The guy with the knife grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me around. By pure, scared-shitless luck, I managed to land a blow spot-on on his Adam's apple, which, if delivered hard enough, can temporarily incapacitate someone. He sputtered, dropping to his knees, and another one lunged at me, throwing me to the floor. My head made a nasty noise as it smacked against the ground.
The first guy had dropped the knife, and the second guy snatched it up off the floor and pressed it against my cheek. His voice was a low rumble. "Are you, or have you been affiliated in any way with a girl by the name of Misa Amane?"
"Who wants to know?"
"I said we ask the questions!" he snapped, sinking the knife into my face.
I can honestly say it was probably the most painful thing I've ever experienced in my life. My vision clouded over like I had cataracts or something, and I couldn't even scream. I just lay there, making all these throaty gasping noises, like I was suffocating. He dragged the slick metal down my cheek, slicing what appeared to be a triangle. My arms and legs spasmed like snakes on caffeine, and I tried to move my hand, my wrist, anything. Nothing going.
...
My head dropped between my knees as the bathroom stall door clicked shut. I had requested five minutes from Miss Yagami, which she had given to me, surprisingly. Sometimes Miss Y could be a slave driver.
In the studio, there was no time to freak out, to grasp the fact that yes, gasp gasp, I had been molested. Soldiering on was something we always had to do, given any circumstance. But...wasn't this a different circumstance?
I didn't want to think. Didn't want to cope, or freak out, whatever. All I could do was sit there and relive the past few hours.
So as to avoid getting my costume dirty before we began shooting, they had given me back the clothes I'd been wearing before, not knowing that they didn't belong to me at all. Absentmindedly, I let my hands run over the soft denim of the jeans. The black fabric was worn soft as silk from use. I tried to imagine Mello with a mother, putting his clothes into the washing machine and pouring in a cup of fabric softener.
Did Mello have a mother? Did Mello have anyone? I mean, under what conditions would you have to run away and have to do that kind of thing...for money?
Someone was knocking at the door. "Misa-Misa?"
I recognized the voice as Weddy's. "Yeah?"
"Could you hurry up? I need to piss like a racehorse."
What a colorful expression.
"I'm coming out." She slipped past me, graceful as a cat.
"Thanks," she murmured. Surprise, surprise, Miss Y was waiting at the bathroom door.
"Misa, can we talk?"
"Sure."
She took my hand and led me aside. "Alright, I know you're probably feeling overwhelmed. This is your first time in England, you have to meet new people, I get it. I just want to make sure you're not doing anything stupid."
My stomach twisted into a ball of yarn. She thought I'd been drunk out of my mind when that person took the picture. She thought I was stupid and irresponsible. "Who do you think I am, Lindsay Lohan?"
"Misa, I didn't mean–"
"I...I know. Sorry." I put a hand to my forehead. "Can I have an Advil or something?"
"Yeah, sure. Hold on." She dug around in her purse. "You not feeling too well?"
What an understatement. Truthfully, I felt like bursting into tears and hugging Miss Yagami, the mistress of show business herself. But crying and hugging was for girls with parents.
"Lunch break is in twenty minutes. Think you can last until then?" I accepted the Advil she offered me and gulped it down.
"Yeah. That's fine."
...
I don't remember L finding me, or the ride to the hospital.
Hell, I don't remember a whole lot, except for when I woke up, there were a bunch of doctors hovering over me.
"Mihael Keehl?" One of them said, an elderly Asian man with snow-white hair.
"Yeah?" The pain in my cheek was gone, replaced by a tingling. My throat felt bone dry, my tongue swollen. I tried to swallow and ended up coughing.
"Do you know what day it is?"
"Fifteenth of August, 2009."
"Your age?"
"Eighteen."
"Occupation?"
"Escort."
"You seem to have had a nasty fall. You're lucky it didn't take out an eye."
"Wait...what?"
"You don't remember?" the doctor smiled. "That's understandable. The man who brought you here told me you tripped and hit your letter opener."
"Oh...yeah." I tried to sit up.
"Best not to move. Your...boss financed the stitches. You'll have a scar, but it's removable with cosmetic surgery."
"Right." I coughed again. "Would you like some water?"
