(Mello P.O.V)

It had been a month, a whole goddamn MONTH, and that little albino freak had caught up to me. He was three years younger than me and already he had made his way into the advanced courses I was in. Even more, whenever we weren't in class he'd follow me like a pathetic puppy. Every time I told him to piss off he'd just keep following. He never gave a reason why or spoke to me at all. I tried to control my anger, but that only made it worse. I started eating three to four bars of chocolate a day just to keep myself from punching the kid. L, in his own little way, found it humorous that this shy little freak would become attached to me. He never said anything, thank god, but I could see it in his stupid smirk that he found it adorable.

One other thing that bothered me was that I could no longer have L to myself. If it wasn't me hanging with him, it was Near. I guess this was exactly how B felt when it was only me who could be around L; betrayed, hurt, and angry. If only that little freak knew how angry I could get. Maybe then he'd have left me alone.

Thankfully, Matt was always there to help me. Especially in my classes with Near.

Whenever I got upset or angry, Matt found a way to make me laugh. I would be furiously writing a test – if anything to hand it in before Near – and suddenly, the red-head would drop in and start spraying the teacher with a water gun. If it wasn't something like that, or he was in my class, he would start spouting out something random or completely off topic to help me forget about my anger. It worked most of the time, but other times I wished he would've disappeared… for my sake if anything.

But that's the way he was… the way he is. Him, and his sense of humour, usually made the world around us feel a little bit happier, considering where we came from before.

The nightmares still hadn't stopped, and I was beginning to get desperate. My father was miles and miles away from me, and yet he still haunted my waking dreams. Him and that damnable gun he owned. There were times I could control my dreams – which I thanked – and I could usually get the gun into my own hands. The only thing was… I always pointed it back at him. And I think those dreams scared me the most. Was I capable of killing someone? Even if this someone tortured me in my childhood faze? Could I really do it?

No… no, I didn't like those thoughts. It scared me to think that someone had the capability to murder someone. For god sakes, I was eight! Could I really hate my father enough… to kill him? At that age?

I decided to stop torturing myself and left for daily walks into London. L had caught me leaving my first attempt, but I suppose he saw the desperation in my eyes or something, because he let me go every time. He told me to carry his cell in case of emergency, but I never used it. I doubt I really needed it.

The walks helped but not in the way I wanted them to. I suppose I wanted each step to be a memory killer. To let every step help flood the thoughts and miseries from my mind. If anything though, the walks only made them worse. I found myself interpreting the dreams if anything. I even took some time to look up what others make about dreams like mine. All I could come up with was some nonsense of someone less intelligent than I. It was painstaking, to say the least.

On one of my walks, I came across an old church but greatly ignored it at first. It wasn't until I walked right past it, that a priest had stepped out into the cold December air. "Young man!" he had called.

I kept walking. Considering I still held the femininity of a young girl – god kill me – I didn't think he was speaking to me. Not until I felt a hand on my shoulder did I turn to look at him.

"What," I said rather rudely. I wasn't in the mood to 'talk about the word of God' today.

"Are you alright?" He had asked. "I see you walk through these streets every day and I'm wondering if you're in need of a place to stay. Our chapel has many rooms…"

"No thank you." I interrupted, again in my rudeness. "I have a home, with heat and blankets and people I don't like. I real family, just like your stupid religion."

I suppose that had been uncalled for. However, when my anger reached critical mass, one was hardly able to keep it from bubbling over.

The priest stayed though. He didn't even flinch after what I had said. I don't really why he stayed… but I'm almost glad that he did.

"Come with me." He offered as he gestured toward the church. "I think we must talk, but it's far too cold to do so here."

I only shrugged and went with him. I was pretty cold, and if he wanted to talk, so be it. At this point, nothing he said could make me feel better. I was determined to remain in my bitter mood.

Once we entered the chapel – or church… I'll use both – I was bombarded by the warmth of it all. I saw a service going on through one of the other doors, but really paid no attention to it. I wasn't a very religious person… Still not, to this day, but I usually respect others opinions as long as it's not being forced into my daily life.

The priest took me to a sitting room where I took my seat on a couch. He was rather young to be a priest, but I couldn't have cared less. He seemed like a nice guy, for all I knew, and he didn't seem put off by my rudeness earlier.

He took a seat across from me after retrieving a cup of hot chocolate for myself. He then began with the questions.

