Chapter Twelve

"V? V, are you okay? V? V!"

"Minerva? What's wrong with her?"

"Mi-chan!"

"V, you have to wake up. Please, snap out of it. Come on, please! PLEASE!"

"MINERVA!"

"Minerva-san?"

I jolted up, blinking, bleary eyed and not completely aware of where I was. Kuroda stared back, worried. Light was on the other side of the chemistry table, arms crossed and body language saying he was ready to jump to my aid if necessary. I smiled wanly, caught sight of the bunsen burner still aflame on our bench top, and shuddered. He frowned and switched off the gas.

"Are you okay? You were muttering in your sleep," said Kuroda, bypassing social boundaries and touching my forehead. I knocked his hand away, knowing there was nothing outwardly wrong with me. It was my mind that was the trouble.

"Don't worry about it. Only a bad dream. Didn't get enough sleep last night." I yawned and stretched. "So, are we done with the experiment?"

"Yup. Yagami and I finished it off. Best grade in the class." He grinned. Light rolled his eyes.

"No thanks to you, Nakamura. You talked to Kimio the whole time."

"I know! We're going out this weekend. Isn't it awesome?"

I chuckled and rested my chin in my palm, relieved to listen to something that wasn't my own screaming or Light's schemes for once. Of course Ryuk was still here, hovering at Light's shoulder as usual, but ever since my breakdown in the bathroom he'd kept his distance. I was unsettled by the fact that I missed the Shinigami a little. Determined to get rid of any fondness for the creature, I had avoided him as best I could. It had worked well enough for the past month. Consequently, it also meant avoiding Light.

"Oh yeah, the gallery's opening tonight, isn't it?" Kuroda's comment snapped me to attention. That had been my other project for February; finishing all my paintings for the exhibition. Miss Hisashi would be proud. Nothing like a little mental trauma to instil a good work ethic.

"Uh huh. Opening night. Don't know why they chose a Thursday for it."

"Our school always has weird dates. The graduation ceremony is next Thursday."

"Already?"

"Yup."

"What are you going to be doing after high school then?"

"Travel. Parents told me to go to university, so I'm going to Spain."

"Going to take Kimio with you?"

Kuroda sighed, catching sight of the girl on the other side of the classroom, dressed in the standard issue white lab coat and plastic glasses given to all students when around dangerous chemicals.

"I wish," he said, his expression wistful. Light and I shared a wry glance.

Oh, that reminds me.

"I'm not going to be at lunch with you, Light. I'm meeting up with Mikoto and Nozomi at the art rooms."

He schooled his expression into one of polite interest but I could see the hardening of his eyes. He did not like me going out of his sight lately. I couldn't blame him.

"What for?"

"They wanted a sneak peek at my gallery paintings. Since they modelled for some of them I promised a viewing."

His fingers twitched and curled into a fist on the tabletop. There was obviously something on the tip of his tongue, trying to push its way into the open. With a deep breath, he unclenched his hand and said, "I'll see you at the exhibition then?"

"Yeah," I replied, scrutinising him. "It doesn't close until late though, and it's going on 'til the closing ceremony next week, so you and Quinn will have to cook dinner. See if you can get Sayu to help too, while you're at it. Heaven knows she needs to learn sometime." It was kind of nice knowing that there were people home who could keep Quinn company while I was busy.

He nodded, thought for a moment, then took Kuroda aside, whispering into his friend's ear. Kuroda shot me a glance, smirked, and punched Light in the shoulder.

"'Course. Have fun." He winked at me. The bell went and he drifted over the Kimio, to be greeted with a fond, if exasperated, smile. Light had disappeared by the time I looked back and Mikoto peeked around the classroom door, gesturing at me frantically. Rolling my eyes and ignoring the phantom burning in my back, I went over to the girl.

"So, how's Yagami-san doing?" she asked as we walked to meet up with Nozomi at the art rooms.

"Better. He's concentrating on getting life sorted for him and his sister while he's at university."

"He's turned eighteen now. He can get an apartment for him and Sayu. You know there's one free in my building."

I made some noncommittal sound and waved at Nozomi when we entered the art room. She was staring at an easel, brow furrowed. When we came to her side I saw it was the skeleton painting.

"What's wrong?" Mikoto asked.

"Light . . . he's been so sad lately."

Mikoto became even more downtrodden. "I know. Ever since his parents died . . . it's been so hard on him. Oh, how lucky he is to have you, Minerva-san." Her weak smile was grateful, but insincere. She wished she was in my place, 'taking care' of Light. All of the girls at Daikoku Academy, apart from maybe Ayako, were the same. Strangely enough, they'd decided that the best way to get information on Light was to talk to me about his wellbeing, handing me a strange popularity that was at times amusing and at others plain weird.

