Chapter Four

I walked into the sterile white hospital room. The artificial light made the room too bright and it burned my eyes. I went to the bed where my mother was laying. She looked sad and her breathing came in short rasps. I saw her only yesterday, so why did she look so much worse today? Her skin looked like a candle, all waxy and bruised. She had a blue bandana wrapped around her head. It matched her eyes, but they looked dull, like an old doll. "Hi mommy." I breathed.

She turned her head towards me and gave a weak smile, "Mihael. I missed you."

"I missed you too, mommy." I took her hand and held it in my small one. Smiling, I asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Good now that you're here." I giggled and she gave a strange panting breath.

"Did you take your medicine today?" I asked, voicing my thoughts.

"Of course, sweetie."

"No, I mean your other medicine."

She shook her head, "No, not today."

"Oh, well, you'll get better, I just know it." It was supposed to be a promise. I tried to promise her she'd get better.

"You seem so sure, Mihael."

"I am, mommy! You have to get better! Mommies aren't supposed to be sick."

She just shook her head as tears spilled down her sunken in cheeks. "Baby, take that bracelet sitting on the table."

I looked and saw a silver and red bracelet with a cross. "But that one is your favorite."

"I know sweetie. I want my two favorites to be together."

I bit my lip and slipped it onto my wrist, "Okay."

"Ya lyublyu tebya*." My mom murmured.

"Mihael!" I heard my father say sharply from the doorway, "Let Klara get some rest."

I looked at him, "Hold on, papa." Shifting my gaze back to my mother, I smiled,"Ya tozhe lyublyu tebya, mama.** I will see you tomorrow."

The next day, I visited my mother again. She could hardly speak or move. "Hi, mommy." I went to her bedside like always and held her hand. This time, it felt cold and it scared me, but I held it even tighter.

"Hi." I could barely hear her.

"Are you getting better?" I had remembered my father crying the night before. He cried all night and didn't get any sleep.

"No." Why was she crying? The salty water glimmered on her waxy yellow skin.

"Mama, don't cry." I begged, "I know you'll get better, you just have to." By then I was crying too. "You can't stay sick, mama. You can't! When you get better we can go to the park and feed the ducks like we used to. We can do everything and so much more because you'll get better."

"Mihael, no." her eyes were beginning to close.

"But mama!" I hugged her tightly, "You can't leave. You can't!" I was yelling and crying and my father was trying to shut me up, but I couldn't stop. I couldn't lose my mom.

She seemed to use the last bit of strength she had to hold my face in her hands and say, "Mihael, I'll always be with you. I love you." Her hands dropped and her eyes shut as her breathing came to a sudden halt. There was a long beep that stung my ears.

"Mama?" I cried. I shook her shoulders, "No! Wake up! Wake up, mommy!" I felt myself being pried from her body. "Mama!" I screamed as my father carried me down the hall.

"Mama," I whimpered as I woke up. My face and pillow were wet. I felt empty. I really didn't have anyone, did I? My mother died, my father basically disowned me, I hardly knew my sister. If I didn't have friends or family, then what did I have? My chocolate? You can't talk to chocolate, it can't comfort you when you just want to be loved. I shook my head and buried it in my damp pillow, just wanting to disappear from the world. I groaned as my alarm went off. Guess I had to get up at some point. I rolled out of bed and went to the kitchen, making myself a bowl of cereal.

"What are you doing up?" I heard Matt say from the patio door.

There was a thick smell of cigarette smoke flowing inside from the cold morning air. "School."

"You're not going to school." I heard his boot scrape against the cement outside, "Go back to bed."

"Why?" I said, not really caring about the answer.

"Because you're sick. Did you forget?" his voice was teasing.

There was that word again. Sick. Mama was sick and then she died. I sniffled and I felt tears well up in my eyes, "I'm sorry." I murmured.

"What? It's not your fault. Why are you apologizing?"

I shrugged and turned to go back upstairs.

"Where are you going?"

"Bed."

"Oh.. Okay.. If you need anything, let me know." Matt offered. I just nodded and trudged upstairs.

I spent the next three days lying in bed, only getting up to use the bathroom and shower. Matt would check on me and bring me food. He would try to talk to me, but I refused. On the third day of me doing nothing, Matt refused to leave until I talked to him. "Mello, what's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie. You're not sick anymore. You got over your cold two days ago. Tell me what's going on."

"I'm fine."

He raised his eyebrows and gave me an expectant look. "Mihael."

I sighed, "I miss her."

"Miss who? Misa? An ex-girlfriend?"

"My mom."

"Well, where is she?"

"She's dead." I said bluntly.

"Oh. I'm sorry." He fell silent and sat beside me on my bed, then smiled, "Tell me about her."

"What?" I was shocked. Why did he want to know about her?

"What was she like? What did you do together?"

"She was funny and smart and beautiful. Her name was Klara. Klara Tatiana Yolkov. She was a Russian model. That's how she met my father, he was her photographer." I gave a small smile. "Her and I would always go down to the park and feed the ducks scraps of bread. One time I tried to sneak a duckling home. I put him in my coat pocket and when we were walking back, he started quacking. My mother just started giggling and told me I couldn't keep him. When I asked why, she told me that the mommy would be sad if I took her baby. Because moms want to keep their babies with them forever." I laughed at the memory. "And every November, about six weeks before Christmas started, we decorated the house with lights and garland and paper snowflakes. The neighbors probably thought we were crazy, but that didn't matter. At least I got to spend time with her. I remember every night before bed, she would read me a Christmas story in Russian or sing me a song. She had a lovely voice. I wish I would have gotten that talent. We always prayed together before bed too. I miss her so much." I wondered why I was opening up to Matt like this, but it felt good.

