Author Note: Wow. This took a while, didn't it? Right after chapter one I decided that It'd be best if I found a Beta. Guess what; I did. 83 She's amazing and much more of a help than I could have thought. We actually went to Borders for a few weeks straight, trying to get out of our writers blocks. It never really worked, but somehow we managed to squeeze out this chapter. Everyone give a round of applause to my lovely beta: Tasteful Chocolate!

This chapter actually turned out to be a disappointment... but please, stick with me. I'm trying as well as I can to even out grades and writing, AND FUCKING DEBATE. Oh...sorry. It's just, Debate is so FREAKISHLY time consuming. So -sigh- please try and enjoy our work...

Chapter two:
Maybe.

Mello doesn't sneak into the restroom to smoke anymore. I would know because I do. I don't really blame myself for doing this, because the fuckers at school make it way too easy - especially when I have a 3.8 grade point average, and no one suspects that I'm popping joints in the restroom. It's not that I enjoy smoking; it's alright and I can live without it, but I just can't pass the possibility that maybe Mello will walk in. Maybe he will saunter over to me with that smug smirk floating across his lips, and maybe he'll ask what I'm doing. Maybe I'll tell him that I'm just skipping class to save myself from the geography test that I'm obviously going to bomb, but maybe that's a lie because I can't shake the feeling that I'm only doing this for Mello.

Maybe.

I take a final drag of my half finished cigarette before tossing it into a puddle of yellowish liquid that had pooled over the moldy tile next to the sinks. I exhale quickly, trying the hardest I can to smog over the stale bathroom air with the spicy smell of smoke. I do this often. Smoking, I mean. I take a few steps toward the door before the rushed sound of steps catches my attention.

"Shit!"

Some nerd had probably tipped off Mr. Wammy about the tendrils of smoke slipping through the bathroom and into the hallways; so now he's here to investigate.

I spin around quickly and head for one of the dingy stalls, yanking open the door and propping myself into a crouch over the toilet seat. I take a split second to realize that this is one of the cleaner stalls – the toilet actually being flushed and minimal writing coating the walls. I make a grab for the stall's lock before the sudden sound of the restroom door smacking against the wall tells me that someone has already barged into the sloppy room. I jerk my hands back and place them on my knees, trying my hardest not to topple over. Now all I have to do is pray that he doesn't open my unlocked stall.

I try to keep my breathing steady as the thumping of footsteps pass me, but I have no choice but to gasp when a blood soaked rag is thrown onto the floor spitefully, causing the drenched cloth to splatter small drops of crimson across the floor. The drops of crimson mixed in with the suspicious yellowy fluids found on the restroom floor. It created a nasty rust-like color; I wish I hadn't seen that.

I must've been leaning forward unconsciously, because in a futile attempt to steady myself, I push both of my hands against the stall's door; the fact that it is unlocked slips my mind. With an ungraceful plop, I stumble out of the stall and fall face first into the bloodied washcloth.

I jolt up as quickly as I can, trying not to hurl at the disgusting combination of blood dripping down my face, and the uncomfortable wetness of my shoes that had been plunged into the toilet bowl via my fall. Before I can jump off the floor and sprint out of the room, I'm jerked off the floor by the top of my head, and thrown against the mirror with a force that nails my eyes shut. Yeah, I know. Ouch.

"What the fuck are you doing?"

The malice dripping from his tone is almost unbearable to listen to, and I'm reluctant to open my eyes and face him. When I do though, first thing that I noticed was the fair amount of blood seeping through left side of his face. So that's where the bloodied rag came from. It takes a few seconds, but under all the carnage I catch a glimpse of cobalt eyes.

"Mello?"

He flinches back at my voice; even though I am fairly sure it had sounded raspy and low – barely a whisper. His grip on my hair tightens generously as he yanks me upward and presses his body to mine, eliminating any thoughts of escaping from my mind. What comes to my mind though, was how wrong our position looks.

And even though I am scared as hell of Mello, my morbid fascination drives me to touch his wound. I trace it all the way from his sticky blood soaked bangs to his mangled bare chest, then following the waterfall of blood to his traditional low-cut pants. He flinches at my touch and uses his other hand to grab my chin, directing my attention to his furious eyes.

"What the fuck are you doing here, Matt?"

What am I doing here? What is he doing here!? Sheesh, going to school when he's injured; what a weird guy. Does he really care about his grades that much?

With a burst of confidence seemingly coming from of nowhere, I manage to shoot back; "What the fuck are you doing here, Mello?"

With one swift jerk of his arm he pulls me forward, so close that I could feel his labored breath tickling my face.

"Don't fuck with me. Just ... get me outta here."

Then, he crumples to my feet.

