A/N: I'm sorry for taking so long, really. But I ended up having a paper to do and yeah… I really have no excuse. And since I've forgot it for like the past six chapters. I do not own Death Note, or any of the characters and places mentioned within the series. I do own Resa (who's name is pronounced like Theresa), though, even though she doesn't do much. Anyway, let's get on with the chapter. Enjoy!
Those boys, oh bloody hell, those boys made me wish sometimes that Hell didn't exist because I would feel no amount of guilt if I murdered them in the most brutal way possible and then tore their corpses to shreds and burned the remains. Far more than I had ever wanted to do to Near. Far more.
I would never have known, though, if I hadn't come into the library after classes a few days after I'd come to Wammy's and done something about the boy who was sitting in the corner of the library all alone.
"Hey," I said.
His head shot up so quickly that it cracked against the wall behind him. "Crap!" he hissed, clutching his head. He glared angrily in my direction.
"Sorry," I said, and I meant it. I sat down a little ways away from him. "So, what's up?"
He looked at me for a few minutes, the anger at injuring himself slowly fading to confusion before it shifted to disbelief. He shook his head, getting up and walking away.
Most people, at best, humored me with an answer. But that boy… I frowned. For someone to…to just walk away, I… That worried me. Even when someone was having a bad day, they'd still say something back. That small snatch of his voice, though, that scared me. It was… it sounded hollow and pained. Not something a little child should sound like, even an orphan.
Now, I knew different people dealt with pain and grief differently. Like me. I was loud and obnoxious. That boy though… I needed to talk to Linda.
Linda was a little bit my younger, but she was still a year one like myself. She was the local stop for gossip for the orphans our age. Around this time, she was usually in the common room with her friends, so that's where I went.
When I made my way into the common room, I spotted her in one of the window seats talking to one of her friends. Resa, I think her name was.
"Hey Mello!" Linda said cheerfully, grinning happily as I walked up.
Her friend bid a quick farewell and slipped off.
"Sit, sit," Linda urged, patting the spot her friend had vacated recently. When I sat down tentatively, she practically squealed and said, "I know you came to ask something! What? What?"
"I wanted to know about that boy," I said quietly. Before she could cut me off, I said, "The one that seems all alone."
"Oh. That's Matt," she said quietly, all excitement gone from her voice and it seemed… sad almost.
"What happened?" I asked.
She looked at me sadly. "He's had it bad, Mello. You know how there are single rooms now?"
I nodded. I had a single room because I got into a fight with a kid within five minutes of walking in the doors. I won of course, but I was too "violent" to be roomed with anyone. Stupid jerk shouldn't have called me a girl though.
"Well, they didn't used to be that way." I must have looked confused because she said, "There used to only be bunk and double rooms. A lot of times, when a new kid would come, Roger would pull one of the kids who'd been here a while and stick the two together in a double room, to help the newcomer get used to the environment. Problem was, when Matt came, there were no double rooms free."
"So, Roger stuck him in a bunk room, didn't he?" I asked. I didn't like this kid's story.
"Yeah," Linda said sadly. "Things seemed fine at first, but then…" She trailed off and glanced out the window. When she spoke again, her voice was distant, almost as if she was lost in her own memories. "It took a year for Roger to figure out that the boys in Matt's dorm were bullying him. Most times, he could escape them. But he couldn't escape those in his bunk and they knew it. Oh, they knew it, alright. They beat him the worst. It wasn't until they beat him up so badly that he ended up in the hospital wing for a week that Roger finally did something. He initiated the single rooms for special children. Not because they were top of the school, but because they were different and needed different rooming. Kids like Matt; kids who were natural loners, these kids got picked to have a chance to get a single room. Matt was given the first, though. Roger assumed that it would prevent the bullying. And it did…for a while. That was a year ago."
"So, what happened?" I asked quietly, leaning forward a little in anticipation.
Linda turned to me, a sad smile on her face. "The beatings got worse. When Matt would try to hide, they'd find him and beat him even more. I was the one that took him to the infirmary the last time. He's been excused from classes this week, but that will only make the torment worse," she whispered.
"They're still-" I couldn't even finish I was so infuriated.
"Yeah," answered Linda. "But that's not all that's happened to him. Apparently, his house burned down when he was four."
I shook my head when she went to tell me more. If I heard anymore, I'd hear it straight from his own mouth. "Thanks," I mumbled, getting up.
"Right."
I went back to my room, completely foregoing dinner. I wasn't really hungry; I wanted to talk to Matt, though. I lay down on my bed and looked up at the ceiling. God, he must be so alone, I thought. And that pain's got to build over time… I knew my pain was bad, but I hadn't been alone as long as he had. Even Linda hadn't helped. She was the type of person that you don't really hate, but you don't really like either. I felt like I had to help him. I rolled over onto my side and drifted to sleep.
It took me almost to months of coaxing before he finally talked to me. We were sitting in the library, studying, when he spoke.
"Why are you so nice to me?" he asked quietly. "You're not to anyone else."
"Well, I guess it's because you're different," I answered. "In a good way, of course. And you're pretty smart. But, also because you look like you could use a friend."
He looked at me oddly for a moment before shaking his head. "You're different, too," he said after a few minutes of silence. "I mean, it's not bad. It's just…" The right side of his mouth pulled up in a wry half smile. "Most people are just meh, but you're different. You have a personality; fiery, loud and obnoxious, but still kind of cool."
I decided to play 20 Questions™ as we packed our books and papers up and left. "So, how old are you?"
"Six."
"Cool. So am I. When's your birthday?"
"February 1st. When's yours?"
