Warnings for this chapter: Strong language and mild violence. Please mind the rating and enjoy!
Looking back at me I see
That I never really got it right
I never stopped to think of you
I'm always wrapped up in
Things I cannot win
-Cold by Crossfade
My initial shock has faded. Now I'm just fucking pissed. What gives Mello the right to decide my worth? Who the hell is Felix to say that I can be passed off to a vet? Well screw them, the both of them!
I'm seething in silence for several minutes; Felix has told his security guard to take us to the 'sick room' and now we're following the man in the suit down another hallway. I'm two steps behind Mello. No one enquires about my health or seems even halfway concerned about me.
"The doctor will be with you in a few minutes." The security man says upon opening the third door on the right and allowing us to step inside. There is a twin sized bed against the wall; it looks like someone has been sick on the sheets more than once and the stains never came out in the wash (if it ever even has been washed). The walls consist of peeling brown paint and there are a few chairs against the other wall. There is a cabinet on the other side of the room—I'm afraid to ask what might be in it.
Since neither Mello nor I say anything in response, the security guard shuts the door again and leaves us alone. I wait a beat before blowing up in Mello's face. "What the hell is wrong with you?" I yell. "I took you for a lot of things, but a soulless bitch wasn't one of them!"
"Shut up Matt!" He's not afraid to get in my face, but I don't back down, even when he continues, "I'm doing you a favor here!"
I laugh bitterly. "Some favor this is! Do I look like a dog to you? A fucking cat, maybe? Or your pet bird? You can't just put me to sleep if I'm broken! I need a real doctor you douchebag!"
"Don't you think I know that?" He snaps. "Chill out before I decide to knock your teeth out!"
"Try it!" I challenge, eyes flashing. "Nothing you do can make me feel any worse! I thought maybe you had a heart but then you go and treat me like shit! I'm not going to just roll over and die you know! I may be in a pretty crap position here but I'm not going to let you walk all over me!"
Mello's eyes are darkening. "Will you shut up for a minute? I hate to beat an invalid but don't think I won't."
"I'm not an invalid!" I scream. "I just want a doctor so I can get the fuck better!"
He hits me. It was a slap, actually, and in hindsight he could have hit me a lot harder and in a lot worse places. "That's what I'm trying to do!" He yells back.
My cheek is stinging. "You cunt." I say, although some of the venom has slipped from my tone. I'm so tired, my arm is killing me and my head is pounding.
"Listen to me." Mello says, pinning me with that unyielding gaze of his. "We're going to fix this, got it? At the very least this clown can fix your arm. Then maybe we can go to the hospital and get your head checked without them asking any questions. Will you calm down now? Christ's sake."
I draw in a shaky breath. I don't know if I want to hug him or hit him. Fuck him for making me so confused.
He opens his mouth to say something else but I never get to hear it because the door swings open and in strides a man in his thirties, dressed in jeans and a plain t-shirt. Dread is settling in my stomach.
"I hear you guys need some medical help?" He says brightly, like we'd just offered him ice cream.
Shit, he's the doctor—or rather, the veterinarian. I was hoping that maybe he was just some random bloke that happened to enter our room on mistake. I'm doomed.
"Matt needs to get his arm fixed." Mello speaks for me, voice a little cold.
"Hurt your arm, eh?" He asks—I think it's obvious so I don't say anything. "How about you take a seat on the bed and take off your shirt then?" He goes over to the cabinet, pulls open a drawer and starts rooting around.
I want to vomit like all the other people who have sat on that bed. I'm going to die. I'm going to die in the secret back room of this stupid club. They'll probably sell my body as mulch. I wonder how much I'll be worth as fertilizer. Probably not over fifty dollars.
I shuffle over to the stained bed, sitting down on the edge with a sigh. I try to take off my shirt, but the motion pulls painfully at my arm and I can't quite manage. Wordlessly Mello comes over, helping me by removing the shirt himself. I murmur my thanks, and he just nods before going to sit against the other wall. He sinks down in his chair, elbow on the armrest, chin in his hand, appraising eyes darting between me and the vet.
"What's your name again?" Mello asks, raising a single eyebrow. I want to speak up that the guy never said his name, but who really cares?
"Dr. William Hopkins." He's pulling on a pair of latex gloves, walking over to me. He starts to unwind the blood-stained bandage on my arm. "So what'd you do?"
