So sorry for how long this chapter took…I was plagued by a horrible wave of writer's block. Nevertheless, here is the long awaited chapter two!
Don't own Death Note, loves.
"Wh-what?"
Her father?
"Speak up!"
"But…"
Why can she still not see him? Bea knows he is in the doorway, for she is looking directly at it, but the sudden change in the lighting has caused her vision to be blindsided. The light fans out behind him too brightly for her to be able to make out any features, but she sees a silhouette, and that is all she needs to know that she is facing a threat, a threat that she does not know how to shake off. Nevertheless, she gapes up at the shape in the doorway and swallows hard.
"Please," she utters, "I don't know why I'm here, and I just want to-"
"Shut up!"
The very grittiness of his voice is enough to send Bea cowering back into the corner, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to prepare herself for a next order that she will not be able to satisfy. The pain in her wrists mounts suddenly, and she whimpers, bowing her head and biting upon her lip.
"I'll ask again; where is your father?" the young man at the door hisses.
Bea warily looks up at the shadow. The light is still pouring out from behind him, making him nothing more than a black mass that she cannot decipher. "I-I don't know, I just-"
"What do you mean you don't know?" he bellows. His voice cracks on the last word, a violent shift in tone, already adding to his acidic fashion.
Oh, and now he is walking towards her; no, barreling towards her quicker than Bea is able to scoot away from, and she is suddenly face-to-face with her interrogator with him jerking her up by her shirt after a flash of leather and gold.
The gold belongs to his hair, in which falls choppily over his forehead and brushes his shoulders in uncombed, sordid strands. Bea wishes it would cover his eyes; they are the most chilling crystal blue she has ever seen, wired with fever, searing into her wide brown ones with such a cold intesity that she would look away from him if she was not so petrified of the consequences.
The hand that is gripping her collar is rugged, the knuckles scraped and raw, and the squalid smell of blood reaches her nose again. As she twists to release herself from his grasp, she hears him murmur beneath his breath and pull her face closer to his, so very close that Bea is afraid that she will be burned from the heat of his eyes.
"Now, I'll ask again," he hisses, his voice dropping to an icy calm. "Where the fuck is he."
"I don't know what you're talking about!"
It is an outburst that causes the young man she presumes to be Mello to send her crashing back down to the floor after he jostles her free from him. Bea curls up against the wall, staring up at him with wild eyes. "I can't remember anything from before this!" she pleads. "I was at home, and suddenly everything goes black and I wake up in here! I don't-"
The lethal glint in his eyes is enough to stop her short from completing her explanation. His head is bowed, only his eyes looking up at her, and through the screen of blonde bangs, she sees that noxious flash of blue. Bea takes brief note of the fact that even though he does not tower over her and is lean in his build, she is quite certain that he could floor her within seconds. Hell, he just had her pinned with a single curl of his fist against her shirt; the very idea of what else he could inflict upon her makes her stomach flip.
"P-please," she whispers pathetically. God, her wrists…
She cannot look at him any longer, or at least without feeling her nerves twitch beneath her skin, her pulse racing at whatever next assault she will be served with, but she keeps her eyes on him, preparing to dodge. But he is just staring at her with such a hatred that she questions if he is in fact looking at her and not someone else that she cannot see. She does not even know him, and the same applies to him, but she feels utterly loathed already.
But he does not approach her again. He does not make any attempt to strike her.
Bea watches him with trepidation as he pulls out a pair of leather gloves from his jacket pocket, pulls them on each slender hand and stalks out the door.
She dreams of a fortune teller she came across at the age of thirteen. Old, rusted carnival. Shifty grey eyes. Bea, sitting on a dilapidated rug on the ground, shielded by a cheap tent.
"Beatrice…it rings of safety. The need for…protection, security. But I must tell you this, child…there are some people that are not destined to feel safety. Some of us…fragile human beings that we are…we must fight for our protection. Can you fight, Beatrice?"
No. No, she cannot. Which is why when she is roughly shaken by the shoulders, she awakes to sobbing and Matt.
His goggles are atop his head again, exposing his jade eyes, and he looks at her with a sort of confused concern that pulls her out of her delirium. He shakes his head, releasing her shoulders. "Jesus, babe, you need to stop weirding me out like that. Thought you were possessed or something."
Bea gazes at Matt, whom is suddenly a savior in her eyes, and she wipes her eyes with the back of her sore hand. In the midst of her lurid stupor, he is beautiful, rescuing her from a preteen memory she thought she had long abandoned, deemed as unimportant. He is rummaging through a paper bag, labeled with the name of a fast food chain that Bea does not recognize, and retrieves something wrapped in plastic that he hands to her. "Couldn't have you starving on us, right?"
He flashes her a crooked grin, and for a fleeting moment, she is in love, all because he is a familiar face with eyes that are not menacing and narrowed upon her. He does not hate her, and even if he does without her knowing, she is not cowering at the sight of him. She accepts the food offering and sets it down, hands trembling. "Sorry," she says hoarsely. Her throat is sore, and upon wincing at speaking, Matt hands her a tall cup full of soda. She smiles weakly and nods once, acknowledging him wordlessly.