"December 13th. Guess we're five weeks apart. So, anything you like?"
"I like playing video games," he said. "What about you?"
"Hmm, well, I'm always eating chocolate, does that count?"
A weird little giggle escaped Matt's lips and he immediately froze, clapping a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide in shock.
I couldn't help but feel bad for him. He looked like he hadn't laughed in forever.
"D-did that come out of me?" he said quietly, dropping his hand.
"Yeah." I looked at him carefully. He couldn't have laughed in a long time to forget what his own laugh sounded like.
"Oh." He looked as if he was deep in thought. "Four years," he said softly.
I glanced at him curiously, not sure if he was speaking to me, or to himself.
"It's been four years since the last time I laughed."
"Oh." Four years? God, I felt bad for him. Four years with out being happy enough to laugh. "I'm sorry." I didn't know what to say.
He smiled, but the smile didn't reach his eyes so it looked hollow. "Don't be," he said. "There just hasn't been a reason to laugh…"
"What happened?"
"A lot of stuff," he said.
I could sense the distant finality in his voice and dropped the subject. "So, where's your room?" I asked as we reached the boys' dorm.
"Second floor all the way at the end near the common room. Room 42," he answered. He didn't say any more but the look he gave me seemed to ask, Where's yours?
"Room 17, on the first floor," I said. When his face fell slightly, I offered, "You want to come to my room for a little while? I mean, we've got-ah, crap, I forgot my watch this morning."
Matt pushed his right sleeve up to glance at his watch. "We've got three hours until light's out," he responded quietly.
"You're left-handed?" I asked curiously.
"What? Oh. Yeah," he mumbled.
"Cool. So, you want to come to my room for a little while, seeing as we have a few hours?"
"Okay," Matt mumbled in response.
He followed me down the corridor to my room. When we reached the door, I pulled out my key card, slid it through the slot and opened the door. "Come on," I said gently.
He stepped into the room.
I shut the door behind him, dropped my books on my desk, pulled my shoes off and set them by my closet. Turning around, I noticed he was still standing by the door. "Come on," I urged. "You can put your things on my desk and your shoes by my closet. And sit down with me," I went on, motioning towards the bed. I sat down and watched as he put his things down.
He moved cautiously and I could tell, just by that, that he had suffered a long history of abuse. Back in Russia, Mamma had friend who'd adopted a little girl who'd been beaten most of her life and that same cautious, skittish nature that she'd possessed was apparent in Matt, and it broke my heart. No one should have to go through that.
"So," I said as he sat down tentatively on my bed. "Where did you grow up?"
"England," he mumbled. "I've always lived in England."
"Oh. I used to live in Russia," I said.
"Russia?" He looked at me, unfettered curiosity in his eyes. I wondered if, judging by that look, he'd always wanted to travel. "You're Russian?"
"Well, yeah," I admitted. "Mostly, but I've also got a smidgeon of Ukrainian and Dutch as well."
""But you don't sound Russian," he said. "Or Ukrainian or Dutch."
I rolled my eyes and laughed. "English is my first language, Mattie," I said, not even realizing that I'd given him a nickname. "But I do know all three."
"Really? Then say something," he answered.
"Okay. Меня зовут Мелло Keehl. Я шість років. Ik ben geboren 13 december 1989.*"
Matt's jaw dropped open and I fell back onto my pillows laughing. "Uh-eeh," he mumbled in confusion.
"Oh, gosh," I gasped, trying to stop laughing. "That look is priceless!"
He frowned and I shook my head. "I'm not laughing at you. Look, the first sentance was Russian, the second was Ukrainian, and the third was Dutch."
"That doesn't help," he grumbled.
"As long as we're friends, I'll teach you that and more," I said.
"Friends?" He sounded confused.
"Yeah," I said, smiling gently. "Meaning I'll stand up for you if you need it, keep you company, and keep your secrets safe. I'll be here for you if you ever need me to be."
"I've never had a friend," he said quietly, fiddling with the edge of his sleeve and not looking at me. "I'd probably be a horrible one."
"I doubt it," I said. "But if you don't want to-"
"Of course I want to," he said softly. "I've always wanted someone to talk to. I don't like being alone; I hate it."
I hated the pain that was seeping into his voice. It made him sound so broken.
"Hey," I said gently, touching his shoulder tentatively, fully expecting him to pull away and scared that he would.
He didn't. Instead, he looked up at me sadly, looking as if he were about to cry.
"No one likes to be alone," I whispered. "And I'll never leave you alone." I wrapped my arms around him gently. "I promise."
He buried his face against my shoulder and started crying softly.
I sighed. "I'll always be here for you, Matt. Whether you need a shoulder to cry on, or just a smile, or someone to talk to…"
"Mel…" He pulled back, wiping his eyes. "I feel like such a baby," he mumbled.
"Don't worry about it," I murmured, reaching over and wiping away some of the tears that were still slipping down his cheeks. "What are friends for?"
He smiled softly and it actually reached his eyes; that smile he smiled when he felt like he was truly accepted and loved. "Thank you," he said sincerely.
"You're welcome."
The remainder of the time, he spent playing his game, while I lay back against my pillows, reading a book, the two of us simply enjoying each other's company.
* What Mello says here is pretty basic. It's just "My name is Mello Keehl. I am six years old. I was born December 13, 1989." And yes, I know it's got numbers in the translation, but that's basically the date so, yeah. And like Mello said, the first sentence is Russian, the second Ukrainian, and the third Dutch. I may add more later on with which I'll have these handy little explanations to tell you what they actually say. And to those who didn't need this to figure out what he said, I give you virtual cookies. Review please, they're greatly appreciated.