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Chapter 10: Fear?

"What are you doing?"

"Working."

No fights. No passiveness. Not much of anything, because Mello was hunched over his crowded desk, working on recreational papers. It must have been recreational—there were no assignments of the late. I don't think I'm being ignored, not like I had been the days before. I don't think he is doing it with the purpose of wounding. He looks tense. His shoulders squared out. Little jerky motions. I sat on the rumpled bed, watching with interest as he struggled with whatever was troubling him. Can I talk?

"I apologize beforehand for speaking, but are there rules?"

Mello looked over his shoulder. Was he mad? I can't see his face.

"Rules." Mello finally made the full turn so we would be facing head-on.

"Well...I don't know what I'm allowed to do. Or not to do," Mello had crossed his arms. "I just don't want to spoil any chance I have. I don't want you to stop caring." Because I care, and if you stop caring, I might stop caring. Caring is what has finally made me human.

Mello reached behind himself, opening a drawer. Without so much as a look, he was navigating around inside. His hand withdrew with a bar of chocolate. He bit down on a corner, the snap of cold chocolate also snapping at my nerves. An overpowering need to run away. I said something wrong. I could stop thinking that. He was going to stop caring right this instant—I've ruined it already. The only one who has made me feel human will never care about me. He will not care if I feel human or not. And I will live the rest of my life with the purpose of someday fading out of existence. Nothing to look forward to but my death.

"There are no rules."

He responded. No rules he said. What do those words mean again? Words. Think. No; a negative used to express dissent, denial, or refusal, as in response to a question or request. Rules; a principle or regulation governing conduct, action, procedure, arrangement. More words. I have to understand them. What's wrong with my ability to comprehend? Why can't I understand? It's as if there is a thick sap over my mind. It's hard to think. It's hard to hear. It's hard to breathe—

"Near."

That's my name. I hear it and look up. Mello sat reverse at his desk. Still watching me, still gently chewing on his chocolate bar. Oh. Words suddenly are words. Completely apprehensible. He wasn't going to stop caring. I had most oddly jumped to conclusions, and the result was something... I hope I don't ever react that way again. To anything. The feeling of living only to die. That used to be a casual thought for me. It used to not—well, it never led to whatever that short episode that was only a moment ago.

"Near?"

"There are no rules?"

Mello shook his head, "No rules. It's not that easy."

Oh. "What do I do?"

"I don't know. I don't what I should do either."

"...what are we doing now?"

Mello's mouth fell grimly. "I don't know about that, either."

Oh. "Mello." I don't know what to say now. This is an uncomfortable end to a conversation that never started.

"What?"

"Why?"

Mello curled his legs around the chair he was in, "Why? That's so vague, it's stupid."

"I want to know why for a lot of things, though. Being broad is easiest."

"Just ask the damn question you wanna ask."

What do I want to ask? I want to know... "What were you thinking? Specifically, I want to know why you were thinking about me when you said you had stopped caring about me, or really, you just stopped hating me. That is what I want to ask about."

His hand made for his forehead, messaging circles around his temples, "I don't know that either."

"Um, how about why Matt doesn't know."

"He doesn't need to know everything."

"Am I going to stay here tonight?"

Mello looked at the ceiling, then at the floor, then to me. "...I don't care."

"You don't?" But he said that he would care. He said—

"I mean, you can. I don't mind. I would be okay with it."

The bubble of pressure that had risen in my chest deflated. He meant that he didn't mind. Not that he didn't care. Really. I hate this new feeling... Ignoring the fact that I'm hating in the first place. I hate that I feel...pressure. And I want to run away. It seems illogical when I think about it. There's no deadly loss if he doesn't care. I won't die. But even at a hint that he might not care, I am ready to give up for the remainder of my life.

Mello and I remained across the room from each other most of the night. I asked a lot of questions. A lot of them he didn't know how to answer. I didn't learn much. In a ratio of conversation to silence, silence was the victor. It gave a full load of time to reflect on my feelings though. I'm not sure how well I was able to concentrate with him right there though. I kept finding myself watching instead of thinking. By a time it was well into the night, Mello was awkwardly hanging over his chair, still never coming closer. I had moved under the covers, buried in their warmth. A warmth that my blankets seemed to lack.

"Do you want your bed, Mello? I can sleep on the floor."

He was working on eating another chocolate bar, adding another wrapper to the growing clutter on the desk behind him. "No, you sleep there."

At least I asked this time. The other time actually being with Matt, not Mello though. I watched Mello. I watched the digital alarm clock measure each hour passing. It has never been this hard to fall asleep. I feel tired. I want sleep. But, I can't bring myself to close my eyes. I keep watching his back. I don't know that anything will happen, but I am expecting something to happen. Or, hoping? The corners of my vision started to prickle. I guess my body has had enough hoping and was shutting down manually. I didn't even need to make myself empty for sleep. Everything flushed out.

