A/N: Anyone who knows my writing of Death Note stories knows that I hesitate on doing Mello because he's so difficult for me to do. I've had this conversation with various people, Mello is predictable but impulsive at the same time and that's hard for me to do. So why I decided to do a story in Mello's P.O.V about him is beyond me…. It was too good of an idea to pass up. Plus, it's good practice.

Warning: This story, because it IS Mello, will involve the following and if you do not like it please find the back button: Swearing, violence, lemons, small bits of MelloxNear, even smaller bits of MelloxMatt, spoilers. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED!

Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note, or Mello.

Chapter 2: I'd Rather Forget…

My very first memories are not that of my many years stay at Wammy's, but the time before then, when my biological family was still alive.

Back when I was still only known as Mihael Keehl.

Though if I had the choice I'd rather forget that time all together, it really means nothing to me, seeing as it didn't do much to shape the rest of my life. But I suppose when one feels a traumatic experience as that certainly delivered to me it is impossible to forget.

The first memory I can ever recall is that of waking up in my family's chosen home one morning. It's simple and I lived as such in my ignorance for a good while.

My family consisted of four people. My parents, my older sister Andrea who was nine years older than me, and myself.

As odd as it may seem, my first real memory was from when I was seven years old. Everything before that has always been hidden behind a veil that I've never cared enough to look behind.

My family lived in Germany, but we moved from city to city every few days so there was no true home. I never did develop a true understanding of that word. My mother always said that we had to move because her and my father needed to for their jobs.

They never specifically told me what those 'jobs' were.

No, I had to figure it out on my own years later, after their deaths.

I don't blame them though, after all how exactly do you explain to a seven-year-old that your husband steals and sells drugs for money, and that you're a heroin addict who prostitutes both yourself and my sister just to support your addiction?

Back then my family was reversed from everyone else's. We slept or traveled by day and lived at night. I was left alone most nights to fend for myself while the rest of my family went out and 'worked'.

At the time I never thought anything of it. I was seven, stupid, and didn't know that my family was one of the very few that lived like this.

I was an arrogant child back then, I never thought much about the nightly gun shots and killings that happened right outside the building I was in. I always thought I'd be protected from that.

We never stayed long enough anywhere for me to go to a real school. But I taught myself how to read, write and even to do basic math. I always picked up on things quickly, no matter what it was, it was just another skill I learned I had.

My favorite thing to do though, during those long nights when I was alone in the abandoned buildings, was to stay up late and read. I'd get lost in the fantasies each old book I found created for me. It amazed me that on the first page distant lands were already fighting with one another but by the last page everything was solved.

I used to wonder if my life was going to be like that; if everything was going to ease out and we'd all be happy in the end.

My wondering of that was short lived, however.

I remember the night that those dreams were shot down forever. It was late at night, when I was still seven, I'd just put myself to bed not long before.

Then all of a sudden Andrea burst into my room, throwing the cracked wooden door closed almost as hard enough to crack the wall. I was startled into instant alertness and my blue eyes found her through the invading darkness.

She was a mess, even more so than normal. Her long blonde hair was knotted, dirty, and even ripped out in some areas. Her body moved with a powerful rage as she threw everything she could, including herself, against the walls. Her eyes that used to be so hollow, yet warm when directed at me, were now drowned with a fury that frightened me.

"Andrea?" I asked, in that innocent child voice that I still had.

She stopped almost instantly and looked dead at me with the blue eyes that mirrored my own in an intensity that could kill.

The next thing I knew she was right in front of me, her hand suddenly slapped me hard across the face. Tears welled in my eyes as my only pathetic means of defense. I was scared into silence.

My sister had always been the calm one; her sudden anger scared me more than anything I'd ever seen before.

"Fight back, Mihael!" She screamed at me. "Do something to stop me!"

I couldn't do anything.

There were tears in her eyes too and I didn't understand it. I was too stunned to do anything, really, and even if I wasn't there was no way I'd know what it was she wanted me to do.

"You have to, Mihael! No one is ever going to stand up for you in this life; you're on your own. You have to be strong for only yourself." She collapsed to her knees in the middle of my floor; I could just barely hear her beginning to sob.

"You're still so innocent." Her eyes snapped up, "but you had better lose that quickly. If not you'll never get anywhere. I can't take it anymore! Reality, as well as this very life is a very cruel thing. You'll learn that someday." She sat on the floor, sobbing openly for my confused eyes to take in.

I was too lost in the confusion to ask what she was talking about; too young to understand what she was trying to convey to me.

After several long minutes of this barely broken silence she finally got up and left my room without another word or glance to me.

I lay awake, curled up on the old mattress, wondering over all she'd said. This all seemed like nothing I'd ever come across in any of my books and I couldn't even begin to grasp the underlying message she was desperately sending out.

By the time I finally figured it out, it was too late.

The next morning she was found dead in her bed.

I couldn't tell you exactly how she did it, my mother kept me away from the room at all costs, but I overheard the things she said. I hid behind walls or anywhere else I could that day in order to try and overhear the conversations my parents had about my sister.

My mother told my father that Andrea was weak, and had finally snapped. She said that she probably couldn't handle what was going on.

"So what the hell are we going to do now?" My father's stern voice asked firmly. He'd always been a gruff man for as long as I'd known him. I'd never heard any other tone escape his lips but that one.

"Well obviously we have to bury her then move on before anyone else shows up." My mom said surely. My mother was the brains, I figured she was where I got it; at one time she probably had the mental ability to do any occupation she wanted. But years of drug exposure had brought that down a bit.

Andrea had told me once that my father's violence was what kept her around; she was too afraid to leave.

"No." He said forcefully. "We'll just leave now. No one is going to know who she is or what happened. We'll act like nothing even happened."

"You expect me to just leave my dead daughter like she's no one?" My mother asked, obviously shocked by his idea.

"Yes, I do!"

I couldn't hold myself back, without even thinking I appeared from where I had been hiding around the corner out into the pitiful excuse of a dining room. Both pairs of eyes fell onto me instantly.

"We can't just leave Andrea!" I said, attempting to sound just as forceful as my father had.

"Go back to your room, Mihael." My mother turned her head away from me. I couldn't figure out why, and at the time I didn't care to know either.

"No. We can't leave Andrea, she's my sister! She deserves better!"

"Mihael!" She shouted.

"No!"

"Damn it, boy!" In one stride my father was in front of me, and suddenly a heavy hand slammed into the side of my face, hard enough to throw me to the cold wooden floor.

I froze, my hand rose up to the now burning patch on my cheek. He was glaring down at me with burning green eyes, "you will learn respect! We do what I say in this family, nothing else, you hear me?"

I was silent.

"Answer me!" He shouted, making me cringe away.

"Yes."

"Good. Now go!"

I wasn't sure where exactly he wanted me to go, but at the time it didn't matter. Anywhere was better than being in the same room as my parents. I fled from the dining area back into my room; hand still holding my cheek.

A/N: Ugh, so difficult. I don't understand why this is such a difficult thing to write! Maybe I'm thinking too much into it? I don't know. Anyway, Mello seems OOC in this, and he will for a couple chapters but trust me it'll all make sense later on. There is a reason somewhere behind my madness, I swear.

Please review!

-Forbiddensoul562