Chapter Twenty-Two
Loving Nothing
Light saw it.
The look.
The look of pity that showed in the eyes of every foster parent he had been sent to.
The look in the eyes of the detectives who he had once trusted who sent him away.
The look that said they knew what happened. What he had caused. That they knew he was weak. That they thought less of him.
That look was in L's eyes. Not on the surface.
There was relief, fear, pain, elation, anticipation, and tiredness. And something that looked similar to the look his father gave to him when he tucked little Light in at night. Love. But it did not matter.
The look of pity.
He thought less of Light. He knew.
Light pulled away, withdrawing from the dark-haired man and into himself, rolling over so he didn't have to look at it anymore. Rolling away to escape.
Like blades of grass with a dusting of dew on top, Light felt a light surface pain from the tugging of various tubes and wires attached to him, accompanied with angry beeps and whirs from the machine next to him.
On a second level was the pain he now felt in his abdomen. The pain was hot and searing, reaching down into his very core and making him want to wither and cry out.
But deep inside he remembered how he had gotten to feel this way.
He remembered Mikami.
He remembered Shiori.
He remembered his dad.
He remembered his mother.
The events in the park, the Shiori who became Misa, the knife that took his father's life, the feeling of it sinking deep into its target…
He deserved it.
He deserved to get stabbed.
He deserved to die
A soft hand was placed on his shoulder, bringing him back to the hospital room he had awakened to. It was L. What he was trying to do was unclear, but the soft pressure felt nice.
The pressure suddenly became unbearable.
"Don't touch me." The words left Light's mouth with a surprising amount of malice. They were a demand, and at the same time a plea.
The hand was immediately withdrawn, reliving the pressure, but leaving an empty, cold feeling in its place.
If L was going to say anything, he lost his chance for barely a second later the door opened and doctors entered the room, ruining the privacy yet saving Light from what ever might have happened.
They rolled him over on his side and asked him questions and spoke among each other, but Light couldn't hear a single word they said. He did want to.
Sometimes they touched him in a place that hurt, and he couldn't help by wince, but that became the only emotion that showed on his face, as it was involuntary. He was too tired for emotions. He was too tired to feel. He was too tired to sleep. He looked everywhere but at L.
One word did register in Light's head, said by a random faceless doctor.
Lucky.
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Dark thoughts manifest inside the heart, becoming a poison you can escape. Every breath becomes labored; every heartbeat just pumps the darkness to the furthest reaches of the body. The muscles begin to ache and shiver.
Your throat burns, sandy and dry, your palms sweat, and your head, oh god your head… It won't shut up. It buzzs, replaying these dark thoughts and connecting them to any other dark thoughts you ever had, multiplying the problem. Normal thoughts become bitter, good thoughts sour. It becomes a viscous cycle.
The dark poison, coursing through the veins, soon shuts down breathing completely. Struggling for oxygen becomes impossible. Struggling for anything becomes impossible.
Eventually any will that was left to fight it dies out, and you are trapped.
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Light was not sure how much time went by in the hospital. It could have been hours, it could have been days. Well, he remembers watching the sunset once, so it's been at least one day, but most of the time he stared at the dull hospital room corner.
The window became something he could never look at, because usually L was sitting on that side of the bed. Light couldn't stand looking at him. L once tried switching sides, but Light would just turn his head, refusing to meet his eye.
Several times he heard raised voices when L stepped out of the room to talk with the doctors. They argued about something. Something to do with him.
Light spent his time laying around, trying to keep his mind blank, but that was impossible. The best he could do was keep everything inside. If he let it show, it would only make him look weaker. People would think him to be an inconvenience. He's only disappoint and hurt more.
He just wanted it to stop.
During a silence that was beautiful and suffocating, L decided to say the worst thing he could ever say.
"I love you."
His voice was quiet. The words were said like a confession of guilt. They carried a sadness to them that sank Light's heart.
As if afraid Light didn't hear it the first time, though they both know he did, L said it again, this time with more conviction. He grabbed Light's hand and tilted Light's head so it faced him. Light made the mistake of looking up and seeing L's dark eyes bearing into his.
"I love you."
Light closed his eyes then opened them. His voice was broken and empty as he replied.
"It's not enough."
It was not enough. It would never be enough. Those words could not fix him. Light did not deserve his love. He did not deserve any love.
He could see his words being absorbed by L. Instead of immediately leaving or getting angry or even getting upset and pulling away, like he expected L to do, L didn't move away.
