At least fifteen minutes later, she left the hospital with her black eye covered with gauze and plenty of bandages on her body. The patch of gauze had been Deneve's request. It prevented her from being tempted to open her left eye, but her visual balance felt thrown off. Before she climbed into the limousine, the blonde wondered whether to believe her right eye or not as she ducked her head down, sliding inside the Rolls Royce.

The first thing Deneve noticed was that Ryuzaki was gone. He had said he would be waiting, but maybe—

"Mr. Ryuzaki sends his apologies," Watari explained as they pulled away from the hospital. "Something urgent came up that couldn't be ignored."

Deneve shrugged. "It's cool." Since her dark-haired acquaintance would be preoccupied, the blonde silently mourned the lost opportunity of sharing strawberry shortcake with him. Leaning back in the leather seats, she stared out the window and sighed, then shuddered. By now Phillip would have returned home, bruised and bleeding, and tattled on her to their parents. Deneve had a feeling both of them would be punished but she would be taking the brunt of it, and that brunt would most likely include the loss of sweets.

Deciding to avoid the inevitable as long as possible, she would wait on Ryuzaki until sunset when she would be compelled to return home and face the impending justice of her parents. However, occasionally Deneve felt like the severity of the justice her live-in judges handed out was based on how injured one of them was. The less injured carried more punishment, the more wounded got less penalty. Since she had nothing better to do, as Deneve sat in the limousine, she replayed the argument and the fight over and over until she could repeat it verbatim. Then the blonde judged her previous chastisements, weighing them against the current fight. Stalling would allow hot heads to cool, she decided.

Deneve was still weighing the odds when the limousine stopped, and she quickly let herself out of the fancy car before Watari could. "I've got it handled," she told him with a smile as the old Englishman headed toward her limo door.

He smiled back. "Follow me." Deneve swore Watari's smile hid something.

For the first time, she checked her surroundings and was impressed. "Wow…Ritzy hotel," she commented aloud to herself. Deneve doubted many people in the modern century knew what the term 'ritzy' meant; the word had gone out of style after the nineteen twenties, but ironically enough, it meant elegant, fancy, or in style.

Watari led her up a few flights of stairs and directed her into a hotel room, telling her to stay put and if she needed anything, Ryuzaki's room was across from hers. Nodding, Deneve couldn't help but wonder what the dark-haired young man did for a living or how he lived. The more she learned about him, the less everything about him made sense. What rich kid lived in a hotel and not a mansion?

"Another mystery to occupy my mind," she murmured aloud to herself, taking in the hotel with raised eyebrows. Deneve never felt so spoiled.

The room was spacious, to say the least, and decorated in deep shades of red, purple, gold, and an occasional flare of green. The blonde could pick out a king-sized bed, a table, several assortments of chairs, a television, a fridge, and microwave. Deneve risked an impressed whistle, and then sucked on her now bleeding bottom lip. First, the blonde tiptoed to the bathroom, peering in and then stared at her reflection in the mirror, scowling. She looked like some cross between a goth, a regal lady, and a punching bag. Gently pulling her ponytail from her curly golden hair, Deneve noted her ladylike appearance slightly lessening her pirate-like look. Especially with her gauze-covered eye nowhere in sight.

Rolling her visible blue eye, she eyed the bed. "I wonder…" she mused, a slow smile growing. In a burst of energy, Deneve ran toward the large bed, jumped, and landed on the bouncy, plump surface with a laugh. Lying on her back, the blonde kicked off her shoes over the side of the bed, her socks shortly joining her tennis shoes.

Weaving her fingers beneath her head, Deneve stared at the door and smiled. "C'mon Ryuzaki."

Although the fascinating acquaintance, maybe even friend, didn't arrive through the door or pop out of nowhere, the blonde patiently stared at the ceiling. She passed the time by wondering what punishment her parents would give her for fighting with Phillip.

"Probably nothing sugary for two weeks…making me exercise, eat healthy crap…they'll probably ground me too, for, oh, maybe a week," Deneve muttered to the ceiling, her tongue absently running over her bottom lip. "No movies, no hanging out with friends, no T.V., no computer, no iPod—basically house arrest or lockdown." She sighed. "I might as well enjoy my waning free time."

The blonde glanced at the door, although she knew Ryuzaki was busy in the room across the hall. After flipping through all the channels on TV, Deneve discovered nothing worth watching was on –what was worth watching nowadays?—and shut off the television. Her mind wandered to the mystery of Ryuzaki.

