For their correct guess of the title, this chapter is dedicated to: Enma Ai, StarRuby, Hybrid-Demon, Genki-Rei-Chan, and Satsukiyami.
Lament \lə-'ment\ V: to mourn aloud: wail 1: to express sorrow or mourning, often demonstratively: mourn 2: to regret strongly
Lament N 1: a crying out in grief: wailing 2: dirge, elegy 3: complaint
I can't believe I did that. Even with the evidence right in front of me, I still don't want to believe it, especially when you lift one hand to your cheek, gently probing at the skin to see how extensive the damage is. Your face remains stoic as you look up at me and say, "That hurt, Yagami-kun."
What? I just…punched you, and that's all you can say? You don't even kick me, as I expect you to; you stare with blank, wide eyes, seemingly nonchalant although I know you're really searching my face for an answer, that mind of yours desperately whirring to come up with an explanation, any possible explanation for what I just did. I can do nothing except stare back.
"Yagami-kun should get off."
And now my eyes are nearly as globular as yours, and I find it difficult to speak, only managing a strangled "What?" after several tries.
"Yagami-kun is crushing me," you say flatly.
Oh shit, I am. You're lying on the bed and I'm straddling you—this position is somewhat familiar, though in this case our places are reversed and the chocolate bar has been subtracted from the equation. I scramble back and make a point of smoothing down my clothes, surreptitiously watching you sit up and pull your knees to your chest. Your toes begin a wiggling dance that would almost be hypnotizing if it didn't look so freaking stupid.
"That was…unexpected," you say finally. Unexpected? Ha. This is a disaster. Honestly, what sick law of human nature allowed this, out of all things, to occur? I have no idea what possessed me to do that. I could claim temporary insanity…but I've used that so recently, and for such an important matter, that I don't think you would believe me. Obviously, if temporary insanity seizes a person on more than one occasion, it's not so temporary.
Right now, in this moment, I almost believe I might be insane, or that maybe I am capable of things I had previously thought myself unable to do. It's a strange feeling, awkward in its forcefulness and yet somehow exhilarating. I feel so powerful right now. Terrified, and powerful.
I'm sure that this feeling is due in large part to the look on your face…I don't think I've ever witnessed it before. It's an expression that doesn't belong: you're utterly flabbergasted. It's clear that you don't know what to say. You have absolutely no idea what to make of this new development, and you're allowing your perfectly schooled expression to reflect that so that we can avoid this conversation. Something I am eager to do, as well.
I readjust my posture so that I don't look nearly as ambiguous as I feel right now. This is possibly the most important information I've discovered in all my time as a captive, and I certainly won't divulge it to you. I keep my expression calm as I state, "I don't know what came over me Ryuzaki, and I am terribly sorry."
Your eyes flicker in surprise to my face. I try to keep a smug smile from my face. Are you surprised that I addressed it? You were hoping so ardently to ignore what happened, so that you can bring it up later and turn it against me, but now that I've made a preemptive move, you've been caught off balance.
I can feel when you've found something to say. Your face registers no change of expression—it's almost like a change in atmosphere that tells me you're about to speak. "You regret it."
It's not a question, but I treat it as one. "Yes," I firmly state, without missing a beat. We both know perfectly well you didn't need to ask that—we know that the answer would be yes either way.
There is silence, until finally you ask, "Did you enjoy it?"
I didn't think you would ask that, but I'm prepared for it. I let a flicker of emotion peek through my mask: partly disgusted and partly horrified. I almost bring my fist back for another punch, but then visibly rethink it: violence isn't always the best course of action, though it would, in this case, be extremelysatisfying.
It doesn't matter that what I show you isn't real, just that you believe it is. As long as you think that I had to restrain myself from punching you at the mere suggestion that I might have enjoyed it, then everything will go according to plan, and I'll avoid this mess. "No." I look you square in the eye. "It was just hormones."
Can you see the dishonesty in my face? I run a quick mental check. My eyebrows are slightly furrowed, but that's acceptable, because I'm supposed to be deeply disturbed. My breathing is regular, my skin is dry, and my throat isn't constricted. In total, there is nothing about my appearance that should suggest I am being anything other than one hundred percent truthful.
