He had tried to change.

He had tried to comfort her.

He had tried to tell her he still loved her, still needed her.

He had tried to be gentle, understanding, fucking trustworthy.

Nothing mattered now. He couldn't change who he was. He was a wreck. He was battered, and bruised, and cold, and his vision was too blurred to see backwards and remember everything that he was to Kenna.

Lately, Matt was the one to comfort her, to hold her, to explain how fucked Mello was, to explain that it wasn't her, it was Mello. As if she needed Matt to tell her that. It was obvious. Kenna just never wanted to see it, always making excuses for Mello. Always trying to see him as something more than what he was, always exceeding what he could ever be.

He did still love her. He needed her. She held his sanity, his old self, the things he lost to his hatred, to this sickness he had brewing inside of him.

He was everything but gentle. He was forceful, expectant, selfish. He wanted, and he took. He was in, and he was out. He tried. He tried over and over again but nothing ever changed. He built up her hopes and crushed them, time and time again.

He couldn't understand. He never would. How could she love him? How could she cling to what remained of his old self? There was nothing left to love, nothing left to hold, nothing left to fix. It was broken and gone and there wasn't anything left to get back.

Mello couldn't be fucking trusted. He wouldn't change. Promises went fulfilled for moments at a time, but broken time and time again. He made his word good when it was convenient for him. Other than that, he could care less. He didn't give a shit who he hurt.

Except for her.

He couldn't bear seeing her cry, seeing her hurt.

Seeing her helpless and afraid.

Fucking helpless and afraid.

He couldn't do it to her anymore.

But he couldn't change.

"I still love you, Mihael."

Mello looked over his shoulder.

"You forgive me? After this?"

Kenna looked at him, holding her severely bruised hip. He was everything but gentle that night.

"Yes. I will always forgive you."

Mello looked away.

"Don't. Don't ever fucking forgive me, Kenna. I don't deserve it."

"Mihael, don't say that."

"Mello."

Kenna froze, tears running down her face.

"My fucking name is Mello."

Something had broken.

Mello held fast to the memories as he sat alone, drinking the straight liquor. He didn't like it much, but he was holding the gun to his head.

No one there to save him.

"Are you insane?"

Mello looked at Matt.

"What are you talking about?"

"Are you fucking insane? She's in love with you, Mello. She wants you. She fucking wants and needs you. Why the fuck aren't you there?"

Matt was livid. After all, he was the one comforting her while she cried, helping her get dressed when it was too painful for her to look at the scars, the bruises.

"You hurt her. You know that? I've seen just about every fucking mark you've left on her. I've seen every little piece of evidence of your existence within her. And you know what? Even though it's hard for her to look at, even though it's hard for her to live with, even though she feels fucking lost and helpless, she wants you, more than anything. She's happy when you come in and take her, and hurt her. It's the only time you pay attention to her. It's the only bit of affection you give her."

Mello turned around, looking Matt in the eyes.

"Shut the fuck up, or get out."

Matt shook his head.

"You're fucked up."

Mello smiled.

"And she still wants me."

Mello closed his eyes.

God, did that gun feel good right now.

Every moment he lived in this place, a gun to his head, he could remember her, remember them, remember the things he lost, dropped, scattered and forgotten.

The door was locked.

He didn't realize she was standing outside of it, trying to gather the courage to knock, trying to gather to courage to come in and sit on his lap, kiss him, beg him to be with her, beg him to take her, beg him to love her. She just needed it for a moment. Just a moment. She was desperately in love with him. No one understood. But she saw Mello, she saw Mihael Keehl. She saw what he used to be in what he was. She saw him. She still saw.

Kenna couldn't let go. She couldn't give up. She promised, she would wait and forgive. He promised he would find her. He had to find himself first. He had to get through this, this madness that was consuming him. Then they could get back. They could get back, and everyone would see. Everyone would see how Kenna saw him now.

Mello leaned on the doorframe, watching and listening the inattentive teenagers talk and move.

Kenna lifted herself off of the bed.

"I still love him, Matt."

"Let go."

Matt was obviously pleading.

"Let go, Kenna. Give up. You're getting hurt. You're too far in, Kenna, you need to drop this fantasy that Mello's going to be your hero again. He's gone. Forever."

Kenna spun around and looked him in the eyes. She was wearing a tank top and underwear. Mello could see, from where he was, her bruised and scarred thighs, and the bit of her exposed lower back let scars show, tangling down her back. Mello knew how far they stretched, how many joined them.

"I'm not letting go. Matt, drop it. I'm in love with Mello, I love him with everything I am. I see it, Matt, everyday. Every time he… every time he's with me."

There was pain in her voice, desperation beyond repair.

"I see him. I see the love, the forgiveness. I forgive him, for everything. He's lost. I've found him. He needs to find him. Then he'll find me."

She grabbed a pair of jeans.

"Please help me put these on. I can't… I can't do it alone today."

Mello walked away.

He wasn't lost.

She was confused.

She was delusional.

She was fucked in the head to love him.

Mello smiled.

She was just as fucked as he was.

Mello never saw Kenna outside the door. He never saw her stand for twenty minutes, doing nothing but hoping, praying, wishing. Believing in something that might not exist anymore.

He never saw her leave and go to her room, sitting and crying, praying to a God she didn't and couldn't believe in, praying for Mello to find himself. Praying for him to love her again. Praying for him to remember.

He never saw the scars on her wrists, on her arms.

He never paid enough attention.

And Kenna never saw Mello pull out a gun and stick it in his mouth, wondering if today was the day.

It wasn't.

He pulled it away, the taste of metal in his mouth.

He was stuck here another day.

Until he gathered the heart to leave Kenna alone, there would never be bullets in the gun he kept in his desk.