"Watari suggested with his tone that Ryuzaki doesn't have many friends…and he compared himself to Dars Bitter Chocolate…which implies although he's sweet, he is bitter too," the blonde wondered aloud. "Perhaps he's bitter because he's alone and lonely. I would be…Why is there no radio in here?" Deneve had been wandering around the room, talking to herself, as she searched for a radio to entertain herself. Her wallet hadn't been the only thing she'd forgotten at home; her iPod was on her nightstand beside her bed.

Upon completing her inspection of the entire room, the search for a radio, even a radio on the alarm clock by the bed, proved fruitless. Deneve scowled. "What the hell! They can afford all this but they can't afford a radio? How lame." Maybe Ryuzaki would have one. She left her room to ask and paused as she was about to rap her fist on Ryuzaki's room.

Should I really bother Ryuzaki over a radio? the blonde wondered, sucking in her lips uncertainly. I mean, I'm sure I could find something else to do, but a radio would keep me occupied the longest. Damnit, why did I charge out of my room and then suddenly lose my confidence? Either knock or go back in your hotel room!

About to retreat to her room, Deneve froze when the door opened and Watari stood, glancing down at her. She blushed. "Um, do you have a radio? I couldn't find one in my room." Her cheeks felt redder than a fireball candy.

"I believe Mr. Ryuzaki has one, Miss Deneve. I'll get it for you." He shut the door. Deneve had assumed he would leave the door open so she could lean against the door frame or invite her in, but Watari had surprised her in an unpleasant manner. So maybe he wasn't totally a gentleman.

"Thanks," she mumbled sarcastically, crossing her arms and glancing down the hallway either way. The hall was empty. Watari opened the door shortly and handed Deneve the radio, and she politely thanked him before returning to her hotel room, automatically locking the door out of habit. Flopping on the soft, comfortable king-sized bed again, the blonde toyed with the radio and kept switching stations, a picky music lover.

"—And she's an actress (actress), but she ain't got no need—"

With a delighted gasp, Deneve hurriedly returned the station to one of her new favorite songs.

"—parents in a trust fund back east. T-t-t-tongues always pressed to your cheeks, while my tongue is on the inside of some other girl's teeth. And tell your boyfriend, if he says he's got beef—"

Not the best of songs, but her favorite part was the chorus, not the sensual verses in between. Lying on her stomach, waving her legs in the air, Deneve smiled and happily sung along. She waited for what was, in her opinion, the best part.

"—scared of him. She wants to touch me woah, she wants to love me woah, she'll never leave me. Woah woah oh oh" –her favorite part, but substituted with a 'he' instead of a 'she'—"Don't trust a hoe, never trust a hoe, won't trust a hoe that won't trust me." Deneve placed the radio on the table beside the bed, and hopped up and down, singing along: "She wants to touch me woah, she wants to love me woah, she'll never leave me. Woah woah oh oh! Don't trust a hoe, never trust a hoe, won't trust a hoe that won't trust me."

After the song, she flopped backward onto the bed, bouncing once. The eye not covered with the gauze patch wandered to the clock. Four o'clock. Sunset would be in two or three hours. Biting her bottom lip, Deneve decided to push back the time to eight, maybe even nine, but at ten o'clock, she would have to book it home. Her parents would be doubly angry that their daughter stayed out so late and didn't tell them when she might be home.

And, speak of the devil, Deneve's cell phone rang.

Heart hammering in her chest, she quickly whipped the device out of her pocket and stared at the caller ID, sucking in her breath. Her dad. If she didn't answer…

"Moshi moshi," she greeted, flipping open the phone. Of both her parents, Deneve respected and feared her father the most.

"I heard you and Phillip got in another fight. What happened?" His tone was firm and stern like a judge's.

Deneve felt her throat dry. "Phillip wouldn't buy me ice cream, I got mad, and we fought. But during the fight, he called me fat and verbally attacked my eating habits, so I told him to stop trying to run my life."

"Any broken bones or stitches?"

"No."

"Where are you?"

"In a hotel with a friend I made at the park." Deneve wanted to be as vague as possible to keep Ryuzaki out of her family feud. Hopefully, her dad would be satisfied until she gave him an account later of what happened, except she would be vague when it concerned Ryuzaki and detailed where it concerned her brother. They didn't need to know she had spent the day with a total stranger, and a boy about her age no less. Her mother was already afraid there was a rapist just waiting on every street corner to kidnap her.

