Disclaimer: I do not own Death Note or the old PC game Abe's Oddworld.
A/N: I typed the first half of this on a laptop while sitting in a massage chair. My tummy is bouncing :3
Also, I just got a barrel cactus. His name is George. He is sitting next to me at the moment. Does anyone know how to take care of cacti?
"You. Do. What?"
I was dead. I was dead, and it was going to be because my boyfriend killed me.
Mail Jeevas. Nineteen-year-old Caucasian male. Cause of death: Multiple gunshot wounds to the head and all internal organs including the adrenal glands. DOA.
I had maybe twenty seconds to live. Ah, it had been a good life. Well, it hadn't been a bad life…
He grabbed me by the front of my shirt and shook me hard, and I accepted the inevitable. I could see the tunnel… what a pretty light… I think I'll go towards it…
"Answer me!" he screamed at me, his already twisted face contorting in a level of fury that he generally reserved for Near. "Matt, say it again or I swear I'll fucking kill you right now!"
What, so he can prolong the torture and kill me later? No, thank you. Nice try, Mello, but I know you too well.
My traitorous mouth answered him, though. Stupid mouth. If we weren't about to be killed anyway, I'd sew you shut. Like the dudes in Abe's Oddworld. Old school.
"Heroin," my accursed lips repeated. I could never disobey him, even when I tried. I'd never been able to, and assuming I made it out of this alive, I'd never be able to.
"Why in the fuck would you-" he didn't finish that sentence. He didn't need to finish that sentence; he was scary as Hell as it was. He lifted me off the ground with that impossible strength and threw me up against the nearest wall. He bashed me against it again for good measure. "Heroin? Damn it, you already smoke and why couldn't it be pot or-"
"It's my choice," I pointed out.
He dropped me hard, and I took the opportunity to punch him in the face.
He didn't go far, and he was instantly back on me, kneeing me in the gut and throwing me to the floor. "You stupid fuck! You stupid, retarded, idiotic, crazy, worthless, useless, dumbass fuck!"
I'd heard all those things before, so none of them really bothered me. Besides, I understood that this was how he freaked out. That's just how Mello rolled.
Plus, I had really good kicking leverage from where I was on the floor.
"Shit!" he exploded as my foot made contact with his shin. Hurt my toe. He didn't waste time nursing it, however, which is where he had me beat. He might be strong, but so am I. What he has is the experience. He spends half his life in physical fights, while I only occasionally have a round with just him. No one else can piss me off enough or, at least, no one else hits me first. Probably because they know Mello would kill them.
Anyway, back to the domestic violence.
"You little-" he kicked me right back, which hurt like a motherfucker, and I bit back a yelp. This wasn't over. I could still win this.
Or I could at least bruise him a little.
Mello was always saying I was just like a dog. Well, it was time to fight like one.
When the foot came back at me for another kick, I bit his ankle and held on, not letting go even when he jerked his leg back. He knew that if he kept struggling I'd either rip his skin off or he'd break my teeth, and neither of us wanted either of those things to happen. I might want to beat him to a pulp at the moment, but I didn't want to hurt him.
"You bitch!" he howled, and grabbed me by the hair and pulled straight up, hard.
I cried out, releasing his ankle when my mouth opened to make the sound, and I scrambled to my feet to relieve the pain searing my scalp. He let go of my hair once I was on my feet.
I never saw that right hook coming, and it's a nasty one. I've seen his victims when he's done with them. If they're still alive (which they rarely are), usually they wish they weren't. I could now understand why.
I moved to backhand him, but I was too dizzy to aim and he easily dodged.
"Would you ever stick a needle into me?!?!?" he demanded as I held my head, trying to make it stop spinning.
"Of course not," I said softly. I looked up at all three of him (Really, really dizzy) and the thought almost physically hurt, and worse than my possible concussion. The idea of Mello on drugs was appalling, it went against everything I knew and loved about him. He would never do something that would alter his mind like that. On the day we found out L died he didn't even drink himself into a stupor like I did. Maybe that's just how I deal with things, but that's me. It's totally different. He's used to feeling things. I'm Matt, I'm chill. It's what I do. And when something other than Mello makes me not that way, I can't deal with it.
But Mello. He was always feeling. He didn't need this stuff like I did, he didn't need to kill the brain cells and destroy his mind. He didn't need the addiction.
Of course I wouldn't do this to him. Wouldn't wish an addiction like this on him. Especially heroin. Mello doesn't need to mellow out. It would just be so wrong. He's supposed to be a tsunami. I'd cry if I ever saw him calm, like me. And the only way it could ever happen would be a drug.
He wasn't screaming. Why wasn't he screaming?
