Oh.
My.
FUCKING.
GOD!!
I wrote this entire chapter last night. ENTIRE DAMN THING!!
And my computer fucked up and wouldn't let me save it!!
I was like gaihFHSGFKODREWS!!
Yeah. Like that. Ya know what I mean?

So here I sit, rewriting the entire.
Damn.
Thing.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything dealing with Death Note except a couple graphic novels, but I don't own the rights to those.

Warnings: Profanitiesssssss (in the AN too (see above AN to understand (too many effing parentheses))) and very mild descriptions of violence – nothing too bad, don't panic. Oh. And flashbacks, some of which are kinda sad.

Hola. Me llamo es Alphabetazetadeltapsiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii. Yeah. Not really. It's just Alpha. Of course, you should know that from where I signed my name like a retard on my last entry. Mm-hmm. Even though that was about a half of a week ago, yeah. Sorry about that. I know my therapist told me to write in you every day, but a certain blond child who is now addicted to chocolate almost as bad as me (whoops!) has started following me around like a lost puppy. Albeit, a lost puppy that steals chocolate, but a lost puppy nonetheless. Gah. Did I just use the word albeit? That word irks my nerves. As does the word "irk." -eyetwitch- Okay. Better now.

I don't understand why that kid's following me around so much. I'd say it was just for chocolate if he didn't ask so many gosh dern questions, you know? I don't want to make him cry again by telling him to go away, that depressed me. "Thou shalt not blubber" is the eleventh commandment to my religion. Called Alphaism. Yeah. You know it. Anyway. I hope poor Mello doesn't look up to me. I'm no role model. I am definitelyNOT a good influence. I've got more holes in my head than Swiss cheese and I'm planning on three more soon. Not to mention, I was kinda in a couple street gangs? I've been in shootouts before. I mean, come ON. I've shot people. Yeah, me. I know, you were thinking I was just a bitch. Nope! You'd be bitchy, too, if you've been in the situation of "shoot or be shot" thousands of times, you know? I guess I regret it all, but it wasn't exactly my choice.

I need to get this off my chest. Haven't told anyone about anything of it yet, so I'll just write it here. (thisoughtagivemytherapistagoodkickintheteeth -laughs evilly-)

It started when I was eleven. Me and my older brother – he was seventeen – were coming home from the movies – we'd gone to see an absolute gorefest of a movie that was freaking awesome, but I don't remember the name of it. I looked up to meh older brother a lot, you know. Well, as I said, we were coming home, in a car, thankfully. Had we not been, we'd both be dead. He started getting followed. This was the night I found out just what he did on the nights he didn't spend at home. My brother was in a gang. Yep. Good ol' Omega, the straight F student whose parents always grounded him who was always getting into trouble for picking on nerds. Who'd a' thunk it? Honestly, it didn't come as much of a surprise to me, considering… well, what I said before.

So anyway, the people in the car that started trying to run out asses into the sidewalk were members of his rival gang. We lost them and we had to report to headquarters of his gang to report the disturbance in the force just to be safe. Now, I was scared for my life when they started discussing "what to do with the girl." I "knew too much". That's gang slang for "needs to be shot in the face." My brother, being the awesome son of a bitch that he was, was high up. I'm talking right-hand man to the big boss. Second in command. If said big boss had the flu or something, that left my brother in charge. So, with his talking of my crazy-mad hacking skillz (that's not exactly how he put it, but you get the idea), I got the option of either joining a street gang or getting shot in the face. Guess what? I value my life.

So, there I was. An eleven-year-old girl in a gang. Woot. Ness. Haha, not. I never wanted it, but it was better than the other option. A year after, when I was twelve, I got to witness my first murder. Goody freaking gumdrops. See, me and my brother and another gang member were out and the other member heard a man and his wife discussing how we looked like gang members. Well, they didn't call him Crazy Jimmy for nothing. Not going into detail, but it did involve a knife and gunfire. I got a knife to the face when I tried to stop him. Complete accident, but now there's a scar on my cheek from where the bastard swung the knife out behind him and it hit me. Needless to say, when we got back to headquarters, my brother beat the fucking TAR out of him. That made me happy. So while I was in the hospital getting stitches, Jimmy was getting a shiny new set of dentures and an arm cast!

Now, a year after that – oh, the tragedy – my parents found out about me and my brother being in a street gang when the cops showed up at our door. Then the gang found out our parents knew and decided that they needed to be "silenced." More lesson in gang slang: silenced also means "shot in the face." And they were silenced. Unfortunately, my fecking idiot of a brother was also "silenced" when he tried to stop it from happening. And just to be cliché here, he gave me his rosary, which I still wear to this day.

I'm going to stop there. I believe I have already mentioned that I don't cry.

Besides which, there's a blond child sitting next to me now. Back in a while.
––––––––––––

"'Allo," Alpha said to Mello, closing her notebook. As always, those blue-gray eyes were primarily on the chocolate bar in her hand. She laughed to herself a little, then broke a piece off and handed it to him.

"Thank you!" he piped brightly. "What's that notebook you always carry around for?"