Slowly, still not entirely convinced, you nod; "Yes, hormones." It seems that you're willing to accept that for now. With one last skeptical glance in my direction, you climb onto the bed fully clothed and curl up into a fetal position on top of the covers. The abrupt dismissal leaves me stunned long enough that you turn back to me and prompt, "Come, Light-kun. It's time for bed."
I blink before the meaning of your words enters my brain. I'm not aroused in the slightest right now—that feeling disappeared as soon as I realized what I had done—but your peculiar wording makes me feel…well, peculiar. It is different from that sexual feeling…almost teasing.
Flirting, perhaps?
No. My brain, or perhaps another certain part of my anatomy, is supplying the double entendres all by itself. Once again, I remember the expression of clinical observation on your face when you viewed that security tape; you didn't seem to truly understand what was happening. You made crude jokes when I woke up, told me I looked like I was enjoying myself, but that could be taken to mean that it literally looked like I was enjoying myself. I can just imagine you watching me curiously, wondering exactly what made me writhe like that, unable to comprehend that kind of pleasure. You're not capable of flirting.
I had wanted to change my clothes before bed, but I suppose I'm to be denied that right. I'm too thankful that we skipped that particularly mortifying conversation to complain, and I slide under my blanket, keeping to the far side of the bed. I am almost asleep when your toneless voice interrupts the silence.
"This day has been long and hard."
My eyes widen. "What?" Then my brain catches up, deciphering what I thought I heard. "Oh. Yes it has. I'm glad to be finally going to sleep." I'm glad that you're facing the opposite direction, so that you can't see my incredulous look. Are you really that oblivious—do you really have no idea of the things you say? Perhaps I'm just perverting your innocent statements in my mind. It's not unusual for you to attempt painfully awkward small talk as you wait for your body to get used to a horizontal position.
Thankfully, you take my hint and not another word is heard out of you. But once again, I can't seem to turn my mind off. I can't help but wonder what you would do if I tackled you the way you tackled me when I had that candy bar. I wonder what your reaction would be if I pressed myself against you, if I made you feel the things that I'm sure you've never felt before.
I quickly discontinue that train of thought. I don't want a reoccurrence of last night.
Instead, my ever-churning thoughts hit upon the knowledge that I was able to keep from you. The knowledge that could destroy me if you ever got hold of it.
I'm not sure I understand it fully myself. I'm certainly no expert at these sorts of things. I've studied many different subjects, but this one is one I never professed even the slightest interest in, assuming that I would have no use for it. Why waste time on such trivial knowledge when I could study something more worthwhile?
But I can piece together several facts, and pull them together into a single thought. That is a skill in which I am very accomplished.
I don't believe for a second you misunderstood my actions—they were as plain as day, unmistakable. No matter how virginal one is, people do not offer insignificant kisses, especially upon the lips. I kissed you, Ryuzaki, and you dismissed it. You let it go far too easily. Knowing you, that has to mean something. Your purpose may not manifest until later, but I've no doubt that you're biding your time, gathering clues until you have enough information to form a conclusive theory.
Maybe this has been your plan all along. Perhaps you chained us together, hoping this would happen. But what did you plan to achieve?
No, that's a ridiculous thought. I'm so confused right now that I'm grasping at straws. I don't care if my theory is wrong, as long as it's plausible…. Oh fuck. I'm turning into you.
One thing is obvious; one thing is crystal clear. I realized it when I brushed my lips against yours and felt a thrill of heat that simply didn't belong.
This is entirely your fault.
It's a simple fact that boys turn to other boys in the absence of women. It's an act that occurs in prisons, in all-boy schools…there's really no avoiding that kind of desperation, no matter how depraved it may be.
But the thing I can't believe is that you've made me this desperate, that by depriving me of my freedom, you've come that much closer to breaking me. I've never needed anything, especially not anything sexual, but now it's all that's on my mind. You have complete control over me. It hadn't sunk in until just now…until that kiss.
