I'M SORRY. I know I promised a nice long chapter, but I needed to add to the story's building blocks.
I hate having to write such a short chapter, it isn't even 3,000 words! D:
Please don't hate me.
I PROMISE, I SWEAR TO POSIEDON [Don't ask] That the next chapter will be long and plotish...I guess...
Please don't shoot me. -cowers in fear- XD
DISCLAIMER- I. Own. Nothing. There! Short, sweet, and to the point. :D
Enjoy!
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When Mail woke up, he noticed three things.
The first of which, was his splitting headache, along with the dry feeling of death in his throat.
Next, it was that he was in a place that he had no recollection of ever being in.
As that frightening thought registered in his awareness, his burning eyes fell upon the blond boy, who was currently changing into a leather outfit, in the corner.
What the fuck?!
"Uhm…Do I—Know you?" he asked, startling the blond, who jumped, turned, and reached towards his hip, as though it was a reflex, Mail didn't miss the look of annoyance that came when the blond registered that nothing was there.
He'd seen that reflex with his mother's swains. Those that had guns to grab, but this must've been different. The leather-boy was about his age, after all.
"Oh. You've forgotten me. I shall positively die with disappointment!" The blond mocked, "I'm the one who's been nursing you back from the jaws of death, bitch, and I'd appreciate some…appreciation."
"Jaws of death?" Mail snorted, "I'm fi—" He was forced to leave the sentence hanging, when he realized that he did, in fact, feel like shit.
"What happened?" He asked.
"You got too dependant on ecstasy."
"Ecsta-whatnow?"
"The pills. You took too many, but they aren't really good for you. Well, no. Actually, they're quite bad for you. When we tried to take them away, you got sick. You're better now."
The only thing that Mail registered from that sentence was 'tried to take them away.'
"No more…?"
No more.
"But—I-I need them! You can't take them away!"
The blond did not look amused.
"Matt, dearest Matt. I do not like drugs. At all. If you wish, I can get you pictures of the places that they make drugs in, that should curb your fucking 'need.' If not, I can simply tell you that next time, you can suffer the fuck alone." The boy said, speaking in a tone that clearly discouraged objection, "Now. You may call me Mello. You're in luck. That water next to you is yours, so drink it, and I found a nice boy across the hall that just brought some more soup for you!"
Mello grinned.
And grinned.
And grinned.
Before he sighed in exasperation, and left the room.
Mail just gulped the water greedily, and reached for the soup.
Mello returned, with a chocolate bar.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
He groaned, sitting up, gingerly. His memory told him that he was in England, at a place he knew to be called Wammy's house, and that his mother was dead. Everything else was a blur.
He knew that he felt like a piece of shit. His hair was matted with sweat, his skin was greasy, and he probably smelled no better than he looked. He turned his head towards the top of the dresser, where he had a change of clothes, a goodbye present from Jerry. He shakily reached his arm over---
Slap. Ouch.
"No fucking way in hell." Mello, now undeniably the devil in Mail's eyes, had crossed the room in a flash, "There's no point in putting on clean clothes, if you, yourself, are dirty." He scolded, "C'mon. Let's get you out of this shitty bed."
He wanted to argue that it was, actually, a quite comfortable bed, but thought against it, as he tried, and failed, to stand, Mello rushed forward to help him, practically dragging Mail into the bathroom.
"Oh shit." He gasped, as Mello promptly placed him into the bath, since standing in a shower was out of the question. As Mail soaked, and Mello grudgingly washed his hair, 'only for the sake of having the fucker clean', there were many times that he caught Mello staring at the side of his face.
"Okay. Stop it. What's with the staring thing?" He said when he was finally fed up with the glances.
"What?" Mello denied, "I wasn't staring at you, I was just thinking."
Mail just waited, watching the boy.
"Fine. I was just…thinking. You're the first kid I've ever met, who didn't have to be nice to me. It's weird."
"Why would people have to be nice to you?"
Wrong question. Mello's face darkened, and went blank. "It's not important. Let's get you dressed."
