Thursday, December 25th
"I'm Mello."
Mail had once been told that the human brain is not advanced enough to process multiple complexed thoughts at the same time. This is why we are such bad multitaskers, and why Mail was not aloud to play video games during class. Mail had always thought that this statement was incorrect, but he had never been in a circumstance that offered him the opportunity to disprove it. Well, he hadn't until now.
If Mail were to count every since thought crossing through his brain or every single emotion he was feeling, he was sure that the number would pass one million. Alright, maybe that was a bit of an over-exaggeration, but that was how upset that he felt. No, 'upset' was not the right word. Confuse? Angry? Flabbergasted? And maybe even the very slightest bit glad? Was he relieved that all this time he had been in love with one person, with the same person? The person who had spent the last few months deceiving him.
Mihael was Mello.
"What the fuck?"
Mail wasn't the type to swear. Sure he over used the words "crap" and "hell," but he rarely said anything more vulgar than that. This wasn't because he frowned upon the use of strong language, which he did not. The reason that Mail rarely swore was because he rarely had the opportunity to. For Mail, anger was something that collected inside him slowly. He rarely had a sharp flash of emotion that insight taboo vocabulary. This was definitely the right occasion.
"I know," Mihael—no, Mello—stammered. "I should have told you, but I didn't want you to think that I was a stalker."
"Are you a stalker?" Mail doubted this, but the question was justified.
"No, of course not," Mello insisted.
"Then that's a stupid excuse," Mail stated.
"I know," Mihael looked defeated but Mail refused to feel sorry for him.
"If anyone's a stalker it's me," Mail continued, bitterly adding: "I guess I'm a lot better at it than I thought."
"I'm sorry-"
"Don't," Mail harshly cut Mihael off. "Why didn't you say anything?"
"I was going to, but then you started talking about how you were going to find 'Mello' and I didn't-"
"Wait," Mail interrupted again. "You knew who I was before I told you about my plan?"
"I figured it out after we talked in the hall before lunch," Mihael's eyes met the ground.
Mail didn't know if he should laugh or cry, but he had a feeling that he would soon be doing both.
"Was this some sort of game to you?" Anger bled through his words.
"No, it wasn't like that," Mihael said quickly.
"Then what was it like?" Mail could hear himself shouting, but he didn't care.
"I wasn't a game, I just wanted you to like me for who I am not because I wore a jacket and a mask or because I said something funny online." Mihael attempted to clarify.
"That is a game," Mail dismissed. "And now that I gave up on Mello and asked you out, you've won. That's the only reason that you're telling me isn't it?"
"No, I..." Mihael seemed to search his mind for something to say in his defense. Upon finding nothing he simply stated: "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you."
"Well you did," Mail said bitterly. He could feel the tears coming, but tried his hardest to will them away. Mihael had seen him cry enough already.
"Can you really blame me?" Mihael snapped, finally meeting Mail's eyes. "It's not like you told 'Mello' who you were when you had the chance!"
"That's only because it's not something that you can say online," Mail defended himself. "You would have thought that I was crazy and stopped talking to me."
"You said yourself that you didn't feel like you really knew Mello," Mihael rushed to his next defense. "Can you honestly blame me for wanting you to know the real me before telling you who I was?"
"When it involves lying to me, yes I do blame you!" Mail nearly screamed this. He was sure that the other members of the house could at least hear part of the shouting, even if they were all still in the living room.
"What do you want me to say?" Mihael's tone was defiant, but Mail could tell that he genuinely wanted to know the answer to this question.
"I don't know," Mail sighed in frustration. He needed to clear his head. He needed to get as far away from Mihael as possible. "I'm going for a walk."
If Mihael was going to say anything in response, Mail did not wait around to hear it. He tried not to make eye contact with anyone as he stormed out of the house, but he could feels the attention on him as the nearly ran through Mihael's living room.
"What do you think was that about?" he heard Light ask. The question was probably directed at L, when they assumed Mail was out of earshot.
