AN: This is what happens when my day is made from having 20 e-mails from FF saying that people are reviewing and favoriting my story.
Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. Or any of the bands mentioned.
Chapter 6 – Denial
Matt had been in my thoughts the rest of the day and I didn't know why.
So I decided to talk to Misa about it - she knew all about this kind of thing - during art club after school.
"Hey Misa?" I asked when we were set up with our easels, "I have a question."
"What?" She seemed glad to help me out.
"Well," I wasn't quite sure how to say it, "There's this guy that's been in my thoughts all day and none of those thoughts were about killing him."
She blinked.
"Well, what were thoughts?"
"Nothing in particular, just about him in general."
She smiled and I was reminded briefly of a cat stalking its prey.
"Does Mello have a crush?" she practically sang.
I glared at her, but I was pretty sure my face was bright red.
"You do!" she exclaimed and started dancing.
"No. I don't."
I wasn't lying. I refused to let petty things like 'love' stopping me from being the best. Lust, on the other hand, wasn't as bad.
Yes. I'm a bit of whore. Deal with it.
"You totally do," she persisted, "I mean, it's like, obvious!"
"What? You don't even know who he is."
Her cat smile was back.
"Matt," she stated simply.
My jaw dropped. What?! How did...was it that...oh shit!
No! No! I don't like him!
She smirked, "I knew it."
I glared and turned my attention back to my painting - a self-portrait, but instead of my scar, half my face had no flesh at all, it was just a skeleton.
"I don't like him," I mumbled as I mixed the paint.
I refuse to like him.
But maybe I do…
I violently started dragging the brush across where my hair would be.
He's perfect. Not just his gorgeous looks, but his personality, too.
My eye twitched and I washed the brush.
No. I refuse. It's not true. I don't like him! I don't like him!
…
No. I don't like him.
…
But I might be falling in love with him.
That can't be true can it?
"Hey Mello?" Misa got my attention.
"What?" I snapped.
She smirked.
"Your secret's safe with me."
Shit.
I lay down on my bed, staring intently at the blade in my hands. I quietly hummed 'Scream' by ZOEgirl. The song may not fit my music style (KoRn, Disturbed, Three Days Grace, Godsmack, OT3P, etc.) but the lyrics fit exactly how I felt.
I felt tears welling up behind my eyes, but I refused to cry. Instead, I rolled up the legs of my shorts and put the blade to new, unscarred skin.
It was time for a new scar.
I knew that the tears were leaking out of my eyes as I dragged the blade across my thigh.
I am weak, weak, weak.
I'm in love, love, love.
Dammit. I only knew the kid for a few days. Why is he always in my thoughts? Why does he make me feel this way?
I could feel the blood on my leg. I must have cut deep, because I only had the 'L'.
For LOVE.
Matt. Mail Jeevas. He made me do this. I don't hate him. I love him.
God, what's wrong with me?
I had the 'O' and pretty soon the 'V' and the 'E' were added.
L O V E
Lasting for never
Over and over
Very fucked up
Every day
I laughed and the tears rolled into my mouth.
Is this what it's like to be insane? Am I at rock bottom?
Something takes a part of me / Something lost and never seen
My phone brought me away from my thoughts.
I didn't even check the ID, I didn't care.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Mello."
Matt's voice.
"Are you okay?"
I was silent.
"I'm coming over."
Click.
I chucked the damn phone across the room and got up. My shorts fell over my scars. I started walking to my door, but I fell to my knees in front of it.
"Dammit," I whispered.
I'm so fucking emotional! Always blowing things out of fucking proportion! What's wrong with me?
I must have been sitting there for a while, but it felt like just mere minutes.
Someone tapped on my window.
I didn't move.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
I didn't move.
I couldn't move.
I heard the window open and someone climbed into my room.
"Mello," Matt said.
No reaction.
I don't want to do anything. I want to stay here.
"Mello," he crossed my room, "Stand up."
I can't.
Because this is where I am – lower than him. He is perfect. He is amazing.
I
Am
Weak
I felt him pull me up, which took some effort.
"Mello," He made me face him. Made me look him in the eyes.
I was scared.
He took my hand, which was still in a fist, and opened it. The blade was still in it. The blade had blood on it.
"Mello, is this what you have been doing?"
…
Yes.
"Oh God, Mello. Mel, thi - this is huge. You - you can get help. You can – "
"You fucker!" I yelled, "I don't need help! I don't want help! Stop pretending like you care! You don't fucking understand!"
Stop!
"You couldn't possibly understand!"
Stop!
"You don't have scars all over your body!"
Stop!
"You don't know what it's like!"
"Shut up," his voice was broken, as were his eyes, "You think I don't care? You think I don't understand? Well you aren't the only person in the fucking world going through this shit! I've been ignoring my thoughts and my feelings for you! And guess what – "
He pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. At first I thought he had scars, but when I looked closer, I saw what they really were.
Needle marks.
"You're an addict," I spat, "It's fucking different."
"And you're not addicted to cutting?" he sneered, "Why do you think I do this? Because of the pain."
"But you still don't care. You have your own pain. You can't possibly think about me."
"I care."
"Prove it."
He stepped closer.
And he kissed me.