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"We need to get you to Roger. I got here on the same day as you, but unlike you, I was capable of walking." Mello laughed, before sneering at Mail, who was crouched beside his bed, blatantly fantasizing about pills.
He then found himself on the floor.
Ow.
"Bitch. Stop with the self-pity act."
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He wandered the halls, after receiving hurried instructions from the blond, who had shouted something along the lines of: 'OHMOTHERFUCKIFORGOTTODOTHEFORMS' and then 'MATT, YOU'LLHAVETOGOBYYOURSELF.' Before giving the directions, and vaulting over to the desk to pick up a pen.
Alright… Guess I'm on my own, he thought to himself. Great.
He was halfway down a really long hallway, he couldn't really walk with speed, his stomach still hurt, but he could at least walk, when there was a noise behind him.
Step. Step. Step.
Footsteps. Mail paused, turning to look, only to come face to face with the ugliest child he'd ever seen.
And the ugly child's posse.
Wonderful.
"Who're you?" Ugly boy piped up, his voice was squeaky and high pitched.
"What a coincidence! I was just about to ask you the same thing! Guess you beat me to the punch!" Mail exclaimed, turning to walk back down the hall.
A hand came down on his shoulder, turning him around, and pushing him to the wall, "I'll show you a punch!"
Hand reeled back. Laughter.
Mail flinched.
Usually it took a lot more sarcasm to warrant being hit, maybe this kid wasn't used to being talked back to.
Why'd people always want to beat him up?
Why wasn't Jerry here? He'd helped last time…
He readied himself for another blow--
"Hey!"
Mello came stomping down the hall, placing the pile of forms, oh whoa that was fast, on the floor, before sliding up to stand beside the ugly boy.
"I just spent days getting this kid all fixed up, and I'm going to be fucking pissed as hell if you break him."
Oh. How kind, Mail considered this as the best chance he had to escape.
"Yeah. I agree."
Mello cast him an annoyed glare.
He decided to just not talk.
"I don't like your tone." Ugly boy whispered, what was he? Reading from a script? What a movie line.
"How convenient. Because I don't like you!" Mello exclaimed, before punching the boy in the nose, grabbing Mail's wrist, and racing down the hall.
No one chased them, as they ran away, laughing. They could hear muffled curses, and the sound of a chaotic scuffle.
Mello stopped him outside of Roger's door, where they both laughed, like maniacs.
"Thank you." He gasped.
"Anytime, Anytime." Mello replied, swinging open the door to reveal an empty office, "Let's just wait."
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"I look alright, right?"
This was the third time in the past five minutes. Mail had come, unfortunately, in his opinion, to find that his 'roommate' was not only vain, but also obsessive compulsive about his appearance.
They were waiting for Roger to arrive. They'd only finished laughing five minutes ago, and in that five minute period, Mello had tried to examine his youthful face in every reflective surface he could find.
Mail was currently watching the boy try to catch a good angle in a spoon, one that had previously been used to stir coffee.
"You look great." Mail encouraged, bored, "You're really rocking the leather---look."
What a vanity-complex.
"Yeah…I know that, but does my hair look alright?"
"It looks perfect." It actually did, did he spray it with something? It wasn't wild at all.
"Honest?"
"Yep. You're as luminescent as a moonlit---" He was cut off by murmuring in the hallway.
The door swung open, to reveal Roger and Wammy, in deep conversation. Trailing behind them was L, himself, munching happily on a cookie.
Mail enjoyed seeing Mello rush to shove the spoon into the seat that he'd been lounging in.
He felt overjoyed at seeing L, only wanting to rush over and give him a hug. So he did.
"L!" He shrieked, before launching himself at the startled teen, trying his best to act like a young child normally would. He needed innocence on his side, in case L was angry with him.
"Ah! Matt-kun! I'm glad to see you up and about!" L murmured, Mail was dismayed to think that he'd almost forgotten how weird the teenager was.
