....Hello there.

Remember me? You know, I was that one weird author who usually disliked both original character and most straight characters, yet was writing her own Mello X female OC story? And then she dissapeared for a while?

Well... I'm back. Sorry about the slow update. I've been distracted and I haven't logged on in FOREVER. This unfinished chapter has been hanging around on my computer for three months, but I only finished it today. That's SAD.

But, in any case, I hope that you enjoy my newest installment of "Like a Punch in the Face". I have NO intentions of abandoning this story, but I admit that I get distracted.

But, to my reviewers, THANK YOU. Seriously. Thank you SO MUCH. You guys inspire me, and without you, I wouldn't be here typing my little fangirly mind.

So I'll shut up and let you read. Thank you, and enjoy!

"Like A Punch in the Face"

Chapter Three: "Shovel Hook"

You know, the funny thing about feeling hopeless, confused, and impossibly awkward is the fact that the feeling never passes.

It never passed for me, anyway.

It had actually been about two days since the incident in the hallway. Two days since I had collided with Matt, two days since I sat frozen (like an imbecile) as Mello glared at me, two days that Kitty had been teasing me for liking Mello (I did not), two days since I had wanted to crawl in an abandoned log and just die.

Some things just never happen when you want them to, I suppose.

In any case, two days later, each filled with the awkward shuffling of my feet when the dangerous blond approached a 50-foot radius and delightfully awkward conversations with my sex-crazed roommate, I sat in my Pre-Calculus class, praying for the clock to soon strike twelve. Truth be told, I hated math—it never seemed to make sense and I always fell behind others in my group.

Lunch would have been a great escape. I glanced up at the clock yet again, registering the small clicks of the second hand inching closer and closer to the Twelve. Six more minutes. Time was officially the enemy.

I let out a small sigh as I rested my chin in my hand, letting my mind wander as our instructor rambled on about graphs of polar equations. Mrs. Rush's raspy voice was easy enough to tune out; I had done it so many other times (to be fair, the woman was quite sweet. Truth be told, though, she could put a potted plant to sleep and had the teaching abilities of your average earth worm. And it's a wonder I was even attending Wammy's House—genius, I wasn't).

My dark eyes scanned the room, taking in the dull and monotonous life that inhabited the four confining walls of the classroom. One or two students seemed to be listening intently to Mrs. Rush's mind-numbing lecture, scribbling down notes and nodding their heads fervently at the appropriate time. Others, like me, seemed to let their thoughts wander as they glanced at various aspects of the room, examining their desk, the walls, the strange blue color of Mrs. Rush's hair and the like. And then there were a few who decided to abandon their thirst for knowledge altogether, opting instead for an afternoon nap.

Mrs. Rush was the only teacher who would have excused this action in such a prestigious school as Whammy's. In fact, I doubt that she even noticed the snoozers. The woman could be talking to a basketball instead of a class and not know the difference.

It made me pity the world just a tiny bit.

But, anyways, the clock ticked by slowly. Every second seemed to grow louder as the time went on—I was already impatient enough as it was, so I didn't need the extra pressure of the loud clock. I was starving, to be honest, and I wanted so badly to get out of this stupid class. When, in real life, would I ever need to know the properties of logarithms? I wasn't destined for greatness, I knew that much. So why put the lesser intelligent members of Whammy's like me through these mundane classes?

I suppose it was all supposed to 'better us' as students, but I really didn't care. Save the academic competitions for Mello—I wanted no part.

I grit my teeth, clenching my tan hands into a fist as I reprimanded myself. Dammit, there I went thinking about Mello again!

Ever since that encounter in the hallway, I couldn't find myself to stop thinking about Mello. It was strange—I was always making comparisons to him in my head, and I had this bad habit of thinking of him when my mind would wander. It was like he inhabited my brain, eating it slowly from the inside out.

Yes. Mello was eating my brain. There's a lovely thought.

And I didn't dare tell Kitty about it. Oh no, if she found out, she would never let me hear the end of it. She was already coming up with stories (they were all conspiracy theories, I tell you! Conspiracy theories!) about how I was 'hopelessly in love with him'.