"This?" she asked, holding up the black spiral notebook. He nodded. "This would be my psychodiary."

His head tilted slightly. "What's a psychodiary?"

"Journal," she said. "My therapist said that my writing would show some underlying meaning in my bla-da-da-psycho-mumbo-something or another. I don't know. I just know I'm supposed to write about shit in it."

"Really?" he asked interestedly. "What kind of shit?"

She bit her bottom lip to keep herself from bursting into a fit of giggles. Little kids swearing was too adorable. It was just as hard not to grin even a little or maintain a serious tone. However, she managed to endure the task.

"Mello," she said slowly, trying to inject some seriousness into her tone, "you really shouldn't say that word until a bit you're older."

"Why not?"

"Well," she said, "it's a bad word. A swear word, to be specific. A lot of people take offense to it when its said."

"Oooh," he said. "Is damn a bad word too, then?"

Alpha broke off a large piece of chocolate to shove in her mouth to keep her from laughing. That was the only solution, or she would end up biting a hole through her tongue trying to stop herself. He continued on.

"I heard L say it when he stubbed his toe the other day," Mello said, "and Roger yelled at me for saying it when I accidently shut my finger in a door."

"Yes," Alpha managed to say without giggling, "damn is also a bad word. Of course, that depends on how you use it. A dam is also the thing that blocks rivers and lakes from overflowing too much, but that's also spelled differently.

"Yeah," Mello said, nodding, "that's a homophone. Two words that sound the same but mean somethin different. We learned that in English class."

Alpha managed to push the rather juvenile thought of how much the word "homophone" sounded like "homophobe" before she could laugh at it and Mello could ask what was funny. Mello had already learned about swearwords today. He didn't need to learn about homos and those who were afraid of them, too.

"Well, I would suggest you use a synonym of the word dam when referring to the river blockade," she said. "Like levee. I'm not sure it's the exact same thing, but it keeps you from getting whacked over the head with a cane."

And there he went, staring at the rest of her chocolate bar again. There was no use in resisting.

"Here…" she said with a sigh, handing it to him.

"R… really?"

"Yes."

"Th-thank you!" he said, his eyes widening as he took it from her hand

She sighed again. "Your welcome."

At the same time, she also silently damned whatever high power had decided to make small children's begging face so adorable. She also damned them for making children so pitifully saddened when instructed to go away. She sighed one last time, deciding to push the thought out of her mind to listen to Mello's random ramblings, while also thinking of ways to steal Roger's credit card to order a lip ring she was particularly fond of on one of her favorite online stores. If Roger even had a credit card…

"Heey," Mello said, "you never said what you write in your psychodiary," he said. She smiled at the use of one of her words. She was definitely going to write her own dictionary one day. "So??"

"Just different things," she said. "Nothing really interesting. I'm supposed to write in it every day so my shrink can analyze everything at the end of the week when I meet her, but I forgot for the past couple days. It's basically just a regular journal, except someone else is going to be reading it."

"Oh." He took a bite of chocolate.

"Hey," she said, deciding that there was a chance that asking him could work, "do you happen to know if Roger has a credit card?"

"A what?"

"Never mind," she said, waving her hand. She didn't feel like explaining what a credit card was. "I can ask someone else."

"Is a credit card that plastic thing that grown-ups use to pay for things when they don't have money?" he asked curiously.

"Yes," Alpha said with increased hope. The less people she had to ask, the less chance there was of this getting back to Roger. "Any idea?"

"Yeah, he keeps it in a drawer in his desk that he keeps locked," Mello said. "Why? Are you going to get it from him?"

"I was thinking of it," she said. "I was considering purchasing a labret ring online. I'd need a credit card considering how I'm probably not going to be getting any money anytime soon."

"Your lip's not pierced," Mello pointed out.

"Not yet, at least," she said. "I did my eyebrow and my nose myself, I figure I can do my lip, too. It shouldn't hurt that bad as long as I get some ice."

"But couldn't it get infected if you do it like that?"

"It could," she said, "but I'm less worried about it getting infected than I am about Roger breaking my kneecaps with his cane if he finds out what I'm planning to do with his credit card. Do me a favor and don't mention it to anyone," she added. "Don't want it getting back to Roger."

"I won't. Promise!"

"That's a good boy," she said, ruffling his hair. "Now." She stood up with her notebook. "I've got math class in a few minutes, need to get my books. I'll warn you ahead of time, Pre-calculus is going to drive you insane once you get to be my age. Oh," she added, looking back with a smirk, "I noticed that some of my chocolate stash had gone missing last night. Any ideas how that might have happened?"

His eyes widened innocently. "I'm sorry…" he said.

"It's alrigh'," she said, smiling, though she again damned that higher power in charge of the cuteness of small children. "Just be sure to ask next time."

"Okay."

––––––––––––
Holy fucking hell. Holy SHIT! I damn the people to hell who decided to say that ice would "help numb" 

the pain of driving a needle through your fucking lip. Being the idiot that I am, I of course did it three times. Fuckity-fuck-fuck-FUCK!! It buuuuuurrrrnnnnnnnnsssssssss. Helllp meeeeee…. Good fucking lord.