"Your mother and I already heard Phillip's side of the story, and we're working on a punishment to fit the crime, but I want to hear your side of the story first." This was why the blonde loved and respected her dad—he was the fairer parent, the most just of the pair. Her mother would be less forgiving. "For now, we've decided you and Phillip are definitely grounded for a week." Just as she'd suspected.

"Alright." As long as her sweets weren't confiscated, Deneve could live with any other sentence her parents threw at her.

"Try to be home by eight and there's leftover steak in the fridge from dinner. I love you."

"I love you too, dad."

"Bye."

"Bye." Shutting her phone, shoving the cellular device in her pocket, the blonde sighed with relief. "It wasn't as bad as I'd suspected…" A glance at the clock revealed she had three and a half more hours to play with Ryuzaki before she'd have to leave.

No, not have to leave by eight, she grinned as she played with the radio dials. My dad said try to be home by eight, but he probably put that loophole there on purpose because he knows I'd notice it. I also don't have to tell him much about Ryuzaki because he wasn't involved with the fight with my brother…but my dad will be curious who I hung out with and why it was in a hotel…

Two hours of peaceful radio-listening and T.V. watching passed without significant note. Dancing, singing, raiding the little fridge, and even taking a shower, Deneve sat on the bed in her bathrobe as she finished off a handful of cherry tomatoes. The hotel room even had a little kitchen!

She stared at the clock in worry. What if Ryuzaki wasn't finished in time? What would she do? She wanted to at least tell him goodbye, but at the same time she wanted to spend a few minutes hanging out him before she had to leave. Deneve instinctively knew it was highly unlikely she'd ever meet Ryuzaki again in her lifetime. Watari's suggestion about his lack of friends, Ryuzaki's own behavior, and her own suspicions proved that much. For once in her life, the blonde felt as though time was against her, against an interesting relationship she and the hunched, rumpled-looking friend could form if only they had the time…Time they did not have.

Deneve sighed, anxious and restless.

Dressing back in her baggy green pants and black t-shirt, she spent the better part of forty-five minutes blow-drying and combing her pesky golden curls. Then she picked at the edges of her bandages. Finally, Deneve peeled away the many bandages and delicately touched her wounds. Ugly bruises ranging from red to purple or even a light, sickly yellow decorated her limbs and body.

"Now I look part goth, part lady, and part fighter," she mused darkly, gazing at her reflection. Leaning close to the mirror, Deneve squinted in the mirror to see the reflection of the numbers on the digital clock near the bed. Seven twenty. "It's unlikely I'll make it home by eight," she murmured, texting those words her dad. "C'mon Ryuzaki. If you make it in here before nine thirty, I'll kiss you on the cheek. I'll kiss you on the lips if you arrive earlier than nine thirty."

Restlessly, Deneve paced. At eight, someone knocked on the door and the blonde felt her heart soar as she raced to the door, hurriedly unlocking it. To her dissatisfaction, the 'someone' was Watari, not Ryuzaki, but she kept a smile on her face to conceal her bitter disappointment. "Yes?" she asked curiously.

"Mr. Ryuzaki wanted me to check on you," the old man told her.

Deneve thought she couldn't sunken any lower in her pit of anxious frustration and disappointment, yet she did. If Watari had been sent to check on her, it implied Ryuzaki might not be done for a while, maybe not even by ten o'clock. "Oh…" she tried to think of a good answer, knowing Watari would repeat it to Ryuzaki. "I'm…fine. Hanging in there." The blonde held back a sigh. 'I'm only dying of boredom.'

"Miss Deneve, are you supposed to leave your bandages on?"

She shrugged. "Bruises and a few cuts are nothing."

"Is there anything you would like me to tell Ryuzaki?" Watari asked.

Immediately, a slow half-smirk, half-smile formed on Deneve's lips and she felt mischievous. The old man couldn't have asked a better, or worse, question. "Yes," she answered decidedly. "Yes, tell him…that I have to leave by ten o'clock and…if I see him before then, I'm as liable to kiss him as I am to punch him. Tell him I definitely won't leave without saying goodbye though."


Don't own Death Note (I wish), "Don't Trust Me" by 3OH!3 or any music to be mentioned from hence forth