We were assigned projects today. It's curious that Mello and I are studying together though. Is it not too soon for this? And does that not prove my awkwardness in polite social interacting, if sitting together and studying is too big of a step? Well, it might have been, since it's Mello. Mello is someone I don't think I'll ever fully understand. I agreed to this because he offered. And here we are. Together. Him studying some political policies, I studying a bit on psychology. Mello's choice of study being a large, dusty tome from the depths of the library. For me, I had gotten for myself a stack of once filed away scholarly articles. After a brief on the project, the student teacher overseeing the filing room at the front of the library agreed that it was fine to part with them temporarily. Mello and I weren't the only ones in the library. Especially due to the sudden upbringing of projects. Each break in book and shelf, there were tables set up; each table held a group of two or more able-bodies. Our place of study was in the furthest corner of the library, hidden by the untouched religious texts. Mello's chair was propped at an angle, the book on his lap as he leaned against the wall. His face looked fierce, though I'm not sure if that was the intensity of his studying, or that he didn't like what he was reading...

The particular article was discussing the use of reveling truths about others though indirect incitement, or riddles. For example, "You really love them, don't you—"

"What?" Mello was staring at me in a peculiar way. A face that was usually reserved for when something inappropriate was said. Though, Mello isn't one to be bothered by something less appropriate anyway. And that is what confused me.

"You really love them, don't you. A simple psychological question. Not a single name is mentioned,
but someone suddenly comes to mind," I clarified. "I hadn't time to finish reading—you interrupted."

"Of course I did! I thought you were talking to me."

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to startle you."

"..."

"Did it work? Did some special person come to mind?"

Mello slapped his book shut, dust furling into the air, "N...not at all."

"That is too bad. That very well could have been personal data and useful in our report." Oh well. What else is there to see? Evolutionary Psychology and the emotions. What kind of programs can emotions mobilize? Any controllable biological process that, by shifting its performance in a specifiable way, would lead to enhanced average fitness outcomes should have come to be partially governed by emotional state. Such processes include; goals, motivational priorities. Information-gathering motivations. What one is curious about, what one finds interesting, what one is obsessed with discovering should all be emotion-specific. Memory and attention. Physiology: Each organ system, tissue, or process is a potential candidate for emotion-specific regulation, and "arousal" is insufficiently specific to capture the detailed coordination involved. Arousal being state of being awake or reactive to stimuli (this being studied in both psychology and physiology); physiology itself covering a wide variety of functions, ranging from cellular, to the interaction of organ systems that keep the most complex biological machines running. Humans.

The whole work is enlightening. Energy level, effort allocation, and mood. Maybe the lack of energy really was an issue... Either way, I moved on. Ah. Another riddle.

"A woman, while at the funeral of her own mother, met a man who she did not know. She thought he was 'amazing'. She believed him to be her dream partner so much, that she fell in love with him right there, but never asked for his number and could not find him. A few days later she killed her sister. Question: What was her motive for killing her sister?"

Why? I avoided the printed answer, thinking it over for myself. She murdered her sister. Was her perfect lover also a lover of the sister? That might—

"She killed her sister so she could meet the guy at the funeral."

"What?"

Mello was looking over with earnest sincerity. His eyes steeled over, his book set down again. "She killed her sister, because then she would have the chance to meet her "dream lover" or whatever again at the newest funeral."

That didn't make sense. There was no guarantee that the man would return for the sister's death. No, the girl probably was suffering from some sort of trauma and was bound for self destruction— My gaze fell back to the print.

Answer: She was hoping the man would appear at the funeral again. This was a test by a famous American psychologist used to test if one has the same mentality as a killer. Many arrested serial killers took part in the test and answered the question correctly...

I'm not sure what to do with that information. Mello honestly answered a riddle meant for testing psychopaths.

"Have...you heard that riddle before?"

Mello stopped in mid-stretch, "Hm? No...it just made sense."

"...how?"

He started looking at his book again. Flipping pages. Flipping pages. Stops.

"I don't know. She seemed kind of psycho already for falling in love with a stranger at a funeral...why not push it a little further to say she's psycho enough to think he'll be at every funeral?"

So that was his reasoning. It's a bit of a relief. So long as he is not actually approving of her conclusion, and simply thinking as she would. But not thinking as she would, just thinking about what she would think if he were to think like her. That is my very backwards way of explaining my unease when there was the possibility that Mello was clinically insane. I'd prefer to move on to less deadly topics.

"You love them, don't you?"

His text was unjustly slammed down again.

"Stop saying that!"

"I'm only trying to get a reaction. Anybody come to mind yet?"

"Never, and there never will be. I refuse to let there be. And if there was, I refuse to acknowledge it."

"That's not a healthy way of processing information. This is data we need to collect."

"What's the relevance? That isn't my project, and I don't remember saying anything about love that makes you think I want to be a part of it. I bet you're only bringing it up to bother me!"