Yes, this is clearly your fault.
"Light," you say softly. It's almost a whisper, so I ignore it. I also ignore the strange feeling it causes—isn't this how my dreams last night began? "Light-kun, are you awake?"
If I feign sleep, what will you think? Do you know that I'm already awake, and that's why you're asking? I decide to answer; "Yes. What are you still doing up?" I make sure my voice is slurred ever so slightly, and squint for good measure when I turn to face you and end up staring directly into the small book light you have clipped to the front of your shirt. This is most likely to help you read the papers that are strewn carelessly at the foot of the bed.
"That teacher…it made me think of something."
"What? Ryuzaki, we've gone over this."
But you don't even pause to listen to my agitated arguments. "Maybe we overlooked other possible Kira victims because they had a history of heart problems."
I sit up straight immediately. Not because the idea seems to have merit, but because I know that if you think you might have overlooked something…well, then this is serious and requires my complete focus. I shuffle up near the head board and sit next to you so that I can look at the screen of the laptop. As if you had planned to do so all along, you close it. I give you an annoyed look.
"I've gone over recent heart attacks where the victims were model citizens—there were only two that are believable. The other four could have been involved in criminal activity without anyone's knowledge." You open the screen, clicking on a new tab before I can see what you didn't want to show me. An image of an old wrinkled lady pops up in a new window. "Agnes Clearwater, an American. 74 years old. She had been expecting to die for the past month, after she was diagnosed with a rare heart disease. She was very wealthy, and her estate was divided between her heir and several charities."
"But that's not a heart attack, that's a heart disease. Kira didn't do diseases," I say cautiously. I don't like where this is going.
You click on another tab, and the old woman is replaced by a picture of another woman around her thirties. "And this woman, Emma Boulangerie, a businesswoman from Lyon—she collapsed from a blot clot, though it was far from fatal and she was released from the hospital the next day. The medicines she was put on then caused her to have a fatal heart attack two weeks later."
Eerily similar, within such a short period of time. It's farfetched, it's terrifying, but…
"Kira can kill in other ways besides heart attacks?"
"I estimate there is a sixty-four percent chance of the answer being yes." You continue after a brief pause to let this astounding news sink in. "But you notice the hint of arrogance in the attacks in that they are still heart-related. Thus far, it would seem this Kira is different from the original, and even the second—a new Kira, but one that also wishes for us to know who is responsible."
"Only us. That was too subtle for the regular police force. This is a deliberate taunt for L," I say. You nod in agreement, admitting that your thoughts were lingering around the same conclusion. I take another brief look at the screen before asking, "Who benefited from the Frenchwoman's death?"
"The business was taken over by her husband. No charities involved." You stare at me very intently.
"Did you run a search on any changes in her life before it occurred?"
"Yes. Nothing of interest."
"What about her familial relatives?"
You almost smile. I've hit upon what you were keeping from me. You pull up the file you hid from me before. "Her brother, Cedric Morceaux, lives in the Kanto district of Japan, and runs his own business—namely, marketing and advertising." Your eyes flicker up to meet mine. "He also donates to several charities."
"I'm guessing that Kira couldn't kill him because he needed him for something, so he killed his sister to put pressure on him. Or perhaps it was a threat and Morceaux didn't take it seriously, resulting in his sister's death." I pause. "Do you have a list of his clients?"
"Yes; also, one of the charities coincides with both cases. There is something suspicious about it, though."
"Let me guess…it doesn't exist," I state wryly.
"Correct."
I can feel myself becoming excited now. This is the best lead we've had in a very long time. I'm that much closer to proving my innocence to you. "Wonderful. This is wonderful, Ryuzaki!" I say happily, placing a hand on your shoulder.
Then, like a dash of ice water, I realize what I'm doing, and jerk my hand away. You seem unperturbed by my strange actions, closing down the various windows on your laptop as you unenthusiastically mutter, "Yes, very wonderful."
I need to gain better control of myself. I just need to remind myself constantly that if I don't keep this strange obsession to myself, I will be completely destroyed. It won't even matter that I'm not Kira.