And I most certainly was not. How could I love Mello?! The thought in and of itself was completely ludicrous. Someone could love that egotistical blond? Not likely! God, he was snotty, arrogant, malicious, a freaking megalomaniac, power-hungry and insatiable, bratty, evil, jealous of everyone who could possibly best him at something, so no one could even get along with him, much less, love him.

I swear, I wasn't in denial. I just have rather strong opinions.

How could Kitty possibly think that I'd be in love with him? It was… insulting. It was just insulting! I'd have better taste than Mello, thank you very much. I wasn't that desperate. (Aside from the fact that I had never had a boyfriend, and, of course, no one liked me. Well… except for Kitty. But she doesn't really count.)

Honestly, did I seem desperate? I'd never sink that low! How, by God and the Heavenly Host above, could I ever possibly love Mello?

I didn't—I didn't! I knew that I didn't! How could I? I, Cadence of Wammy's, did not, would not, never possibly could love Mel—

Dong! Dang! Dong!

The class bell then rang loudly, reverberating off the clean white walls and promptly cutting off my internal rant.

Shaking my head a few times to snap myself out of it, I looked around to see everyone heading for the door. Wait. They were already packed up? But the bell hadn't even gone off two seconds ago! How did they—?

And, of course, I was the last one left sitting dumbly in the room, bag open and mouth agape. Even Mrs. Rush was about to leave her classroom.

I just had to stop thinking about Mello. He was really messing with my schedule.

So I hurriedly crammed assorted papers, pens, and a rather cumbersome textbook in my worn bag, praying that I wouldn't rip it again (I had a bad habit of accidentally doing that… luckily, I can sew).

With a sigh, I brushed my wavy black hair out of my eyes, cursing it silently. I stood up, making my way for the door as fast as my gangly legs could take me. Once out the door and into the pristine white hallway, I headed for the lunchroom, careful not to trip over myself from walking too fast.

I was all but starving by this point.

The assorted shouts and chatter from the lunchroom could be heard as I drew closer to the large white doors (funny how everything in Whammy's is white). I extended my arms, pushing open the doors and taking just one step closer to the salvation of my stomach (as you can see, I tend to get a little bit hysterical when I'm hungry).

Students scattered about the large, white room, littering every nook and cranny that they possibly could fit into. The floor was a sea of colors, reds and blues and greens and pinks as individuals stood out of the crowd with their signatures colors (the thing was, at Whammy's, you pretty much wore the same thing every day. We really were deprived little orphans). Chatter was abundant, and the multitude of students roared with assorted conversations about classes or friends or Roger's latest lectures.

I scanned the buzzing crowd, trying my best to pick out a pale blue skirt and a big chest. Of course, I was looking for Kitty. Really, with those two characteristics, the girl's usually hard to miss. I spent a good few minutes looking for her (supplemented with the ever-growing growl of my lonely stomach), pushing through random people in an attempt to find her.

Where was the slutty roommate when you needed her?

After a good deal of searching and several shoves from the other students (pricks, the load of them), I finally spotted her, sitting on the edge of a table as she flipped her hair flirtatiously toward a boy standing in line for soup. I just rolled my eyes as the kid blushed and tried his best not to spill his tray all over him. Kitty wore a proud smirk of satisfaction.

Really, it was times like these when I would've been happier just leaving her be. But I was hungry and selfish, so can you blame me for grabbing her wrist and leading her towards the line for chicken tenders?

No, I don't think you can, thank you very much.

"Hey!" she exclaimed as I grabbed her. She made a rather dramatic pouting face, jutting out her full bottom lip in protest. "I was talking to someone, you know."

I let out a soft scoff as we advanced in line. "Right," I muttered, raising an eyebrow as I turned to face her. "Talking. Got'cha."

My roommate's hazel eyes widened as she stared back at me. "What, no biting sarcastic remark today?" she asked, feigning innocence. "Who are you and what have you done to my little freak girl?"

I concentrated on how much the line moving, stepping up a few spaces as I drew closer to a plate full of chicken. I'm surprised I wasn't salivating by now. So, of course, I ignored Kitty until she decided to smack me on the rear.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, flushing red from her violation of my personal rules. I quickly looked around, making sure that no one else had seen my little… outburst. Scan complete, I then turned back to a smirking Kitty. "How many times do I have to tell you? I'm not on that side of the fence?!"