"Maybe we could make a cake to cheer him up!" Mikoto exclaimed, coming alive in the company of her friend. "We didn't celebrate his birthday, after all."

"Mikoto!" Nozomi admonished. "I told you, he needs to be left alone to deal with the trauma. Losing his parents in a fire is horrible. He doesn't need you or anyone else prying."

"I know, but it's been over two months now! Surely he doesn't need so much time."

"Why don't you talk to him at the gallery tonight?" I suggested quickly. "He's going to be there and I'm sure he'd love to talk to you. Just don't bring up his parents and it should be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Well . . ." said Nozomi, crossing her arms. "Maybe two months is long enough . . ."

"Yay! I get to talk to Light!" Mikoto squealed, clapping her hands. "I could find out where he's staying now."

"Probably with a family friend, I already told you," said Nozomi.

"But you can't be sure. Apparently Kuroda told Kimio who told Niijima that Light is staying at a girl's house. I want to know who!"

Laughing quietly, I sat down at one of the benches and pulled out my lunch. The two girls joined me and were soon in heated discussion about who Light and Sayu lived with now. As soon as they suggested he might have been recruited by L for the Kira case I tuned out and focused my attention inward, at the gnawing in my chest that was growing stronger by the day. I needed to paint something, and soon. Maybe Quinn would model for me tonight after the exhibition, if he was still awake. There was the sneaking suspicion in my mind that painting more of Light would only make the gnawing worse.

Someone had painted a still-life of a kitchen. It was well executed, gaining inspiration from Escher, but my eyes were drawn to the knife block hiding in the corner, right next to an unlit stove. Unwittingly, my fingers began to tug at the hem of my shirt, inching their way up to the scars on my back as my breathing elevated out of my control.

White-hot metal, laughing, pain beyond measure.

Pain, pain, pain. Stop, please, stop. Let me go.

I don't want to live anymore.

Make it stop.

Hands grasped mine, warm and strong, unbending my fingers from their choke hold and interlacing them with theirs. Light's chin came down on my shoulder, his hair a comforting tickle on my cheek.

"Calm down," he said. "There's no bathroom for you to run to here."

I managed to force a laugh. "You need to work on your bedside manner, mate." I pushed back the panic, allowing his presence to drag me into reality and keep me grounded. He wrapped his arms around my waist, my fingers still caught in his.

"How long until this closes?" I asked quietly, letting my head rest on his shoulder.

"Another hour."

"I want to go home."

"I know."

"Where are Quinn and Sayu?"

"Kuroda promised to take them home for us. Ryuk's with them."

"How'd you swing that?"

"I made a deal."

"Ah."

"Ahem, Yagami-san?" We turned together to see Mikoto standing nervously behind us, Nozomi by her side. She smiled fleetingly. Nozomi kept her eyes trained on a bird's-eye-view of the school courtyard, students dotted over the grass and pathways like strangely coloured flowers.

Light broke away, saying, "You'll want to talk to Minerva. I won't keep you."

"Oh, no!" Mikoto exclaimed. Nozomi's head snapped around, eyes wide. "We want to talk to you, Light-kun!"

"Me?"

"Yes! We haven't talked in ages!"

Light shot me a glance, the beginnings of a smirk dancing over his lips. "Ah, yes. I've missed our conversations. Shall we?" He gestured for them to lead the way towards the back of the assembly hall that was being used for the gallery. I mustered a scowl in retaliation to his smug expression but it dropped as soon as he turned his back. There wasn't enough feeling left in my body at the moment to handle anything more than a polite smile, which I exploited heavily as I made my rounds, explaining various art pieces, playing host and generally making sure Principal Kurosaki saw the interest parents were taking in the artwork.

The turnout was impressive, considering that for most of this school year there had been rumours of the art classes being dropped in favour of more sports funding. Sponsors, board members, parents, students from both the upper and middle school, and friends of family milled around the assembly hall, quiet chatter hovering just below the average talking level. Students stood with their hands behind their backs under the watchful gazes of teachers and parents while surreptitiously gossiping over who created what and what each artist was doing outside of classes. Parents conversed with staff and each other, boasting of their children. Principal Kurosaki Asashi was in the far corner of the cavernous, wood-floored space, rubbing his hands together to get some heat in them and seeming as though he was trying his hardest to tune out his secretary's ramblings as she flicked through page after page on her clipboard. She hadn't left his side all evening.