--

With a lethargic sigh, I load Mello into the backseat of my car. After haphazardly sneaking Mello through the many halls of Wammy's, I had finally managed to lug him to the far side of the parking lot and into my car. I should get some kind of award; seeing on how I did all of this shirtless and sticky - thanks to Mello's nasty blood towel soaking through my shirt. Ha, shirtless and sticky... Yeah, I know I'm a perv.

A few incoherent words from Mello make me jump; I think for a second that someone has spotted me. But then I see Mello writhing against my upholstery and I know that for now, I'm in the clear. I can't help but jump at every sound he's making; today is not being kind to my nerves. I rip a cigarette out of its package and shove it into my mouth, chewing on the tip violently as I raid my pockets for a lighter. I smirk victoriously and hold the lighter in front of the cigarette, fully prepared to light it up, until it's snatched away by an angry gloved hand.

"Hey man, what the fuck!?" I spat, snapping my head up to the bastard who took my lighter away.

"Sir, there's no smoking aloud on school grounds."

"Aw, shit." I curse.

A cop. A bloody cop. I should have known better, the campus is swimming with them.

He eyes me warily, no doubt questioning why I'm shirtless and skipping class. I rack my brain for any sort of excuse.

"I - um, have a fever. The nurse sent me home." I glace down at my bare chest. "And, ya know...it's hot."

Smooth. Real smooth.

"Sir, can I see your school ID please?"

I sigh and drop the cigarette to the floor, tearing up the unlit paper with the heel of my shoe.

"Sorry. I don't have it on me."

The officer frowns and tucks my expensive lighter into his shirt pocket, an obvious sign that he is confiscating it. I bet it felt pretty snug right now, wedged between the cop's man boob and the thick winter fabric of his uniform.

"Sir, if I perform a body search on you, will anything prick me?"

I shoot my head towards him, his gruff voice pulling me out of my thoughts.

"What?"

"Do you have any needles on you?" he asked, voice rough. "I won't be happy if I get pricked with one."

"No, I don't have any needles on me! What do you take me for? A heroin addict?"

"I'm going to ask you to put both your hands on the hood of the car."

"Aw," I groan, reluctantly sticking both my hands on my car. "I just washed her."

Yeah, her. My car has a gender, and she's hot. The thought of Mello bloodying up my nice, clean, car seat makes me anxious to get him out.

"It'll only be a second."

He starts under my arms first, slipping his hands down to my pockets, which he digs through thoroughly, pulling out some Viceroy Cigarettes and my keys, slapping them on the hood of the car.

"Hey!" I hiss. "Be careful with those keys! You'll ding my car."

He ignores my comment and continues with his routine groping. And yes, if you are wondering, I feel violated.

When he finishes, He says something that makes the yogurt I had this morning curdle: "I'm going to search your vehicle, sir. To make sure you don't have any more illegal paraphernalia on you." He ushers, motioning toward the cigs.

"What!" I fume. "They're cigarettes! They're not illegal!"

He ignores my pleas, continuing over to the trunk of my car, muttering a low "Don't move, boy." before opening the unlocked car.

If he so much as opens the back door, Mello will topple out. Then he'll think I'm some sort of gay murderer who likes to rape blonds and slice them up during school hours. . . Okay, maybe he wouldn't think that exactly, but something along those lines. And you know what happens to jail bait in prison. . . Of course, I don't let the man boob see my inner turmoil. 'Cause you know, it wouldn't be called inner turmoil if it was shown to the public.

I make sure he is busily rummaging through the junk in the trunk(Haha, nice one Matt) before I pick up my keys, trying the hardest I can to stay quiet. I slowly crawl over to the driver's seat of my car and suck in a sharp breath. . .

I can't believe I'm about to do this. . .

I quickly jump in the car, shove the keys into the ignition, and close the door next to me. I push down on the gas pedal as soon as the beautiful sound of my engine roars though my ears. And as I speeding through the parking lot, my senses ravage me.

I hear Mello moan and slump onto the back seat. Oh God, is he gonna make it?

I feel gusts of wind hit my back. The trunk is still open.

I taste something salty pooling in my mouth. I'm almost biting my tongue off.

I see a long and confusing road in front of me. I can't remember whether I turn left or right.

I smell the tobacco slipping from my breath. I could really use a cigarette right now.

"Stop!"

I ignore the cop's yells and speed over traffic cones and speed bumps alike, chanting "Fuck, fuck, fuck." all throughout the drive to somewhere that's not school.

To be Continued...

Author Note: Yo. Yes, I'm fully aware that the tenses have changed from Chapter One to Chapter Two. Chapter one acted as a PROLOGUE, therefore I got the crazy idea that it would be a good idea to write it in PAST TENSE. Through the rest of the story, Matt will be speaking in Present Tense. :D

My beta spent a while editing this, so I want to share the credit with Tasteful Chocolate.Without her help, my story would be filled with terrible grammatical errors and an un-bearable ton of angst. She has included a fair amount of the comical relief in this chapter.

Please Review if you liked chapter two!