"Got shot." I deadpan.
"Bummer." He grabs a chair from beside Mello and pulls it up to the side of the bed and sits in front of me. "Hey! I can see the wall through your arm!" He says brightly.
I must have visibly paled, because Mello clears his throat. "Is it something you can fix?"
"Probably, we should x-ray it though."
"Probably." Mello's voice causes the temperature in the room to drop a few degrees, but I don't think Dr. Hopkins notices.
The vet is still looking at my arm, and he reaches up to pull at the tender skin around the wound. I yelp, nearly kicking him as I jump, tears springing to my eyes.
I didn't even see Mello stand, but next thing I know Dr. Hopkins is thrown against the wall; Mello is holding him there with his forearm pressed against the man's throat. I clasp a hand over my aching arm, trying to blink back the tears, wondering what the fuck we're going to do now.
"What is wrong with you?" Mello demands; I can only see his back from my position across the room but I can guess from his voice that his expression is deadly.
"I was just-just looking at it." The vet stutters.
Mello slams him against the wall again. "Let's shoot you in the fucking arm and see how you like me touching it!"
"That's not necessary," He says with a nervous laugh. "My mistake—"
"What are you, high?"
"No-no! Well—maybe—"
"You were going to fix his arm while jacked up on drugs? You idiot, do you have any idea how easy it would be for me to kill you right now?"
I groan softly, putting my head in my hand. "Can we kill him after I'm better, please? I can't handle anymore blood right now."
I hear Mello give a soft grunt, presumably agreeing. "Get out of my sight," He snaps at the doctor, who picks up and leaves like someone lit a fire under his ass.
I just sigh. "We are so fucked."
Mello scoffs. He walks over to the cabinet where the vet had been rooting around and begins to look through the drawers himself. "We're going to figure this out." He says with confidence.
"And if I start bleeding out my ear again?"
"That's not going to happen. How's the headache?"
"Still there."
"Better, worse?"
"The same."
"Hm," Is Mello's only response as he picks up something wrapped in sterile, paper packaging. He rips it open, revealing a capped needle attached to a vial of some clear medicine.
I eye him as he approaches. He doesn't even miss a beat between putting the cap between his teeth, unsheathing the needle, and jamming it into my upper arm—my injured arm. I would have yelled out if his other hand hadn't snapped down over my mouth, muffling the sound.
I heave a dry sob; my entire body is shaking, my arm burning. But…a tingling sensation starts to spread through the limb, the pain dulling slightly.
Mello spits the needle cap out on the floor, sitting down beside me on the bed and releasing my mouth from his hold. He drops the used needle on the bed to his other side.
"What…did you do?" I ask, looking down at my arm. Mello isn't a doctor, how does he know what he's doing?
"Local anesthetic. I'm going to get you another doctor but until then you shouldn't be in so much pain. Do you want another shot?"
I only wait a moment before responding, "Yes." I smile with some relief. Mello stands to go get another shot from the cabinet drawer. "Why did you have to stab me with it like that though?" I ask, frowning slightly.
"Because I knew you wouldn't trust me to give you some random medicine we found in the back of a club."
I breathe a laugh. "Yeah, that's true."
Mello glances back at me, his lips quirking in a small smile that steals my breath away. He's back at my side a moment later, this time giving me the shot in a more gentle fashion. It doesn't hurt so bad because the numbness is spreading, leaving a pleasant tingling in its wake. I sigh, eyelids heavy, feeling content now that some of the pain is finally abated.
Mello takes the dirty needles and sets them on top of the cabinet, turning back to face me. "So you good?" He asks.
For perhaps the first time since being shot, I look down at my arm. From what I can see, red, angry gnarled skin is torn up at the middle of my bicep. Blood is still seeping sluggishly down my arm, dripping against the sheet I'm sitting on.
"All things considered…I'm good."
The bed creaks as Mello sits beside me again, but I'm still looking at my limp arm. "You know," His voice is low. "An inch or so over and that bullet would have gone through your heart."
"I know." I respond softly.
"You're lucky."
I look up at him then, smiling faintly. "I know." Maybe life isn't so bad. It could be worse, certainly. I can see that now.
Mello catches my gaze, holding it. His head tilts to the side slightly, a lock of black hair falling from his messy ponytail and brushing his shoulder.
