Matt had gone to your room for a while after he and Mello had gone over a plan. He loaded his gun while you watched, thinking about how attractive a man with a gun was.

"I'm supposed to be out doing one thing or another, to catch Kira, hopefully," he said as he hid his gun in this vest. He didn't like explaining his missions to you. You got the general idea, but you never knew exactly what went down.

"You know, last night," he said, talking with a cigarette in his mouth, "you were sweaty. Did you notice?" He turned to you, leaning against the wall.

You nodded. "Yeah, but I didn't care." You bit your lip. That had been odd. You had never been able to stand sweat on you before. You blushed. "I think it was because you said you were with me. You know, that day at the park?"

Matt nodded. "That I was with you, right? I always will be." He smiled, his goggles hiding his eyes.

You smiled back at him.

"Matt!" Mello yelled. "MATT!"

Matt sighed. "Time to go. See you tonight, OK, babe?" He took his cigarette out of his mouth and gave you a quick peck on the lips. "Don't sweat and get freaked out while I'm gone, OK? I'm still with you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Matt, what's wrong with you?"

All he did was smile and leave the room.

--

Damn it, damn it, damn it, damn it.

Matt had only left twenty minutes ago, and you had already cracked every joint in your body numerous times. Why had he said that so strangely? Why hadn't he answered your last question? Why hadn't you kept him behind?

What was happening tonight? Mello had gone, too, but they had gone their separate ways. Why? What were they planning?

You pulled at your hair. The room had dwindled down to only a few men. Some had spy work for Mello, some just out for a night of drinking.

Why?

They usually drank in the hideout. Why go out tonight? Was something going to happen tonight that they did NOT want to be sober for?

You looked at the clock, which said three forty-seven pm, to the door, which didn't look like it would be opening any time soon.

"Hail, you better calm down or you'll have a conniption," one of the remaining men said calmly. However, he was on his third beer can.

"What isn't Matt telling me?" you blurted out.

He looked surprised. "I don't know what you're talking about. Honest."

You scowled. He very well DID know, but he just wasn't telling you. Maybe, once he got nice and tipsy...

You began pacing again. Maybe some television would do the trick. You turned it on and watched a sitcom for an hour. There was some nervous laughter from the men around you at the funny parts. The kind of laughter that said "I hope she doesn't change the channel". You knew that's what it meant because you once went to put up the volume and they all twitched as if they were ready to pounce on you first.

"What?" Your voice was sharp and angry. "Tell me now, I'm not fucking joking."

The men exchanged glances. You scowled deeper, and then put on the news. Mello and Matt were going to be on it, you just knew they were.

"Breaking news!" the announcer began. He told the story of a man against Kira, and blah blah blah. Then a red car came screeching to a halt to an ambush of police cars.

Dear God.

No.

Matt's car.

One of the men grabbed the clicker and changed the channel.

You had never punched anyone in the nose as hard as you did then, breaking it with a snap and grabbing the clicker back.

You changed the channel. Luckily, you hadn't missed anything.

"Don't get out," you whispered.

Matt got out out of the car.

"Get back in," you yelled. You grabbed the television as if it were Matt, as if you could force him back it. You began crying.

Matt said something you couldn't hear. All you could hear was an ear shattering scream. It almost completely blocked out the sounds of the bullets that pierced his skin.

"Hail! Hail, please, calm down!" Someone was trying to calm you. You didn't know who it was, and you didn't care. You got up, planning to rush to the scene. Someone grabbed you.

"Sorry, Hail! We have strict orders." The men were holding you down, taking every kick, scratch, and slap you dealt them without a complaint. You were crying, screaming. You didn't know what was going on around you. All you knew was that you were being held against your will away from your dy- NO! hurt husband.

"Let go, you bastards! Let go of me! PUT ME DOWN! Get off! Leave me alone! Go away! I hate you! Stop it! I want to go to Matt!" You screamed anything you could think of, flailing as hard as you could. Your mind was blank. Nothing was real.

There was no slow motion, like in movies. Everything was going too fast. It was just a moment ago you were at the altar, wasn't it?

They held you down, but not in a violent way. You were wrapped in a group hug, you in the middle. No one cried but you, but that was best. You were crying enough for them all.

"Damn it! I hate you all. I'll never, ever forgive any of you for this, do you hear me?" you screamed, trying to push them away.

"Hail, they told us we couldn't let you out. Matt wanted you here. He said that-"

"I don't give a shit what he said! Let me out of here!"

There was silence as the television declared. "The victim is dead! Long live K-"

The television went black and your screaming filled the air.

--

Mello didn't come home that night, either.

The men stayed with you.

"It was our order. Protect you. We can't leave if you're here." You heard that story so many times you wondered if it would ever end.

--

For a week, you didn't do anything.

No eating.

No sleeping.

Just breathing and blinking and thinking.

"Don't sweat and get freaked out while I'm gone, OK? I'm still with you."

You screamed. You cried and flailed like a kid who didn't get his way.

They tried to feed you. They once crushed a sleeping pill in a glass of water, because you passed out quickly after, only to be awaken by a horrible nightmare, the same images as on the television. That, and the sound of your screaming.

Your babysitters, as you now thought of them, didn't sleep much either. They were genuinely worried about you.

--

Eight nights after the accident, you left. You didn't pack. You just grabbed your pocketbook and four photos, the ones from your date, and left. You didn't know where you were going, but you were a smart girl. You'd figure out something