"Yes, please."
I was grateful when they left.
...
We were at lunch break. Sayu had shown up, Quiznos subs in hand, and me and her and Sophia had hunkered down in the studio's break room. Weddy and Hal had invited us to go with them to some super upper-class Thai restaurant, but we politely refused.
"Do you like England, Misa-Misa?" Sophia asked out of the blue.
"It's..." I bit down on my lip. It had started trembling. "Different, that's for sure."
"Yeah." She sipped her Dr. Pepper, caught up in that bubble of innocence most kids floated around in until they turned ten.
Ms. Yagami popped her head in through the doorway. "Five more minutes, girls!"
Sayu began clearing our trash away. "Hey, Misa," she called over her shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"Rico and Sophia invited the two of us over for dinner at their house the day after tomorrow. That sound alright with you?"
Well, gosh. Between hanging out with two superficial Barbies and Rapist Ken and going to dinner at the house of two perfectly sane people? That's a toughie.
"I'm sure I can do it."
"For real?" Sophia sounded beyond overjoyed.
"Yep."
"I can't wait to tell all my friends that Misa-Misa came over to my house for dinner!"
I laughed. She was a cute kid.
Ms. Yagami appeared in the room again, brandishing her cell phone. "Someone's on the phone for you, Misa," she told me, her poker face on. She had to make sure it wasn't a crazy stalker or whatever.
I took the phone. "Hello?"
"Misa Amane? This is L Lawliet."
"Excuse me?"
"I have something rather...important to discuss with you. I would prefer if we conducted this conversation in private." I edged back into the bathroom. Thankfully, it was empty.
"Yes?"
"I understand you've become acquainted with a young man by the name of Mihael Keehl?"
My hand jerked involuntarily. "Yes. Why?"
"He's an employee of mine here at Vega. He was involved in an accident of sorts this morning. I checked the call log on his phone and found this number. I'm assuming you called it."
"I did. What do you mean by accident?" My heart was thudding so hard I could hear it in my ears, a fast, overpowering whoosh, whoosh.
"He's in the Intensive Care Unit of the Hendersen Family Practice Clinic on Penumbra Avenue. I'm sure he would appreciate a visit from you."
"What happened to him?" The room literally felt like it was spinning.
"He had a run in with some bad people. I'm sure he'd be glad to fill you in with some details. That is, if you'd visit him."
"I–" I clenched my hands so hard my nails broke skin. Cursing under my breath, I leaned against the wall, pressing my hot forehead against cool, unyielding tile. Of course I wanted to visit him. I owed him more than anyone could have possibly imagined. And if this L Lawliet guy was telling the truth, this 'run-in' could have been Light's doing.
...
Matt had come to visit. He'd brought me a bar of chocolate and, for some reason, a copy of Star magazine.
Chocolate was out of the question. It hurt my face too much to talk, let alone eat.
"Go to page 14," was all he said when I looked up at him curiously.
Page 14 featured a blurry photo of me carrying Misa into Vega. It was late at night, and lighting wasn't really the best, so you could only see the back of my head, but her face was unmistakeable. Sucking in my breath, I skimmed through the article.
Singer-songwriter Misa Amane is known to have been in England, recording a single and music video with popular all-girl Brit Pop band Broken Wings, but is Japan's 'good-girl' not so good anymore? An unidentified source claims that they saw Amane, 17, being escorted into nightclub Vega by an unknown male. Further details will be divulged soon.
I dropped the magazine. "Fuck, Matt. This is bad."
He lit a cigarette. "You're tellin' me."
A/N: So, whad'ja think? I know it's been awhile since I've updated, and I'm sincerely sorry about that. But I hope this will be good for a little while. New chapters coming reasonably soon, I swear on Light's douche-baggey broken nose! Love y'all! Oh, and Light wants to say something!
LIGHT: WHY, OH WHY does Elle have to make me the bad guy? I mean, I'm really not such a bad guy! And why'd she have to break my beautiful nose! I swear to God, that girl's a masochist! Oh, and I want some screen time in this story! Write a chapter from my POV!
ELLE: And if I don't?
LIGHT: *opens Death Note*
ELLE: Well, you have a treat coming up, readers! Don't kill me Light!