Impulsively I reach forward, touching the piece that's out of place but still looks so perfect on him. I'm staring at the lock of hair, rubbing it slowly between the pad of my thumb and pointer finger. I thought it would be soft, but the dye has made his hair stiff. The strands separate and start to soften between my fingers.
I feel Mello's gaze on my face, the intensity of it boring into my skin and making me blush faintly. He leans in without pretense, lips pressing against mine; we fit together perfectly. Neither of us moves for a moment, our mouths simply mesh, my heart nearly pounding out of my chest. I can feel each breath he exhales through his nose as it ghosts over my cheek.
A shiver runs down the length of my spine, and he must have felt it because his hand moves to the back of my neck, lips finally starting to move against mine. It's a slow kiss, but there is an intensity behind it that is overwhelming. I feel as though he's slowly devouring me, taking every part of me, stealing it, and I'll never belong to myself again. My fingers on that lock of hair curl into his scalp, pressing our lips closer.
I don't know how long we kissed, but I can barely breathe when he finally lets our mouths separate. His taste lingers on my tongue, my eyes connecting with his just inches away. His warm hand is still on the back of my neck, keeping the hairs from standing on end.
"You're…not going to stab me again, are you?" I ask on a ragged breath.
Mello's lips—moist from my saliva, yeah, my saliva—turn up into a small smirk. "Did you do something that warrants being stabbed again?"
"Uh," I lick my lips. "Probably."
"You are very interesting." Mello tilts his head to the side again, studying me with sharp eyes. "Do you want me to stab you?"
"What?" I squawk, pulling back completely. "What are you, crazy? Of course I don't want you to stab me!"
Mello chuckles under his breath. "Just thought I'd ask…some people are into that sort of thing."
I just stare at him. Why is the idea of him stabbing me actually kind of sexy? In a sickening kind of way. Oh God, I'm a masochist. No, on second thought, I don't think I'd like that. It fucking hurt the first time.
Mello watches my face as all these thoughts run through my head, and he's grinning. Fucking jackass!
"I wouldn't like it if you stabbed me! I-I would be really mad!"
"Uh-huh."
Why isn't he taking me seriously? I mean it! Frustrated, I glare at the wall across the room.
"Oh God, you're pouting now!" Mello is actually laughing. What a fuckwad.
"I don't pout. I just think you're a jackass."
"Poor little demented smurf." He ruffles my hair, causing me to bristle.
"Go fuck yourself."
He scoffs. "I'd watch your mouth. I don't like it when people talk back."
"But you do!" I turn my glare on him. "That's the only reason you're interested in me, isn't it? Because I talk back? I'm not just one of your little soldiers. I'll never say 'yes sir' or 'no sir' or whatever crap it is you want. I'm not a plaything, I'm a person! You can't throw me away when I get boring and I have thoughts of my own."
"I never said I was going to throw you away!" Mello stands, looking down at me. His eyes are dark and intense and being under that gaze makes me uncomfortable. Like he can see all my secrets. "You don't have the first fucking clue why I'm interested in you."
"You're right." I say, reserved. "I have no fucking clue what you want from me. One minute you offer me up to some screwed up veterinarian, and the next we're making out. Not to mention you've stabbed me."
Mello makes a frustrated sound in his throat. "I'm not talking about this right now. You're probably not even getting enough oxygen to the brain."
"I'm hurt, I'm not stupid!" I say, fingers flexing into the sheet beneath me. "I don't want to get fucked over by you…I'll never trust you."
"Good, because I'll never trust you." He practically sneers. "Like how you told me you'd never been to the orphanage? Bullshit!"
My blood curdles in my veins. "That's none of your business." I breathe.
"Like fuck it is!" He's angry now. "You made it my business when you signed up to kill me. Everything about you is my business! I don't get it Matt, I was at that orphanage! It sucks, we don't have parents, boohoo, now get over yourself!"
"Screw you!" I stand up, a little unsteady at first but I catch my balance. "I don't have to tell you anything!"
"No you don't, because I already looked you up!"
I feel the color drain from my face. "You what?" I breathe.
"I did a background check on you Matt—or should I say Mail."
"You have no fucking right to call me that!" I scream. "You're lying; there is no information on me anywhere!"
