedly bad mood, he would've found her antics slightly amusing, but now, they just added to his foul temper. He subsequently lashed out and broke her concentration, forcing her to take a breath as she fell back to the ground, head smacking against the white tiles.
You want to be nasty? Well, hate to tell you, but two can play at that game.
"Are you listening yet?" A soft moan was his answer. "I'm going to ask you a few questions, and you're going to tell me the exact, true answers. No lying. Got it?"
Snap.
She stared up at him with a pleading look clearly written in her caramel-colored eyes, but he turned away, not wanting to meet that painful gaze. That beautiful, wide-eyed brown gaze . . . .
Red bows.
Okay, now he was officially losing it.
Mello shook his head. Red bows? Was it some sort of elusive deduction? A memory? He wanted to just shake his head hard and get rid of all these stupid, headache-induced snippets of thought. They were distracting, and he couldn't afford to be distracted at a crucial point in his plan like this. Though he supposed she would look good in one . . . . .
That was it.
"Forget it," he muttered, stalking away from the battered, bound woman and slamming the whitewashed door behind him before she could say anything that might him stop.
At the questioning looks he got from the goons at the door (who were supposed to be guarding, but in reality were trying and failing to conceal from his eyes the poker game they'd set up on the floor), he said softly, "I'm going to bed," in a tone that stated, "Question me and I kill you."
When he reached his decrepit old door, the gray paint peeling off in layers that he hadn't bothered to cover up, he pushed through it and locked it, flopping down on a lumpy, sheetless futon. He pulled an aspirin from his pocket and stuck it into his mouth, chewing loudly and pretending the foul taste that filled his mouth was chocolate. Soon, his head found a pillow and he exhaustedly closed his eyes.
There is definitely something wrong with me.
The image of wide brown eyes was burned into his mind as he drifted off into nothingness.
"You look really sad, mister. What's your name?"
Pause. "Mello."
"Okay Mello, why are you sad?"
"Go away."
"Fine, don't tell me. But I have something that might make you feel better."
A voice tinged with annoyance. "Doubt it."
"Want some?"
Pause. "What is it?"
"Hah, you're funny. Don't tell me you've never had chocolate!"
Chocolate.
Chocolate.
Choc-
The fluorescent white lights, so bright they almost glowed green, had outlined his silhouette so beautifully, so perfectly, that she'd first mistaken him for her guardian angel, come to take her out of her misery.
But she couldn't have been more wrong.
If anything, Sayu's body ached more after encountering him than before. She could feel the heat in her cheeks where he'd slapped her, welts most likely rising, and her side hurt like hell. What were that man's shoes made of, steel? She grimaced. But at least her eyes were finally used to the glare of the ceiling lamps (which were far, far too bright to be good for a person's health).
It's almost like our school lab before we do . . . . oh shit. She couldn't stop herself from finishing the sentence in time: Dissections. Another wave of panic ran through her momentarily, but she calmed herself by thinking that the guy had only come in to question her. Questioning was a good sign, right? It meant that they weren't going to cut her up into little pieces. At least, not in the time being.
Things could've been a better. A whole lot better, in fact. But as she thought herself through this situation, she suddenly knew that things could've been a lot worse. Sure, the lights were bright, but at least she could see. Sure, her head was pounding painfully, but at least she wasn't having any delusional thoughts like just a little while ago. Sure, she was anxious and terrified, but her pounding heart had calmed and the adrenaline was finished rushing through her body like fire.
She wordlessly sat up and leaned against the cold, white wall. Where she promptly realized she was bored. 'Think about life,' Sayu's brother had once told her. 'If you're bored or nervous, ponder why the sky is blue, why water is wet, and why rocks are hard. If you find the answer, come and tell me.' She snorted softly as the memory drifted across her mind.
It's not as easy as you make it sound, Lighty. You and I both know I can't concentrate on shit like that.
What did keep coming to mind was how confused, almost agitated her captor had acted upon interrogation. He'd tried to put on a rough face, sure, but his eyes kept darting up the walls, and he shook his head often and at the most random times, as though trying to clear his mind. An actor could read an actor, and he definitely wasn't the greatest.
So why? The look on his face had been almost . . . guilty. As if he didn't want to be doing what he was doing.
But of course he wanted to. The man hadn't kidnapped her and then decided to feel regretful about it, right?
Because, after waking her up, he'd said two words, two stupid words, and just walked out of the room like that was that. The dipshit. Sayu felt a sudden burst of anger flare up in the pit of her stomach. It wasn't directed just at the leather-clad blonde, but at this situation as a whole. It was so . . . so stupid! And pointless! And utterly, agonizingly breathtaking in the worst of ways, ways that left her feeling defeated and broken all over again. There wasn't anything she could do, was there?
Nothing except waiting and hoping. Her father was chief of the Japanese police. He could rescue her. No, he would get her out of this mess, and then she could laugh in the blonde's nasty face when he got arrested before her eyes. She would sneer at him and kick him and hit him with the same vehemence he'd had earlier. Sayu could see the scene, could embrace it, and it was the single beacon of hope in the overpowering blackness that was her life at the moment. Her dad would save her, all she had to do was wait.
She tilted her head back until it touched the wall, feeling her black ringlets fall from the broken ponytail and onto her shoulders. A murderous grin adorned her face.
Sayu Yagami stared off into whiteness, hoping.
(A/N): So, how was it? Tried to add some Mello cutesy-ness in there, because I live off the stuff. Yes, I do.
Special thanks goes to Katsumi Hatake and jamesmaslowfan07, both of whom gave me a ton of support and made me feel like a good writer which let me break my writer's block. THANKS, KAT AND JAMES!
Also, I have to thank you awesome reviewers: Bran and iatethecookie for making me want to write more and please people! You two get cyber-chocolate.
Tell me how I did, and I'll mention you next time around. And there you go, a little slice of fame!
Okay, I'll be blunt. Review. Do it. They make an author very happy and inspired *hint hint nudge nudge wink wink* =D
-Astreich