"Where are you from?"

"Canada," I said bluntly as I took a sip from my cup. I wasn't gonna tell him where I was from, not today not ever.

"What part of Canada?"

Dammit, the one thing I didn't pay attention to in all my classes; Geography. And the bastard knew it as well to.

I leered at him, before answering truthfully this time. "Germany, but I can't tell you which part."

"Fair enough. But why are you in England?"

"Left my home for a new one. England has what I need…"

"And what is it that you needed, my son?" He interrupted.

I cringed into myself. Remembering why I left. "An escape."

The priest seemed more interested. "And escape? From what?"

My father…

"A monster."

I suppose this is why the priest took me in. He saw the eyes of a helpless child trying to run from something he can't.

The priest nodded at me. "Do you… know this monster? Are you related to him?"

It was scary how much this guy knew just from looking at me. But, I nodded anyway. I had completely forgotten the hot chocolate by now. I was too wrapped up in my own memories.

"Can you tell me about him?"

I sighed, before taking a pause… then I began my story.

I left out the important bits. L, Watari, Matt, the Wammy house… all I told him of was my hell I had to live through the first years of my life. He listened through it all, too. Even when I told him about my anger rising to the point of almost killing my brother. I even spoke of my nightmares. When I had finished everything, his expression hadn't changed. He looked as if he were debating something mentally, the way L did at times, but his look seemed more… human, than L's.

He finally spoke. "Well, it would seem to me that you are a very lucky young man. God seems to shine his light on you more times than not."

I scoffed. "Yeah, god. He's always around, isn't he?"

"Why the sarcasm? You do not believe that god exists?"

"No, and those that do are either extremely stupid, or extremely desperate."

"Why don't you believe, though? Everyone has their own reasons… so what is yours?"

Was this guy serious? He really wanted to know? "Why don't I believe in god? Because he's not there! He's not there to save the weak and mend the broken! He doesn't show up when people are starving in the streets to hand them food and bless them with good fortune! He wasn't there when my father beat me senseless, and my brother kicked me and spat in my eye! He isn't here! So why hold onto the false hope that he'll one day turn up and grant us all that we prayed for!?"

The priest, again, would not flinch. He remained still throughout my entire rampage. It only made me more frustrated, but there wasn't much I could do to let him see my point of view.

He suddenly put a hand on my shoulder. "Whether you believe it or not, god is already here. He manifests himself into that which grants you your prayer. Some may have to work for their prayer to come true. Others, like you, are truly blessed by his presence."

I moved his hand away from me. "What do you mean?"

He grinned at me. "Whether you wish to believe this or not, god was there to help you through everything you endured. He saved you from dying at the hands of your father, he saved you from his wrath. God guided you to the safety you now live in, and even before you ran away, he guided the one that freed you from your brother's torment. And even now, god has guided to me because you were lost and in need."

"I'm not lost. I know…"

"I meant that you were lost from the world. These nightmares plague your mind because you are unsure of how to feel. You hate your father, and you fear him. Yet, at the same time, you wish there had been something better, that he could have loved you like a real father; like a dad."

I stared at him for the longest time. After all that he had said, I was finally speechless.

I looked away. "I still don't believe in god. It doesn't matter what you say."

The priest grinned again. "And I won't force you to believe." He suddenly pulled a rosary from his pocket. "But might I ask you to take this?"

I looked at it from the corner of my eye. It didn't look like much, but, "Yeah… I suppose. But why?"

The priest looped it over my head before saying, "So you will be reminded of god's love for you."

I looked away again. I really didn't want to talk to him anymore, so I found an excuse. "I have to go home now. I'm out longer than I should be."

The priest nodded and showed me the way out. When I was outside again, I took off toward the Wammy house. I only looked back once and saw the priest waving goodbye to me. I waved back with a small grin, then ran faster. I didn't have any classes that day, but the wind was picking up and I didn't want to be caught in a storm.

Funny, I never got the priest's name and he never got mine. Though I doubt I would forget him or his words anytime soon.

A/N: Alright, so I'm not exactly very religious - I'm actually more agnostic - but I did need to mention where Mello gets that Rosary of his, so I thought this would work for my story. I actually really admire the priests - or whoever else - when they don't force their religion on someone. And I've met a few like that, and they're usually so nice.

Or maybe it's because I'm from Canada... :)

Reviews are welcomed