Kitty let out a small giggle, her hazel eyes glittering with amusement. "Really, you do know that I'm less and less convinced of that fact every time you get scream it at me? God, Cay, you're so defensive."

I stayed silent.

Realizing that she hadn't won that round, Kitty changed tactics. "God, what's with you? You're, like, a little zombie or something. Sure you're not craving chicken and not, I dunno, brains or something?"

I took another step ahead in line, impatiently tapping my foot as I resigned myself to answering Kitty. "In case you couldn't tell, I'm starving" (I threw my arms into that last word, for extra emphasis), "and I'd appreciate it if you didn't taunt me for at least these six seconds." Feeling that I was done with my small rampage, I turned towards the line, awaiting the arrival of my lunch.

But unable to fight the temptation, I muttered, "Besides, who are you to call me the freak?"

Kitty perked up. "What was that?"

"Nothing, nothing."

Okay, so I was really fortunate that Kitty didn't full-on grope me for that one (which she's done before—trust me, it's very unpleasant). Excuse me for not recognizing the divine mercy that had been granted to me, but my main concern was with that of my intense need to eat. Seriously, it's like taking chocolate away from Mello—you don't want to do it.

Hell, I was so famished, I didn't even care that I was thinking about Mello again. You can see how this might be a problem.

In any case, when I finally approached the green Formica counter, it was as if an angel was signing to me. No, no, that description is far too weak to accurately depict the situation.

The presentation of a plate full of freshly microwaved chicken tenders seemed to emit a Holy glow, as if God Himself was bestowing them upon me. The Heavenly Choir of angles and saints above struck a divine chord, notes ringing out clearly. Jolts of electricity ran through my body as I grabbed my plate, eyes growing wide at the beautiful sight. I was just an extremely lucky mortal who had the chance to witness the powers of Heaven and above.

I told you that we were deprived.

Heavenly happenstance or not, I had finally gotten my food, and that was enough to please me. Now to just sit somewhere…. I glanced at Kitty for support. She simply stepped out of line, not bothering to retrieve the plate of chicken (the wonderful, glorious chicken that it was) that had been presented to her. She never ate at lunch—says something about how it would 'throw off her chemical balance' or something.

Where exactly those spare chemicals were being used, I neither knew nor cared to find out. But I digress.

In any case, I allowed Kitty to lead the way to our usual table, where we'd sit as I'd chow down and she'd flirt with random guys. All I needed to do was sit down, and I could forget all of my troubles.

…Or so I thought.

For some reason, Kitty blew right through our usual table, not even sparing it a single glance. My eyes widened. What was the meaning of this? I hurried to her side, tapping her on the arm with my free hand. She glanced back. "Yo," I said, looking back over at our normal spot, "why aren't we sitting over there?"

And Kitty smirked.

Now, you see, it wasn't a nice smirk. This was the smirk that she wore when she was plotting something—her face when her perverted mind was deviating something that I couldn't comprehend. That smirk scared the crap out of me, to put it plainly. "I just thought we'd try out a new spot," she said passively.

I blanched. Something told me to be afraid. To be very, very afraid.

But nonetheless, I followed her, glancing about to see where we were going. I didn't like the feeling that I suddenly had in the pit of my stomach, and it had very little to do with my hunger. We weaved through the crowd of students, being careful not to knock over their food (or mine, for that matter).

But suddenly, Kitty made a sharp turn, disappearing into the throng of the crowd. Emitting a small squeak, I managed to dodge a rather large student who nearly knocked me to the ground. Imitating Kitty, I shoved through a large crowd, trying my best to find her.

And then, I felt someone grab my arm and pull me down to a seat.

Trying my best not to go into spasms, I looked to see who had grabbed me. And there I saw Kitty, grinning boldly (and still scarily) and sitting at a new table.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, trying to calm down. I hit her lightly on the arm (because, frankly, that's all the strength I could muster). "Don't do that! You scared me half to death, you freak!"

But the look in Kitty's eyes wasn't falsely innocent as it usually was. Her eyes glinted mischievously, as if daring me to observe the situation. She was up to something—I just knew it. So I decided to take a look and see what exactly she had gotten us (or, rather, me) into.

And the second I looked up, I wished so desperately that she had killed me of fright. Because sitting there, right in front of me, was a zoned-out Matt and a glaring Mello.