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Finally, it became time to leave the hospital. Light didn't care where he went, but he'd rather not be there. As the doctors unhooked Light from the various things that surrounded him, He sat up for the first time alone.
His muscles were sore, and there was an uncomfortable pain in his abdomen, dulled by drugs. Part of him wanted to look at the damage done, but that would be pointless and self indulgent. He was stoic as they removed his head bandage and examined the wound. It must have healed enough, since they did not re-bandage it.
Light still ignored all their words, finding no interest in what they had to say.
When they backed off and left, he dared to stand. He carefully place his feet on the cold ground and slowly slipped off the bed. At first it seemed fine, and his legs seemed to take the weight, but suddenly his knees buckled and Light began to fall over.
L steadied him, his arms wrapping around Light for support.
The urge to push him away was strong, but Light was too weak and dependent on L to stand. Giving up on the urge, he allowed L to lead him across the room and out the door, where a wheelchair waited for him. Each step was wobbly; his unused muscled screamed in protest. L's constant warm presence made it possible.
After being eased into the wheelchair L finally removed his touch. He proceeded to wheel Light down an unfamiliar hall, to an unknown destination.
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The house, or mansion rather, was located somewhere deep in the Japanese country side. Hours away from Tokyo by car, with trees and grass fields streaming by.
The idea of the location was certainly isolation. The idea build of the mansion, however, was extravagance.
Western architecture married eastern, creating a mix of old and traditional flavors from bother to create this testament to human imagination.
The house lay in the middle of an orchard, which was surrounded by a forest, which in one direction led to fields and meadows, and the other to mountains and other wild things. The road to it was paved, but random roads that branched away from the main road were made of dirt, with well worn ruts driven into them.
Light rode in the back of a nondescript car, driven by Wallingford, or Watari, or whoever he was suppose to be now. L was in the back with him, and unlike Light whose face was pressed against the window and body slumped against the side, staring at the passing scenery and the building they approached, L watched Light the entire time.
Light wished he would stop, but since when would the man do what Light wanted?
The mansion must be a place where L intended to hide Light away from the world. Light didn't object. Maybe he'd be forgotten and waste away.
The car pulled up in front of the mansion and Watari got out and opened the back door for L. L thanked him and stepped out, circled the car, then opened Light's door. Watari opened the back and took out a wheelchair he had placed in the back.
L managed to get Light to stand up and sit back down in the chair. Light wanted to protest this degradation, but the car ride had tired him out, like everything did these days.
He was pushed inside the building, taking in the tasteful décor as he was wheeled to a large bedroom somewhere on the main floor. In no time he was help out of the chair and deposited onto a bed, on which he resumed the position he had laid in at the hospital and willed L to go away.
He wanted to be alone.
L didn't leave and instead sat down on the bed. This bed was bigger then the hospital bed. If Light had to guess, it was probably a king-sized bed. The bed being as big as it was, and the way L had nestled into it hinted that he was going to have no escape from the man.
The way he faced, he could look out a window and see the garden and orchard outside. L had allowed him to have the window side of the bed, a kind act but wrong.
Light didn't deserve the view, but he couldn't stop staring at it.
Time passed by in silence, the sun that had been up sank, dropping the world into twilight.
Sleep clawed at Light, and he wasn't sure if he should fight it or not, but in the end decided he was t weak to fight. Strong arms wrapped around him, avoid the wound, but brushing his shoulders. L nuzzled his head into the crook in Light's neck, breathing him in, loving the heat of his skin.
L hummed, his vocal chords vibrating against Light's neck, lulling him to sleep. As Light drifted off, too tired (and too unwilling) to push L off, he heard the raven-haired man speak.
"I won't give up on you."
Fool
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End of chapter!
It's been awhile, so I want to apologize once again for the main and chapter titles. I think I stole all the cheese in France to make them.
Thank you for reading this far and sticking with me! New chapter up in a week or less, I promise.
I think I'm going insane. I have the author bug. I have a lot of stories, original and fanfictions, buzzing around in my head and demanding to be written down, but its hard to get them just right. And when I write them I get really into the story line, and there are times in overwhelms me. I love writing this story, because it allows me to feel these emotions, the good and the bad, powerfully. This is the first story I've written this far into, and I'm damn proud of it. Sure, there are a million things I want to change at times, and when I read what I write, half the time I love it and the other half I want to yell at myself. I may rewrite some parts, but I may just leave them as they are to show my evolution in writing.
Review and follow and favorite or whatever you want to do. You've read it so far, and that's good enough for me.
I was making donuts the other day, but then I got tired of the hole thing.