"Then don't do it to yourself," he said, almost inaudibly. "Just… don't. Okay?"
Right then, I wanted to agree with him. I wanted to grab his face and smash it to mine and kiss him until he couldn't breathe.
I opened my mouth to say it, to promise I'd stop right this very instant, but unfortunately my lips were still more loyal to him than they were to me. Instead of declaring myself a changed man, I whispered, "I can't."
"Of course you can. Why can't you? Just stop. You can't have been doing it for long enough for it to be a problem, even with your addictive personality," he said, trying to sound confident.
Whereas just a minute before I couldn't tear my eyes away from him, now I could not meet his gaze. "I'm good at hiding things," I told my socked feet.
He stepped back from me and I looked up.
"You've... been doing this?" he whispered.
I gave him a half-smile that I was aware probably looked broken. It probably also looked slightly hysterical. "Yeah."
"Why?" he begged. His voice cracked.
"Because..." Well, why had I? Everyone starts out with a reason, right? So what was mine?
Because I couldn't 'cope and deal' right? Isn't that what I had just said?
But looking into Mello's desperate eyes, it sounded like the dumbest reason in the world. Who needs a drug when I have him?! And yet, what do I go and do?
When I didn't complete my sentence, he asked, "Was it... did I do something...?"
"What?!" I demanded before I could think about it. "Of course it wasn't you! That's such a stupid question, Mels!"
He looked relived, but only slightly. "Then why?" he asked again.
"Because that's how I deal with things!" I declared, suddenly pissed off again. Gotta love heroin-induced mood swings. "You know this. You remember when L died. And when A killed himself and when we heard about B. When I'm scared; I shut down. When I hurt; I shut down. I'm not built to handle emotion. Geeze, I even drank myself sick when Near got his surgery!"
"But what's wrong right now?" He gestured wildly around at our crappy little apartment. "No one new is dead, we're not in danger, the Kira case is over, so what is it!?"
"I'm not like you! Sometimes I do shit without thinking about it first!"
His fist came at my face again, but I managed to drop to the floor before it made contact. Unfortunately, that left me on my butt, and it took me a few moments to scramble to my feet, during which time Mello got a few more good hits in. I shoved him away to give myself some time to recover, and then we were a flurry of fists and feet and hair and stripes and leather and a lot of remarkably creative curse words.
He slammed me into the wall for the millionth time in our oh-so-healthy-and-fulfilling relationship and the umpteenth time that day. He smirked and forced my head up to his by my hair, where I could see his furious, burning ra-
"If you wouldn't do it to me," he whispered, "then don't do it to yourself. Anything."
I kissed him quickly on the lips. "Could you let go of my hair, please?" He loosened his fingers and my hair follicles stopped shrieking. "Thank you. Now. Love, did you know that you're confusing as hell itself?"
He smiled gently, sadly. "I've been told that."
We were silent for a while, just looking at each other.
"What are we gonna do?" I whispered.
"Well there's... there's rehab places and everything," he mumbled. "They can, y'know, get you straightened out."
I hugged him around the waist. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around me, too. "'Kay," I said into his chest. His scent was as incredible as usual, like some strange combination of leather and chocolate that smelled like neither when all mixed up.
"Do you know, I did that shit for a while?" he murmured into my hair.
I wanted to punch him, but we were currently hugging and I much preferred that. Besides, I couldn't exactly hold it against him, now could I?
So I said, "No, I didn't."
"Yeah. When I left you at Wammy's. I thought it would chill me out a bit before I ran full sprint into self-destruct. And it did. Too much. It's... no good, Matt."
"So... you're really gonna go?" he prompted.
"Would you sign me up? If I do it myself, I'll leave myself a back door." I couldn't help it. That's how drug addicts function. We don't- and I don't- want to quit.
"Yeah, no problem. I'll do it now."
Mello released me and hurried into the next room, where the phone was. I didn't know how he had or knew the number, and I didn't ask. I watched him walk quickly away, running in my mind where my various stashes were and planning how to destroy them. At the moment I had enough self-control to do it, but I wouldn't for long.
When I had taken care of it, I plopped down on the bed I shared with my boyfriend.
I was in the most complicated relationship I had ever heard of. We beat each other up, we have passionate sex, and there's an unbreakable bond of understanding between us. We grew up together. We were the only ones who could stand each other. We had a small hand in defeating Kira, together. We sexually harassed each other on a daily basis. We were constantly hurting each other, loving each other, saving each other.
It was wild, it was completely chaotic, and an onlooker would call it mutually abusive.
It better than any drug.
And I would know.
A/N: George says thanks for reading. :)