"I had no way of knowing it would bother you."

"If you'd paid attention earlier when you said it, did I look happy?"

I'd been looking at the papers too closely to have seen anything. I had glanced up to see him staring at me, and once more to see him slam his book shut. Maybe he wasn't happy, but he didn't seem very angry either.

"I'm sorry to have brought it up again. It's something I'm interested in..."

"What exactly are you interested in?"

"Human behavior. Particularly emotion."

I swear, his expression twitched into something disappointed. All of that before the look was gone. Replaced by a molded expression of everyday boredom. I have to wonder if I had seen anything at all. Was that a crest fell? All this questionable behavior surely meant Mello was back to his old self; a curious oddity to spend a while with. This time though, I had the advantage of being able to outright question him.

"What had you liked to imagine I was interested in?"

Mello had buried his head in his book now, face a cold grimace.

"Would you have liked it to have been psychology?"

Nothing.

"Would you have liked it to have been you're reaction?"

Nothing.

"Would you have liked it to have been you?"

Mello knocked his chair over in the process of quickly exiting the library. Somewhere beyond the shelves, the door slammed. The same student teacher from the front pittered over on high heels, looking distressed.

"Did...did something happen? That boy didn't hurt anything did he?"

I looked at the chair, lying dead on it side. Then to the woman with the starched blouse and shirt, hands wriggling around, expressing her discontent even more.

"No. Nothing is hurt, Miss," I too, pushed back my chair to stand. "Good day, Miss."

I up-righted the chair, and left to find where Mello had left to.

Matt had caught me before I could catch Mello. I was gently pulled to the side of the hallway as he asked, "What happened?"

"Mello became angry over something, and now I am looking for him."

Matt's eyes widened behind his goggles. "What? He's been gone since yesterday?"

"No. Just now... Didn't you see him in class?"

"I wasn't in class. So, what happened last night? That's what I'm asking."

Last night... "It is not a very interesting story. Nothing much happened. He couldn't answer any of my questions either."

"And he didn't hurt you."

"No. He's never hurt me," Exempting him punching me that last time, though I felt that unnecessary information.

"Did it feel like he was hiding something? Like, he was trying to trick you?"

Hide something? "A maybe to the former. To the best of my observation, Mello seemed more...tense. If that can be translated into hiding something."

Matt's lips became a thin line, as the thought process was made clearly visible.

"He was tense. Any idea why? He hasn't said a word to me in over—"

"Mello did say that he didn't want to tell you 'why' either."

"Why, what?"

"Why he was thinking about me, when he said he didn't care about me. But, he doesn't know why to a lot of everything anyway, so you are not missing very much."

"...thinking?" Matt scratched his head, lips thin as I would imagine possible. Then there was a bloom of realization. His mouth quirked at the corners as his head fell.

"What is it? Do you know why?" If he knew anything to explain this new and still very unreadable Mello, I'd gladly accept the information.

"No, not exactly," his head picked back up. "I know in my own way."

Matt had nothing left to say after that. Said something about relief over a lie, and then left saying he'd promised the day to a group of friends. What happened to everyone dragging me around to where I was supposed to be? It's strange. I could just give up. I could. Before, I most likely would have. Now, it's changed. It being me. I'm not an it. I'm not a thing. Not an object, soul-less and dead. Because I am going to move. I am going to go where I want to be. I want to be with Mello.

Knock, knock, knock.

"What?"

"Can I come in?"

"..."

"Can I come in?"

The door swung open, and he stood very tall-looking in the doorway. Maybe not really all that tall for someone of normal height. Tall for me. Mello didn't move to allow entrance. Perhaps the conversation was to be in the hallway then.

"Matt is no longer worried." What? Why is it that I am still able to speak, even when I'm not wanting to speak?

It didn't look like Mello knew how to respond. Something else to say...

"And he sad that he's relived that you lied."

Mello still stood, like a guard at his post. Only his eyes still revealed the life inside him.

"What had you lied about?"

"How much I hate you."

"Oh." He must hate me plenty. That is usually how it works between us. Though, that's a one-way feeling. I can't label my intrigue. I can't name what makes his eyes my favorite color, or what makes chocolate an instant reminder of him being close. I can't tag why I always look when he's there, and I can't find reason why it's him. It's him. For everything, there is him. And it's confusing that even before this it was him—though I don't think I was capable of noticing until recently.

Hm? I was being led inside.

Is the anxiety killing you like it's killing me! Gee dang, I have poor endings for chapters!

So this was all Near and his earth-shattering realization that he is feeling, and he is feeling HARD. "..." Pfft-Not like THAT. Just like, they're really BIG feelings. "..." Pfft-Not like THAT. Anyway. Near is feeling like Mello is super important, Mello is feeling like...Mello. Ya know.

See ya at the next update!

MAYBE.