Upon seeing my attention on him, he said something to his young assistant and left her, weaving his way through the crowd to where I stood. The woman looked affronted, yet she managed to smooth her expression, pursing her lips and setting off in the opposite direction.

"Catearro-san," the principal greeted, bowing. I responded in kind. "How are you and your brother finding my school?"

"It's wonderful, Principal Kurosaki. It's been a pleasure."

"Good, good." He trailed off, his attention wandering over the heads of the visitors. He spotted something and grimaced. "Ah, Hisashi-sensei has discussed the proposition with you, I trust?"

"Yes."

"You will have your answer by the closing ceremony."

"Thank you, Principal. I'd love to work here."

"Yes, well, we'll see," he said, frowning over my shoulder. I followed his line of sight and saw a group of students from Kuroda's class whispering to themselves, a closed circle made of sailor uniforms and dark heads. "If you'll excuse me," said the principal, nodding curtly and moving to break up the bunch who could be heard above the room's noise.

Pain, pain, pain. Stop, please, stop. Let me go.

Groaning, I rubbed my forehead, curling my hands into fists to stop them ripping my shirt from my body to escape the burning of my back.

"I'm going to break you."

Shut up!

Someone tapped my shoulder. "Are you Catearro Minerva?" asked a mother, her eyes kind and inquisitive. And just like that I was swept back into the swing of tours, explanations and waving away compliments, keeping my hands firmly in my jacket pockets. When I passed the Escher-inspired painting again blood began to run down my palms from my fingernails biting too deep.

The hall finally emptied at ten, right on closing time. Miss Hisashi offered to walk the principal and his secretary out, winking to me as she did so. The double doors of the hall locked with a snick, able to opened only with a key or from the inside, meaning the gallery was safe to stay set up for the week.

I groaned again, rolling out my shoulders and slumping to the floor. Only five more days of this. This wouldn't be impossible. Then there would be all the time needed to regain a grasp on reality. I was slipping, I knew it, had felt it before.

"You're nothing but his toy, Valerie."

"Shut up," I muttered. "You're dead. You can't affect me like this."

"Who's dead?"

With a startled gasp, I scrabbled to my feet, raising fists protectively, ready to flee on instinct. Light raised an eyebrow. Swallowing, I shifted out of the stance. He caught my wrists before I could hide them behind me. Blood had run into the creases on the inside of my knuckles and palms, drying and cracking and flaking and appearing a lot more brutal than it felt.

Light's expression darkened, eyes shadowed by his hair. "Why?" When I didn't reply he grabbed my shoulders and jerked me forwards. "Why?"

"Scared of what you don't understand?" I whispered.

"You can't deflect this, Minerva. Tell me why. I will stop it."

I let out a barking laugh, bitter and hopeless. "You? What could you possibly do? The only trauma you've known is something you don't even care about."

"Minerva."

I wrenched away. What was it about this boy that made me give in to emotion so quickly? "This is madness, Light. This is what you're going to become. Didn't I say you'd be alone someday? Haven't you already noticed the way the student body is avoiding you?"

"Why bring that up?" He walked closer. I spun around and went over to the Escher still-life, tracing the air in front of the knife block.

"Because there's being alone physically, and then there's being alone in your own mind. You can't understand, Light. You're always in control."

"Minerva, you aren't alone," he said, his tone a parody of light-hearted. "You have Quinn, Sayu and I. We're here for you."

I scoffed. "Don't bother. You can't change anything." Like some horrible compulsion, I started to tug at my shirt again. The gnawing was growing stronger, to the point where it almost hurt, and suddenly I couldn't stay any longer. However, as I moved to leave he was there, hands cupping my face.

"We are here for you." For once in his life he actually sounded sincere.

Without warning, I was crying. Massive, aching sobs that wracked my frame and had me falling into his chest. His arms came around my waist, tugging me closer as I clutched at him. My knees gave way. He knelt and shifted so I was sitting in his lap. He rubbed what should have been soothing circles on my back. Instead, they caused the riot of emotions writhing in my chest to grow to be smothering as his fingers traced over the BB scar.

"I hate this," I whimpered, resenting myself with every word I spoke even as they poured out. "I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. Why won't it stop? Why won't it leave me alone? Why is always me?"

"You aren't alone," he repeated softly.

"I am. I am, I am, I am, I am." The tears came thick and hot, only adding to my self-hatred. "It just won't stop. Lord, why does it have to be me? It's so unfair! It's never Quinn or Mello or Near, it's always me. And they just stare and talk and I feel so worthless and why?"

Light moved back sharply, holding my chin in his hands, his brown eyes scalding with anger. "You aren't worthless." He seemed more affronted by the notion than anything else.

