Lemon Link
Chap 1. A gun, a woman, a child, and mistakes.
The sky poured, as if the clouds had been slit and were now bleeding out. Rivulets flowed with no particular path down the grooves in the grey pavement, bleached from years and years of sunlight and walking feet. The streets were mostly empty now, save for the occasional unfortunate pedestrian who would fumble to cover themselves from the little liquid bullets.
A young man of maybe nineteen or twenty made his way down the flooded sidewalk, not caring as muddy water splashed up onto his faded jeans. He wore a loose vest of lamb skin, and underneath, a striped shirt clung to his lean figure. If one continued to examine this figure, the next thing you might notice was the red hair that fell into his face, diverted by a pair of orange goggles. The reflective glass of the lenses obscured the man's eyes, giving him a very uncaring, if not apathetic appearance. Between his thin lips a cigarette dangled precariously, put out by the rain.
–
Allow me to put it simply...he was– and always had been– a jerk. Making him happy...completely pleasing him was near impossible. But I suppose that's the way it was, and always will be.
Mello. Mello Mello Mello.
The only time he was even close to being happy with me was after we had sex. He would prop himself up on elbows, leaning over me, then plucking the cigarette from my lips and taking a drag. He would smile blithely, then ruffle my hair further. I would snatch my cigarette back, turning away. Because it was fake. All a precious little lie that once held my mind of glass together.
Sure. He knew that my past had messed me up– no one could ever deny it. I'll leave out the little fish-bone details, they're not really that important to the story. In any case, I was born from a one night stand between my prostitute mother and a customer of hers. I never bothered to try to look for him, either...what's important is that I was born in a bad environment, and when I was 4 years old, my mother died. I was taken to Wammy's, where I met Mello.
But I digress.
That fateful rainy day, I needed to escape Mello's raging. It was also the one in which my life would change in various aspects, caused mainly by: a girl. A gun. A child. And a few stupid actions on my part.
–
A screech echoed from an alleyway– short, desperate. The young man stopped mid-step, peering into the dingy, dank ally.
Crumpled on the asphalt was a young woman whose abdomen was swelled nearly to bursting. Above her stood a much, much larger man. His meaty fist was wrapped around the woman's throat, white with tension. Her mouth hung open, moving wordlessly, eyes wide with terror.
The young man slipped into the shadow of a nearby dumpster, unnoticed in the darkness of the day.
"Today, you are unlucky, Miss. Montague." said the monstrous man, his voice a crackling rumble.
"Paid...already...sir..." The woman addressed as Montague choked out. The man's greasy brow tightened with anger, as he tightened his grip on the woman's neck with his sausage fingers.
"No!" The man slammed the woman's head against the brick, a strangled cry slipping from her red lips.
The young man's hands balled into fists, blanching as he clenched them tight. His thoughts were with his mother at that moment– tragically beautiful, so far along, and dying right before him. Just like that night so, so many years ago.
His focus shifted back to the weak, crumpled creature, and the predator who now took out a sleek black item, which clicked as he stroked it.
A gun, now cocked at the woman.
This was when the first mistake occurred.
The young man barreled into the attacker too early; resulting in being wounded himself. The giant slammed a beefy fist into the young man's gut, causing him to retch. Montague was scrambling to her feet, stumbling backwards. "Ah...Ah!" She gripped her swollen belly.
"Stop!" bellowed the behemoth, flailing his gun around. He fired at the woman, hitting her in the chest, ceasing the beating of her heart. Her body crumpled against the wall like a rag doll.
The younger man snarled, shattering his perfect mask of apathy. His lithe form twisted around, snatching the gun from the hand of the fat man. Whirling, he slapped the man in the temple, hard.
Instant knock-out.
He shed the weapon, stepping towards the corpse of Montague, whose auburn hair fell into her pale face like a shroud. He held up her chin, causing the hair to fall away.
She was beautiful.
Her face was that of a cherub's; round and childlike. Her lips, smeared with crimson, were perpetually pouty and heart shaped. Subtle, like every aspect of her...He liked how she looked. If she had been alive, he might have asked her on a date. However, she was clearly married, judging by the golden band around her–
A cry pierced the air, followed by a soft whine, and another cry.
...Her baby had been born.