"Silly Matt, no one can completely disappear. It's impossible."
"Liar." I say through my teeth. "I'm the best there is at what I do. There is nothing."
"Obviously not nothing." He quirks an eyebrow. "Because on August 4, 2001, an eleven-year-old boy named Mail Jeevas was brought to Wammy's House."
I clasp one hand over my ear; the other arm won't move. I can't tune him out. "Shut up!" I yell.
"But the funny thing is," Mello continues undeterred, voice low, taking a step forward. His gaze is pinning mine and tearing down my walls. "Mail Jeevas was gone the very next day—ran away, apparently. And I can't find a whisper about him anywhere. So my question is, when and why did Mail die and how was Matt born?"
I pinch my eyes closed, unable to look at him anymore. I feel myself starting to hyperventilate. "Just-just shut up!" I can't think about this right now. I've put a total mental block up around my past, choosing to live as though it never happened. Mello's right, Mail is dead. I just don't want to dig up his grave and rehash all the wrongs. I can't do this right now. I'm in pain, I'm tired and I just want all this to be over.
Mello grabs hold of my chin and my eyes pop open, startled and upset to be staring straight into his unyielding blue eyes. "We all have skeletons in our closet," His voice is low. "I don't care Matt. I just want to know you."
"No you don't." He really, really doesn't.
"I do." He insists.
My eyes pinch closed again. "I can't do this right now."
"Fine." His voice is cold and his hold on my chin disappears.
My shoulders slump as I sigh. "Why does it matter so much anyways?" My eyes flutter open to look at him uneasily through my eyelashes.
"It doesn't." He crosses his arms, looking to the side.
I'm quiet for a moment before asking, "When did you look up my past?"
"After we met at the Expo."
"Why?"
"Because I find you intriguing."
"You perform background checks on everyone you find intriguing?"
"Actually, yes." Figures.
"You must have a really good hacker if you found that out, so you don't need me. I thought there was nothing left. Obviously I failed."
Mello scoffs, causing me to furrow my eyebrows. "Stop being so dramatic. There are no physical records of you anywhere so chill out. I've just got a few friends with good memories."
I frown. "Someone remembers me? Who?" I don't mean to sound so accusatory, but that's how it ends up.
"Come on Matt, how many redheaded orphan kids do you think show up at an exclusive place like Wammy's? It wasn't that hard."
"I don't know anything about Wammy's." I admit. "I barely remember it."
"Big place, kind of castle-like? Lots of bastard kids running around."
I shrug.
"So what brought you to Wammy's, Matt?" He tilts his head, gaze appraising me again, studying me like some weird puzzle. Little does he know that most of the pieces are missing; he'll never see the real picture.
"Dead parents. It happens." I say stiffly.
"What happened?" He presses. "Car crash, plane crash? Maybe one of them was never around to begin with?"
I grit my teeth. "Why do you care so much?"
"I have to know things." His eyes glint; I imagine him as the predator and me his prey. Circle, circle…kill.
"You don't have to know everything."
That was the wrong answer because he snaps, kicking the leg of the plastic chair he'd been sitting on. It tumbles over, hitting the wall with a bang. I cringe. "Well fuck you!" He says through his teeth. "You're probably just some boring kid! I don't care what happened to you!"
I think he's trying to convince himself instead of me. I'm quiet for a moment before saying, "You're right. I'm just some boring kid."
My back hits the wall hard, nearly biting off my tongue as the air is knocked out of my lungs. Mello's hands are pinning my shoulders to the wall, his eyes boring into mine. My teeth sink into my lip. "Mello—my arm," I gasp. It's pressing into the plaster and the local anesthetic isn't blocking out that pain. Maybe it's wearing off or something.
"Why won't you tell me anything?" He demands, ignoring my plea.
"Didn't we already establish that we don't trust each other? Why the hell would I tell you anything?" Tears are pulling at my eyes because my arm hurts like hell at this angle. "Mello! My arm. Get the fuck off!"
"What will make you trust me?" He applies more pressure to my shoulders and my arm is jammed closer to the rough wall behind me.
I want to cry. "Get off of me and I'll think about it." I say, my voice hoarse.
Finally he releases me, and I heave a sob. "Fuck," I breathe, nearly doubling over. "You made it start bleeding again you dick." My voice is drained of anger. I'm dizzy.