It was only once he was out the door that Mail let the tears fall from his eyes. He didn't let the fact that he was crying slow him down. He continued to walk at a brisk pace, although he had not idea where he was going. Not that he usually did when he ran away from an uncomfortable situation. The only thing that made this different from the so many other times he walked away from a place that he once felt safe in tears was the fact that he was leaving Mihael's house and not his own, and the fact that for once he was the one feeling disappointed (not the one who had been disappointed).
He was a block away when he fished his cell phone out of the pair of jeans he had been wearing for the past two days (after denying Mihael's offer to borrow his clothes). Mail needed to process what had just happened out loud, and this only worked when he was speaking to someone else. Usually he would have called Mihael or messaged Mello, but this was impossible, since the two were not only one and the same but the cause of his problem. There was only one other person he could talk to.
Linda picked up on the first ring.
"Hey," he tried his best to keep his voice calm.
"Where the hell are you?" She demanded. "Your mom said that you've been missing since yesterday. I've been worried sick!"
Yet you still didn't try to call me. Mail stopped himself from adding the bitter remark. He didn't have the energy to be angry at both Mihael and Linda.
"They didn't call the police or anything, did they?" Mail needed to make sure.
"No," she answered. "Your mom said something about you needing time to think through your actions. What did you do this time?"
"Nothing I should be punished for," he muttered.
"Where are you?" she asked again.
"I"m headed in the direction of the mall," he told here. "Can you meet me at Denny's?"
"Okay," she sighed. "But I better be getting an explanation."
"You will," he assured her. "Bring money."
"You're so cheep," she muttered.
"See you in a bit," he replied.
"You're kidding me, right?" Linda exclaimed very, very loudly.
Mail resisted the urge to glance around the restaurant and gage the amount of people staring at them.
"Do I look like I'm kidding you?" he asked dryly.
"I dunno, you have a good poker face," she shrugged.
"No, I don't," he argued.
"Well you're good at poker," she decided.
"Whatever," he rolled his eyes. "Can we get back to my life being over?"
"Of course," she pressed her lips together in a pained smile. "What are you going to do?"
"No fucking clue," he groaned.
"And the issue is bad enough it had brought innocent little Mail to swearing," she remarked.
"Yes," he looked at her seriously. "It is."
"I get that you're mad," she started.
"Infuriated," he corrected.
"I get that you're 'infuriated'," she corrected. "But it's kind of a romantic, isn't it?"
"Please don't use that word against me."
"I'm not trying to defend him, but you can sort of see his side of things," she continued.
"He's been lying to me for months," Mail exclaimed in exasperation.
"Okay," Linda looked equally frustrated. "So he's a terrible person and you can spend the rest of your life hating him."
"Don't make me the bad guy!"
"Well, that's what you're saying," she crossed her arms as she spoke.
"Fine," Mail gave up arguing with her. "How do you see his side?"
"He really likes you, right?"
"I guess," Mail shrugged, but she ignored him.
"He likes you enough to listen to you raving about your online crush," she continued.
"Which turned out to be him," he tried to interject.
"Enough to try to teach you Chemistry," she added.
Mail regretted telling her that part.
"Enough to make someone without a license drive to where you we stranded, because you were crying and didn't know what to do."
"I get it," Mail had to interrupt. "He's probably in love with me. I understand that!"
"Enough to lie to you because he wanted the person that you loved back to be real," she finished.
"You're making him sound like a martyr," Mail muttered.
"You only say that because you see my point," she beamed.
"Yeah," he sighed. "This doesn't mean that I forgive him. He stilled lied more for himself than he did for me."
Linda's face contorted into a pout.
"But I will listen to what he wants to say about it," he admitted.
"Good."
"When I called you it wasn't for advise, you know," he informed her.
"Yeah," she grinned. "But I want to help. You deserve to be happy, and I think he might too."
"You're probably right about that," he smiled back.
"Now go call him," she stood up from the booth. "I'll give you time to think about what you want to say."
"Thanks."
"By the way," she whirled around as is a thought had just occurred to her. "Happy Christmas."
"You too."
The end is near...pun intended.
Thank you to Lala the Screaming Fangirl, Electronic Ink 0, Carley-Carley-Carley, Ern Estine 13624, Anonsass, Corliss Kat, and Bummer.