"It's been raining all day, you know," Matt says casually. He pulls out a similar item wrapped in plastic and proceeds to unwrap it. It is only now that Bea notices his hair is wet once more, darkening its auburn hue to a rich brown. He takes a wide bite of his cheeseburger and chews langorously, eyes not on her. Bea is unsure as to why she is watching him so carefully; perhaps she fears he will suddenly twist on her, throw her against the wall and demand more foreign answers out of her like her previous blonde visitor had. Matt swallows and looks at her. "But, yeah, not much going on out there."
Bea does not bother asking him what he is referring to and unwraps her own burger, realizing how ravenous she has become. She allows him to continue talking, filling the cold silence that she suddenly fears.
"The city's so weird when it rains, I'm tellin' you. The people, they frown so much and cover their heads like it's raining fucking acid. Me, on the other hand, I like the rain. It helps me think, you know?" Matt is not looking at her again, his green eyes instead on his food and the floor. "Smoking helps with that, too, but you know how people get when you bring that u-"
"Mello has blue eyes," Bea blurts out. She has grown itchy with his rambling. She needs answers, just like the blonde had when he grabbed her by her shirt.
Matt looks up at her now, a funny expression on his soft face. He looks like a child when he is confused; a wide-eyed, gaping child. "Yeah, he does," he says slowly. Bea sees the realization settle in with him, and his mouth opens when he nods knowingly. "Ahh, I got you now, babe. How'd that go?"
He says it all too conversationally for her not to bite down on her bottom lip, look him hard in the eye. "I think you know very well how it went," she accuses quietly.
There is a second in which Matt just looks at her, caught, but he sighs and drops his half-eaten burger onto the plastic wrapping. "Look, sweetheart, Mello gets a little…uppity when he's stressed out, and Mello sure is stressed out a hell of a lot. You have to expect this type of shit from a guy like him."
"How could I expect it if you refused to tell me anything about him?"
She has him here, she can see it in the shifting in his eyes. "Fine, you're right about that, I guess," he mutters. "But still, I couldn't just go around telling our captive girl exactly who Mello was before he talked to you-
"He didn't talk to me, Matt," Bea objects desperately. "He…he came in and asked me about my father and jerked me up when I c-couldn't answer him…"
Matt continues staring at her, mulling her words over silently. There are yellow flecks in his eyes, Bea notices in the midst of her strain.
"Why does everyone keep asking me about my father?" she whispers. She fears that if her voice gains too much volume, she will only succeed in cracking again. "My father wouldn't put me here."
At this, Matt flashes her a look that is meant to make her reconsider. His eyes are a tad wider, head tilting back an inch. "Well, babe, maybe you should have paid more attention to the outings your daddo went on."
Bea backs away from Matt, taken back by the low tone to his voice and the words that come with it. "Wh-what are you talking about?"
"Look, if I tell you, I'll get my ass handed to me on a platter." Matt reaches into his pocket for a slightly bent cigarette and his lighter. "If I don't tell you, you'll give me that look you always give me…that one, the one you're doing right now." Matt nods his head in her direction as he lights his smoke. "Makes a guy feel bad, you know?"
"Then just tell me," Bea requests. "It's something that has to do with me, so there's no reason why I shouldn't be allowed to know!" Overcome with impatience, she props herself up on her knees and leans in to Matt. "Matt," she whispers, "you can't just keep me waiting here wondering what's going to happen to me. How would you like it if-"
"Hey, hey," Matt attests, holding his hands up, "you can't use that example on a guy like me." When it appears as though he will say more, he suddenly closes his mouth and shakes it off. "Just chill out a little, babe. What do you think Mello'll do, tear your skin off?"
"No. He'll grab me by the shirt and throw me to the ground like he did when he came in."
She startles herself with the acidic tone her voice has acquired, and after the brief widening of Matt's jade eyes, he tightens his lips and releases a puff of air through his nose. "Look, I'll talk to him, alright? I'll talk to him." He pauses a moment, giving her an expectant look that calls for a timid nod as response. "Now, cut it with that look of yours, it's making me feel like shit."
He surprises her with a grin, soft and with one small corner of his mouth, and Bea feels her shoulders relax at the relieving sight. Something delightfully human, not corrupt with unanswerable questions and flashes of topaz aimed directly at her. He is so human that it almost pains her, knowing how few and sparing such people are wherever she is.
She is disappointed when he stands up, but watches with a childlike fascination as he lifts his dark grey T-shirt up, exposing his flat stomach and the faint line of hair stretching downwards from his naval. He scratches the expanse of skin and lowers his shirt once more, seemingly not noticing her gazing upwards at him curiously. "Like I said, you'll get used to Mello eventually. You can't expect him to warm up to you too quickly, Bea."
Bea shoots her head up, taken back by his use of her name without having given it. "H-how do you know my name? Matt?"
Matt stands at the doorway now, his back to her with his goggles shielding his eyes. He glances over his shoulder briefly before saying, "Sorry, baby, but we all know your name here."
Hope the wait was worth it! I'll try and update quicker next chapter, I promise.