I stared at him, trying to find some hint of understanding. There was nothing but a mask, the one he created when he was losing control. "What's the point of me?" I asked. "Why am I here?"

"Because you have to be," he said, his thumbs stroking away the tears on my eyelashes. "You're needed here." There was nothing soft about that statement. It was cold, hard fact that was impossible to refute. It was better than any inane platitude about love or everything happening for a reason. He always knew just what to say, didn't he?

Taking in a shuddering breath, I nodded, not quite ready to leave his embrace yet. It was late, though, and our siblings would be waiting for us.

"Let's go home," I said.

He studied me one last time. "We'll talk more there."

Too tired of resisting anymore, I acquiesced.

"I love you more than anyone else in the world! I'm always watching you, I just want to protect you!"

I stopped walking, forcing Light to halt. That voice had sounded frantic, crazed, disturbed. It was coming from a street just ahead. The night was quiet, with not a soul in sight, and that made the words all the more worrying. Coupled with the hiccuping giggles, it set every nerve in my body on edge. A softer, higher voice drifted along in the wind, too quiet to form discernible words from this distance. Someone laughed insanely.

My stomach clenched. Without thinking, I started to run, ignoring Light's shouts as I let my bag fall to the pavement and sprinted around the corner.

"Then . . . if I can't have you . . . I'LL KILL US BOTH!"

There was the glint of a blade in the moonlight, a flash of red material and then I was pushing the girl of the way, sending her tumbling to the ground as I took a blow to my forearm, the blade splitting skin like paper. The attacker was a man, wearing glasses that reflected the light of the streetlamps as he screamed in frustration and dove around me, aiming for the girl. Acting on some self-sacrificing instinct, I leapt into the path of his weapon and felt it slice straight through my shirt and into my spine. The pain was immense. He struck a second time, a third. It was like being flayed with knife. Again.

The girl cried out in alarm, dark brown eyes watching me in horror from the shadows of her red, wide-brimmed hat. I gave her a shaky grin and kicked back, managing to catch the man in the stomach. He coughed, stumbled, lunged. Another slice. Through blind luck I managed to get a hold of his wrist with my good arm – the left one – and twist his arm so savagely he had no choice but to let go of the knife or break his hand. The sound of it clattering on the ground was masked by his abrupt scream. He went stiff, his eyes rolling back, lips twitching as tormented cries were ripped from his throat. In my grasp I felt his pulse fluctuate wildly.

He collapsed. In the few seconds I kept a hold on him his heartbeat disappeared. When I let go in shock his hand hit the concrete with a dull crack.

"Is he . . . is he dead?" asked the girl.

"I – yes. He is."

"Minerva!" Light was there, my bag on his shoulder, hands roving all over me, making me hiss when they brushed my back, my arm. "What have you done?" he snarled.

"What have you done?"

"What do you mean?"

"That guy dropped dead from a heart attack. Sound familiar?"

"Minerva, you're losing blood."

"Really? I didn't notice. The dead guy's kind of distracting."

"Miss? Are you okay?" the girl asked, sounding nervous.

"Never better," I responded flippantly. The world was starting to spin. That hadn't happened in a while.

"We need to get you to hospital. Do you have a phone?"

"Oh, of course!"

"Hey, Light, the streetlamp's getting dimmer." In fact, the whole world was getting darker. Only Light's eyes stayed bright, tinged with red and fear.

"Minerva, hold on. Call an ambulance, quickly."

"You know, this is nice. I feel like I could sleep without nightmares now."

His eyes widened. "No, stay awake."

"Don't be so worried, I don't have a concussion. Geez, and you call yourself a genius." My words were slurring together as I swayed on my feet, feeling calm and weirdly elevated. "Don't freak out about the scars."

"Minerva!"

TOWRTA: So I promised you guys another chapter and here it is. I've drunk way to much coffee, it's 1:46 pm, I have to awake by 6:30 pm and I'm a senior school student studying for exams. I hope you're all proud of yourselves.

Alex (anon): Dude, those scars are horrifying! If anyone wants to check it out, Alex here compared V's scars to those of Helena on Orphan Black. *shudder* With the whole L thing, I totally agree. Imagine realising that you managed to get one of the few people you are close to mentally and physically scarred because you weren't paying attention to a guy who was obviously disturbed. That would be a horrible revelation. Poor L. He's so tortured. And yeah, let's hope he doesn't take the Whammy Kids' loyalty for granted because imagine if he did something to really annoy Mello one day. Thanks for the review!

Look! Misa's here! Woo! Told you she would be.

Next time: introductions