"Yeah! I'm better now. Apparently…Pills are bad. Who knew?" Mail chirped, Mello snorted, "So I promise to never, ever, ever, try them again!" He declared.
He'd find a way to get more later.
"Lying is bad."
"Don't fucking bullshit us, bitch."
L and Mello spoke at the same time.
Obviously, Mello was more obscene.
Obviously.
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Mail had to go through all of the testing that Mello had, groaning often, and trying his best. His mother deserved a son who tried his best.
Mello just stared at the wall, waiting for Roger to read through the forms.
By the time L was done evaluating the test, Roger'd finished the forms, and both boys sat down, waiting for the verdict.
"Matt-kun! You scored only one point below Mello-kun, congratulations, you are both doing very well."
"Mello. The only complaint I have with the forms, is on the customization of your computer software. You could have used nicer terms, when expressing your lack of interest in the matter."
"Whatever."
Mail sighed in relief. He did fine on his test.
"Mello, you may go to your room to get something that interests you. We will need Matt's forms by the end of the night, so you may as well return with something, for you will have to wait."
Mail watched the blond leave without a word. What put a stick up his ass?
"Matt." Roger began, "We are sorry for your mother's death, and the series of misfortunes that lead you here. We do, however, have some questions about your personal preferences."
"You should say that you are sympathetic for his mother's death. You had no hand in it, so you can not be sorry for it. You can feel sorrow, but not remorse." L cut in.
"Humph."
"Shoot." Me now, he added to the statement in his head.
"We will provide for your clothes, but we do request that you specify a few more items, that you want, or need, which we can also provide you with."
Mail thought about it. What did he want?
Pills.
Not a chance.
Uhm…
"Video games. A gaming system, and games. And orange tinted prescription swim goggles, in case I lose these." He considered briefly, "I don't really want anything else."
Except for drugs.
Shut up, brain!
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By the time Mello returned, toting an outrageous amount of chocolate, Mail was already halfway through the forms.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Eating chocolate was loud.
And so motherfucking annoying.
He was sure that he spent more time on the computer page than Mello did, he almost had to ask for a separate sheet of paper, his specifications were so long.
Crunch. Crunch.
They had things for him to sign, and things for him to check, or answer, or evaluate.
He stifled a yawn.
There! Done!
He stood, joints popping, and handed the pile to Roger, just in time for the door to slam open.
"They're in here! Roger! Roger, open up!" Shit.
In the doorway was ugly boy, and four of his friends, Mail wasn't sure if he wanted to laugh, or hide.
Each sported injuries, most from the scuffle that occurred after Mail and Mello had departed, but the black eye on the ugly boy's face must have been what had Mello looking so smug.
"L! Roger! Mr. Wammy! Look at what they did!"
"We had to go to the infirmary!"
"It's all they're fault!"
Tattle-tales. Cry-babies. Losers.
Matt found these insults unable to properly describe the boys.
Stupid fucking pieces of shit. Bitches.
Those were slightly better.
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After the boys, and Mello had finished battling it out, Matt had stayed silent, they'd been punished, and sent to their rooms.
Great.
The boys had lost computer privileges, as a punishment from L, and had been confined to the house by Roger and Wammy, for a period of two months, for antagonizing the 'new additions'.
Matt and Mello, who had previously planned to start classes in a week, would start Monday.
Tomorrow was Monday.
Ew, Matt thought to himself.
"Couldn't you have just let him hit me?" He asked
Mello turned sharply, to glare at him. They'd returned to their rooms by now, and were preparing for the next day of school.
"Isn't it obvious? I needed something to hit, and he was in my way. I've spent almost a week turning you as normal as I can. I didn't want to have wasted my time." He stated, continuing, "If you'd like me to hit you, I'd be happy to oblige you."
"Just go to bed."
"That's what I thought."
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A/N-
There! Not so bad!
You didn't die! Hopefully...
If you're still alive after reading this, stay a little longer and REVIEW.
Please. I beg you.
I have like 200-something hits, and only 21 reviews. Just...Please.
I want to know if my writing is good....