It probably would have helped if I remembered that I needed ice for the first one. I just took the needle for that one and went -shink!- right through. My god. I felt like an idiot after that. An idiot with a really really painful lip. I'm using old ear studs that don't fit through my ears anymore. Eighteen gauges. I now have double zeros in my ears. That's big enough to fit a pencil through, mind you. Of course, you can't comprehend that, seeing as I've only ever written in you in pen.

Plus, you don't have a brain to comprehend things with.

Cuz you're a stupid notebook.

Alright. Sorry. Done insulting you. Although you don't have feelings to get insulted. Back to how fucking bad my fucking shitty-ass lip hurts. God. DAMMIT. Oh, how I hope little Mello never gets his hands on this notebook. It might traumatize him. He said "shit" today after I said it. It was the cutest thing. I had to give him a lesson in profanities and why they are bad to use in civil conversation. Kid knows the entire Greek alphabet and all the names for the letters in it, but he doesn't understand what a swear word is. I just don't get it.

Oh, spoke with L today in math class. Turns out that despite his odd sitting position and his cake fettish (did I even spell that right?), he's not that bad of a person. I've started calling him Llama. It's short for Lambda, which is the equvillent of L in the Greek alphabet. I don't think he much appreciates it, but oh well. He'll have to live with it.

Dammit! When the hell will I learn to lock my door? There's a certain chocoholic blond standing in front of my bed.

We shall meet again at midnight, my papery friend.
––––––––––––

"Hello," Alpha said. The movement of her lips sent a shot of pain to the piercing in the middle of her bottom lip.

"You're bleeding," he said, pointing at her lip.

She smiled. "Yes, I know," she said, pressing an already bloodstained tissue to her lip.

"I thought you didn't have any lip rings?"

"These're earrings," she said, her voice a bit muffled by the tissue. She took it away when the middle piercing stopped stinging and touched it with her finger; it had also stopped bleeding. "I figured it's better than nothing until I can order a few good rings. And," she added, glancing down at her watch as she noticed he was wearing pajamas, "it's ten o' clock at night. Shouldn't you be in bed?"

His blue gray eyes lowered to his feet, his bottom lip sticking out a bit. "I had a bad dream…"

She couldn't help but hold back an "Awwww."

"Come'ere," she said.

He clambered quickly up onto the bed and sat down on her leg sideways. She nearly awwwed again in spite of herself. She also felt her eyes stinging a little. As she didn't cry – ever – that was nothing to worry about. She blinked a few times, so the stinging would go away.

"You want to tell me about it?"

She received a small sniffle in response, and he put his head against her shoulder.

"I d-don't remember everything… m-my d-d-dad and m-mum were i-in it." Just from this, it was easy enough to conclude that this wasn't the everyday average oh-no-scary-monster type of bad dream. "Th-there w-was a loud n-noise, l-like a g-g-gun and m – Mum y-yelled s-something a-and sh-she… a-and th-there was b-b-blood…"

She shushed him soothingly when he let out a small sob. She couldn't help but notice certain… similarities between his dream and certain events involving a crazy gang member and the source of the scar on her cheek. She was probably just being paranoid.

"A-an-and th-there was a man y-yelling at th-the b-bad m

-man w-with the g-gun f-for hurting h-his s-sister. He said a b-bunch of b-b-bad words."

That was too coincidental. Way too coincidental. That couldn't have been normal. She knew the couple had just gotten out of a car parked around the side of an apartment building when the whole thing occurred. Maybe… if those had been his parents… he would have heard the whole thing if they lived in that apartment building. Even if Mello had seen faces in the dream, she knew that she herself wouldn't have been recognizable. She used to have long, black hair back then (she had detested being a carrot top for a while, but grew to accept it) and never wore make-up.

"R-Roger s-said m-m-my p-parents g-got into a c-car crash, b-but I k-k-keep having the s-same d-d-dream."

She bit her bottom lip, still fighting tears.

After reassuring him that Roger wasn't lying and the dreams would go away soon, Alpha managed to get him back to his room. She waited to make sure he would go back to sleep before hurrying back to her room and grabbing her notebook. She had a lot to tell her paper buddy about now. Hooo boy did she have a lot to tell it. It was bad. She almost felt responsible about what had happened. It couldn't have been a coincidence, it wasn't just her imagination, and Roger was lying. She had lied, too. The odds were against those dreams stopping if that was what had really happened…. She still had dreams about her parents and her brother. She also had dreams about that night that Jimmy had killed that poor couple. This was too strange for her not to wonder about it at least a little. It was going to drive her insane if she tried to put it out of her mind; she knew it would only continue to come back.

After a few minutes of sitting on her bed, she got her hands to stop shaking for long enough to open the notebook and put her pen to it.

Thank GOD my computer didn't spaz on me this time.

That would have pissed me off.

And three comments, 4 favs, one alert, and almost fifty views in the first chapter.

I must say, thank you. That's a new record for any of my stories! :D