"Sounds like you had a good relationship with her," Matt smiled. "What did she look like?"

I closed my eyes and pictured her, then remembered something. "See that box over there? The one by the closet?" He stood up and went to it, "Yes, that one. Bring it here." I sat up and he brought the box over. On the top was a framed picture. I gave it to Matt, "That's her."

A smile spread across his face, "Wow, she's beautiful. You look just like her."

"Yeah. But my father kicked me out because of it." I looked up toward the ceiling as if it would say the words that I couldn't.

"Seriously?" Matt asked incredulously.

"Yeah. I mean, I guess it doesn't really matter. He hardly talked to me anyway, but almost everything in that house is mom's. I'm just afraid he'll ruin it all." I gave a nonchalant shrug, but in reality, getting kicked out caused me almost as much pain I had felt the day my mother died.

"Why would he ruin it?" Matt urged.

I gave another shrug, "He has a.. Drinking problem and can get violent."

Matt pulled his orange tinted goggles down to his neck. He looked deeply into my eyes with a solemn expression. I wanted to rip my gaze from his, but I couldn't bring myself to look away from something so painstakingly beautiful. "He didn't ever hurt you, did he?" Matt's voice was soft and gentle like a slow breeze tousling the seaside air.

"N-no." I stammered. "He.. He would never do something like that." So maybe my father had hit me once. But he had good reason to, I had started asking him about mommy, so he slapped me. It wasn't hard or anything and I didn't blame him. He was a depressed and lonely man.

"Good."

I gave a small laugh, "This is all so stupid."

Matt was taken aback, "What is?"

"This pathetic thing I call my life." I said with another laugh. "I mean, really? I have absolutely nothing and I'm still here. Look at me," I motioned to myself, "I'm such a mess. A dead mother, an alcoholic father a sister who doesn't give a damn about me. What's the point if no one cares?"

"Mello, how could you say that?" His face contorted with pain. "People do care about you."

I rolled my eyes. Matt was a great guy and all, but he had no idea what he was talking about. "Really? Enlighten me then, Mail. Who cares about me?"

"I shouldn't have to tell you, you should just know." His voice didn't waver, but there was an annoyed tone to it.

"Obviously I don't know. So just tell me."

"Hm, let me think," he said sarcastically, "Well, it couldn't be that guy who bought you expensive as shit chocolate for no reason. Or the guy who took care of you while you had a fucking cold. Of course not. Why the hell would I care about you?" Matt rolled his eyes.

I scoffed, "That's a good question. Why the hell would you care about me? I've never done anything for you. I've been a total ass to you from the start."

"I know," he mused. "But I've liked you from the moment our math teacher told you to sit next to me. I don't know why, but all I can say is that I do. You can call it fate or me having bad judgment or whatever the fuck you want, but that won't make me stop caring."

"But why?" I asked, not knowing what else to say.

"I told you that I don't know. Maybe because the way you fucking looked at me that first day. I thought I maybe had a chance with you. Misa told me to stay away from you, but obviously I didn't listen. Maybe I should have because it would have saved me a lot of trouble." Matt shook his head slowly with a sad smirk on his face.

"Matt-" I said, but cut myself off. I didn't know what I wanted to say. That I was sorry? That I cared about him too? I didn't know if I did. How could you tell if you cared about someone.

"What?" He snapped with so much pain in his voice I could feel it seep through my entire being. "Go ahead, Mihael. Say it. I know you don't want a stupid gamer like me, no one ever does. But what they don't know is that when I say I fucking care, I mean it. And I don't care about a lot of people, believe it or not."

"Mail, that's not what-"

Matt stopped me by continuing his speech, "I know. This conversation is pointless," he stood up and fastened his goggles over his eyes. "I should leave." Making his way to the door he murmured, "Call me when you want me, or don't. Do whatever."

His hand was on the knob, "Matt!" I cried out and tried to get out of bed to stop him, but fell on the floor with a muted thud. "Matt, I'm sorry."

Glancing back at me over his shoulder he said, "Yeah. Me too." Then he disappeared out the door, pulling it closed behind him. I listened to the sound of his heavy footsteps pound down the staircase and slam the front door. His car engine kicked to life and sped out of the driveway as I crumbled to the floor. I inhaled the last of his scent from his sweatshirt and cried all the tears I had been holding back for twelve years. Now I truly was alone. Why the hell did I let him walk out of that door?

*Я люблю тебя - Is Russian for "I love you"

**Я тоже люблю тебя, мама - Is Russian for "I love you too, mom"

A/N: Alright, so a few things I want to say. 1.) This chapter would have been posted much sooner, but I was having technical problems that prevented me from doing so 2.) This chapter was really hard for me to write because, well, it was making me sad and not wanting to write it at all 3.) In case you hadn't figured it out, the beginning part in italics was a dream/memory 4.) If the Russian is incorrect, please tell me so I can fix it 5.) Finally, thanks for all the lovely reviews so far, they are greatly appreaciated! ^_^