Deciding that there's no longer a reason to be watching you (which I only notice after several minutes of doing just that), I promptly turn away from you and pull the covers over my shoulders. As big of a break as this is, it's only four in the morning, and when I haven't had enough sleep, my cognitive processes slow considerably.
"Light-kun, what are you doing?"
"Going back to sleep." Obviously. "We can deal with this in the morning."
"It is already morning. The alarm is set for an hour from now."
"Then wake me up in an hour."
I listen to the sounds of you closing your laptop. Have I truly won?
No. In the next moment my arm is jerked away from its comfortable position against my body as you get out of bed. I start to slide across the bedspread—I lost some weight in that jail cell, so it's easy for you to drag me around.
"Ryuzaki!" I complain.
"I am taking a shower, Yagami-kun. Unfortunately, my plans and your plans don't seem to be compatible."
Stubbornness is one of those few crutches that one may fall back on in times of need. You employ the tactic quite often. I manage to grab the blanket before you've pulled me too far. Outside the shower, you dial a number on your cell phone and I curl up on the floor, ignoring you as best I can. The other end is answered after only one ring.
"Please undo my handcuff, Watari," you say into the phone, and a second later, the metal band around your wrist snaps open. You thank Watari, slip off your shirt, and snap the cuff around your wrist once more.
I remember when you first showed me how to get the handcuffs off. I remember the dead feeling in my stomach…what if there's an emergency? But you just can't use a key like normal people. It would get lost, or I would find some way to fish it from your pants and free myself—I very consciously noted the sarcasm when you told me that, and thought it somewhat humorous at the time, but now I don't find it amusing at all. This way, you said, only you, through Watari, would be able to open the cuffs.
Once you've stripped your lower half, you step into the shower, filling the room with the constant pattering of water hitting the shower floor. The rhythmic beating soothes me and I can begin to fall asleep again there on the bathroom floor. I slept in a jail cell with my arms handcuffed behind my back for several weeks…this is almost comfortable in comparison.
I grunt in a mixture of pain and annoyance when my hand is roughly jerked upwards. Knowing you, you lifted your hand above your head on purpose, so that I would have to lift mine.
Two can play this game. I don't make it easy for you, instead letting my arm go limp so that you have to support the weight of it. You jerk the appendage in annoyance, but there's really not much you can do. I smile in victory. It feels good to be childish sometimes, especially when you're involved.
Despite this uncomfortable position, I still manage to fall into a sort of relaxed half-sleep, woken only by the sound of the shower door sliding open. I hear you move around the small bathroom, jerking my arm carelessly in whichever direction you go. I hear you call Watari once more so that you can put your shirt on, and then you prod me in the shoulder with your toe.
"It is time for you to wake up, Light-kun."
I ignore you.
"Light-kun."
I continue to ignore you, because unfortunately our plans just don't seem to be compatible
I hear the sounds of the shower door sliding open again, and then I hear a strange squeaking sound, and I realize what it is—the readjustment of the shower nozzle—a second before cold spray hits me.
I yell and jump right up, looking at you murderously.
You stare me down, and then, without looking away, delicately bring the cell phone up to your ear, and say to Watari, "Now you may unlock Light's handcuff for his shower."
Wow. Long chapter. 3400 words. Yikes. But you guys were absolutely amazing with all of those reviews you gave me last chapter, so you deserve it.
There was a second half to this, that I took out for various reasons. It's no longer a part of the story, but if you'd like to read it for the hell of it, the title is Lament and it's listed under my stories on my profile.
Guessing Game Results
Most Popular: Loathe (19)
My Favorite: Lick (2, given by thenightwanderer and Zirra Nova) First meaning "to draw the tongue over," second meaning "to strike repeatedly; to thrash." I agree with thenightwander—Light seems like he's in the mood to do both.
Hint for M: All of you English people will probably get it, but in America it's not a common insult. I was half tempted to put 'marpion,' which my French teacher tells me is a depraved crab louse, but I figured none of you would guess it and I rather enjoy dedicating the chapters.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE REVIEWS!
More, please?