I flinch when Mello touches my waist, but he is undeterred. His arm wraps around my torso, helping me back over to the bed. I sit down heavily. There is a trail of blood from the wall over to the bed. My arm is throbbing again.
"Are you okay?" Mello asks, crouching down in front of me. Is he actually concerned?
I look at him through my hair—my head is bowed—and murmur, "No you douchebag. I think I'm going to throw up."
"Put your head between your knees."
"That doesn't work."
"Just do it, will you?"
I sigh, putting my head between my knees like he'd said. I'm still dizzy but the urge to vomit starts to dissipate. "I hate you." I mutter to the floor.
Mello sighs faintly, putting a hand on the back of my head to keep it down. Maybe he just doesn't want to look at me. "I got carried away."
"Was that an apology for harassing me?" I ask bitterly.
"No." He bristles. "That was acknowledging that I had bad timing in demanding things from you."
"So that's an apology."
"No—just—ugh." His hand disappears from the back of my head, and I pull up a little to chance a glance at him. He's straightened, staring down at me with unreadable emotion on his face. I don't know if he's angry at me or himself, or both, or if he's just irritated that I'm making things difficult. "Just shut up. Don't throw up on my shoes; put your head back down."
"They aren't your shoes." I remind him, but bow my head again. My eyes close, and I take a deep breath. Okay. I feel okay.
"Either way I'm wearing them and would like them to be free of your stomach bile."
"You're prissy." I mutter under my breath.
"Don't think I won't hit you."
"Yeah, yeah." I sigh. "So can I please get a doctor before I pass out from blood loss?"
"Fine."
I'm staring at his shoes, and he hasn't moved yet. I chance another glance at him, and he's hesitating. "What?" I prompt, tired.
"You're not going to die or something if I leave for a minute, are you?"
"I'll try not to." I deadpan.
"Don't be a tool, I was being nice." He sneers. How nice of him.
"Fuck off and go get me a doctor." I mutter, putting my head back between my knees. Maybe if I eat a steak I'll feel better. Isn't red meat supposed to help if you've lost a lot of blood? Although I'm not too sure how effective that would be if I'm still bleeding and I really don't feel like eating a steak right now. (Where would I get a steak here anyways?) I just need someone to fix my arm and my head. What is the medical procedure for someone with a concussion, anyways? I hate being sick.
"Lie down and take a nap." Mello recommends, taking one step towards the door.
"How long are you going to be gone?" I ask in disbelief.
"How the fuck should I know? We just threw out the only guy in the immediate area with a medical background."
"Well shit." I say blandly.
"Yeah, so now I have to go find someone. Suck it up."
"Maybe you should demand medical papers this time." I say, straightening slowly so I can maneuver up on the bed in a reclined position. It doesn't even gross me out now that the sheets are disgusting. I'm bleeding all over it anyways.
"I don't think you're in a position to be picky."
"Just go away. Your presence gives me a headache."
Mello rolls his eyes. "Likewise."
I turn into the wall slightly so he won't see my small smile. "Don't die out there."
"You either. Corpses smell horrible and I'm not peeling you off of that bed if you die. We'll probably just leave you back here."
"How considerate." My eyes close, but I'm still smiling slightly.
"I'll be back." Is his final farewell, and I hear the door open and close.
I sigh, turning my head into the lumpy pillow. It smells like throw up and semen. And with that, I fall asleep.
AN: These two are so dysfunctional, I love it. xD I wanted to get to something in this chapter but it didn't happen. There was too much hostility, pain and passion to work through first. ;D Matt's past will be revealed in the coming chapters. Hopefully we can finally get him patched up!
I just wanted to mention that I've worked at a newspaper for the last two years. I know that a lot of people who write are interested in journalism, and if you have any questions you can send them my way. =) I claim no expertise, but I've met many people in the business and have worked in various departments over the last few years (mostly pagination, A.K.A. layout, and reporting). Also if you're looking for someone to beta, I would be happy to help out. The Matt x Mello community has been so great to me, I'd love to give back to you guys in any way I can. =)
Thank you all so much for your reviews, they are always read and appreciated. =)
Note about the chapter title: The Sixth Amendment to the United States Constitution is related to criminal prosecutions. Matt is suggesting that the mafia is above the law and thus it will never be put to use.