Suddenly, I wasn't so hungry anymore.

The blood drained from my face as I slowly turned to face Kitty with wide, terrified eyes. Hands shaking, I somehow managed to squeak out, "K—...wha—…you—…..eep!"

Eloquent, wouldn't you say?

Amidst all of my pathetic attempts at making a coherent sentence, Mello decided to let his anger known. "What in the name of God," he growled, his frigid eyes narrowing even further, "do you two think you're doing?"

My head snapped back to face the blond. I regarded him with a face of shock, like a deer looking out into headlights that are bound to plow it down somehow. My mouth hanging open, I tried to say something, to say that my friend was psychotic, or to even say that I was sorry.

But I have no idea what Mello really did to me. For some reason, one glimpse at his electric ice eyes was enough to render me completely speechless. I couldn't say anything.

God damn it, why did he take my voice away when I needed it?!

Mello's eyes darted dangerously back and forth between Kitty and I, obviously trying to come up with a way to get rid of intruders at his table. He wasn't exactly the social butterfly at Wammy's. Matt, on the other hand, remained blissfully oblivious to us newcomers, concentrating on his handheld video game, muttering something under his breath about "Stupid-ass Link, get your ass in there."

One more look at me was enough to make Kitty full-on beam. Her Colgate white teeth sparkled in the fluorescent lighting of the lunchroom as her eyes glimmered evilly. "Well," she said, beginning to stand up from her seat, "I've got places to go. Things to do. You get it, don't you?" She regarded Mello with mock sympathy.

Mello, on the other hand, glared at her with fiery intensity. I glanced up at her, trying my best to plead with my eyes for her not to leave me alone with Mello the homicidal maniac. Seemingly unaware of my fear, Kitty smiled. "Enjoy your lunch, boys." She then reached over, ruffled my frizzy hair, turned away, and abandoned me. Her tall heels clicked softly on the marble floor as she made her way off.

I was going to kill her for this.

I watched after her, screaming internally for her not to leave. The attempt quite honestly failing, I then turned around, only to see Mello glowering at me with all his strength. My heart rapidly went from zero to sixty and my palms started sweating. It was even hard to breathe, but I just couldn't look away from him.

Breaking the ominous silence, the blond snapped, "You wanna tell me what you're still doing here?"

Shaking, I shook my head, trying to make my lips form a coherent sentence.

The best I came up with was "I… I…. gotta... go."

That being blurted out, I bolted from my seat at the table, abandoning even my beloved plate of chicken. I ran from the lunchroom, looking over my shoulder once to see Matt absently take a piece of chicken from my former plate, nibbling on it while he continued his game. I didn't dare see what Mello was doing.

Finally, I broke free of the lunch room. Gasping for breath, I leaned against the (unnaturally clean and white, the signature of all things Wammy's) doorway. My hands were on my knees, propping me up so I didn't collapse onto the carpeted ground beneath my worn tennis shoes. My heart was beating manically and it was all I could do to force normal breaths.

My mind was reeling—I'd been sitting at Mello's table. I'd been two feet away from him, getting stared down by him and his dangerous frigid eyes. I'd been within touching distance from him.

Wait…WHAT?!

Why the hell would I care about being able to touch him! I didn't like him. I just couldn't!

As I was freaking out outside the lunchroom, brown eyes growing wider as I fought my internal battle, a certain mental Kitty-like voice chided, It's getting a lot harder to deny it, you know.

"Oh, screw you!" I shouted (aloud) to the (inaudible) voice (I'm certain I turned a few heads—there's actually been rumors going around that I'm schizophrenic because I have a tendency to talk to myself). But I didn't care if others thought I was crazy.

I stormed up to my room, both to murder Kitty for what she'd done, and to calm down with my favorite padlock. I really needed to relax—this whole Mello thing was getting to me.

Hmm... While I think I could have made the last line better, I quite like this chapter.

In any case, thank you all SO much for reading, and I hope that you enjoyed it! Please review, if you feel so inclined. Flame if you must, constructive criticism is EXTREMELY welcome, and shameless flattery will make me love you forever. 8D

While I have many other ideas that I want to type out first, I just wanted to let you know that I'm not giving this story up. I'll update as soon as I can, and thank you SO much for your ongoing support, dear readers.

--NothingFromNowhere