O.O Ok I feel really bad right now. I meant to be finishing The Silly Choices We Make (which I will) but then I was suddenly hit by this idea! Really it hit me like a ton of bricks and I *had* to write it down, please don't kill me! DDX Anyway, this is another LxLight story, it's a lot…darker/more depressing than I usually write but that's why I kinda like it. This is the first chapter, it's kinda short but the stopping place was necessary for the time lapse. Hope you like it.
Warnings: Mentions of child prostitution, language, drug/alcohol use
*Disclaimer will be here and no where else since I hate having to type it in each chapter. I don't own Death Note in any way shape or form.*
He didn't mean to kill her, but if he didn't she would have killed him.
"You fucking brat, I hate you! You shouldn't have been born in the first place!" BOOM! The sound of a gunshot would be forever engraved in Light Yagami's 12 year old brain. The now still body of his mother fell forward onto her son's frame, toppling him to the ground. The scent the sight of blood was everywhere, seeping from a fatal wound right between his mother's open and unseeing eyes. Light pushed his mother's body off of himself, scrambling a good 3 feet away from the corpse, hand to his mouth as he gazed at his mother's body in pure horror. The cool silver gun was clutched in his other hand which was shaking as he threw the weapon across the room.
What…have I done?
Tears streaked down his face has he cried, more out of fear of being completely alone rather than the fact that his mother was dead. Suddenly, he turned away from the sight, his stomach heaving and he vomited violently onto the molding wood of his floor. Weak and trembling, Light stood up slowly, using the back of his hand to wipe his mother's blood from his face. He padded over to his mother's body, gazing down at her face, looking into those unseeing eyes, pain and a sliver of fear forever etched into her deceased stare. She did look rather pitiful.
Even though he was scared for his life about the events that would most likely take place in the near future, Light couldn't help the small smile that cracked his blood crusted and tear streaked face. His lips twitched and twisted slowly into a sickly satisfied grin and a perverse giggle began to build in his chest. That bitch…is finally dead..The giggle soon turned into a chuckle and eventually Light was doubled over in a blood curdling cackle, his eyes wide open as he laughed at his mother's body.
"Fuck you bitch! I knew you'd get what was coming to you!" Light hooted maniacally, his brain clouded with madness. In a quick haste, Light streaked over to the abandoned gun he had thrown, taking it into his hands and grinning at it. "Thank you so much." He smirked, kissing the barrel of the weapon. With the gun in hand, he marched back over to the body, pointing the gun at the already dead carcass. By now he had broken down again, tears pouring freely down his face as his psyche began to crack into pieces, his emotions bouncing off the walls. "This is for every time you hit, punched, kicked, or raped me." He fired 3 shots into the body, the limbs flopping around grotesquely from the force of the bullets. "This is for that time you trapped me in your closet for a week with no food or water while you went off and got drunk and high." Light pulled the trigger and fired 7 more times, filling the head with bullet holes. More blood began to pool around the body and splattered his own clothes and skin but Light didn't care.
He began listing things that his mother had done to him, relentlessly shooting the dead body until there were no more rounds in the pistol. Having exerted so much energy in yelling and screaming, he stood there in the middle of the room, his chest heaving. He came down from his enraged high, looking back down at his mother's battered and ripped to pieces body. For the third time that day, tears flowed down his cheeks, much harder than before. His body suddenly felt weak and his legs couldn't support him anymore as he dropped to his knees in front of his mother, crying so hard that it hurt to take a breath. He buried his face into his mother's bloody, mangled chest, ignoring the flowing blood, crying into her shirt.
What…have I done?
Light Yagami, now 23 years old was working at his first job in a small slightly rundown diner in the south end of Manhattan, New York City. Since that fateful day 11 years previous, his life had never been the same. He was scarred, wounded, hurt, betrayed, but somehow he managed to wear a smile everyday. After his mother died, he was on his own. He didn't have a father and he didn't have any siblings or relatives that weren't his Uncle Aizawa but he was currently in the California penitentiary for the kidnapping, rape and brutal slaying of not one, but four 5 year old girls.
He grew progressively more twisted as he aged, his psyche permanently damaged beyond repair. He lived in his mother's house for as long as he could, using her various credit cards to keep the lights and water on and buying miniscule amounts of food for himself whenever he could. Eventually the little money he had ran dry. He had to keep tricking the landlord by saying he'd pay rent, he had to lie to child services and say that everything was okay. When he eventually was forced to evict, he packed a small backpack with whatever was an absolute necessity: a small emergency wad of cash his mother had kept under her mattress, a picture of his childhood friend who passed away Mihael, a few changes of underwear, a hairbrush, and a silver pendant that was given to him by his father when he was born that he wore on his neck everyday.
In the dead of night, Light slipped out of the ratty apartment complex and into the vast and unforgiving streets of New York City. He was alone and scared but if he didn't leave, he'd be taken to an orphanage. He was damn near 13 years old and could take care of himself. Or so he thought. After a week of scrounging around back alleys for scraps of food and using up all of his emergency money, he learned that he would need to find a way to support himself and also to find a place to live. Unfortunately at the time, it wasn't actually legal for him to get a job, so there were really only a few options. He tried stealing, begging for jobs, and just plain begging for food and shelter. None of this worked and being starving and incredibly desperate he resorted to the last thing he ever expected to be doing.
Every night or every other night, Light would travel to the sleazier part of town. He would be dressed in his normal clothes even though they were a bit dirty and tattered, and stand on the street corners, absentmindedly watching cars as they passed, trying to make himself appear as if he was just minding his own business. Then, one rundown car would slowly pull up to the curb where he was standing and the window would roll down, and usually an equally rundown man would lean out of the window.
"Hey kid, how would you like to take a ride with me?" He'd say, and on the outside Light would pretend to look helpless and scared, but on the inside he was counting up how much money he would receive. They'd chat for a few moments while Light discussed how much he cost while the man would usually sit there incredulous for a moment before grinning perversely. Light practiced the act well, the poor little boy reluctantly getting in the car and the man driving him to some sleazy hotel to have his way with him before forking over the cash and kicking him out on the street again. Light felt dirty. So so so dirty for having to live this way but whatever brought cash in he dealt with. He spent his life this way for a few months, eventually gaining enough money to rent a small pre-furnished apartment where he'd retreat to after a customer would leave him feeling dirty, violated, and disgusted with himself. The water was running and he'd bathe himself every night, trying to scrub the feel of the men (and sometimes women) touching him off until his skin was so red it started to bleed, but it never worked. He still felt dirty. And he was starting to feel sick. As in very sick. All the late nights, all the men, barely any sleep and barely any food were starting to get to him, but he couldn't go to any doctor or to any hospital because he barely made enough money to pay his measly two-hundred dollars a month rent and buy food for himself. He then began to use drugs and alcohol to cope.
He'd use any drug he could get his hands on: marijuana, cocaine, LSD, even meth at one point. He'd drink during his nights when he was working the corners, in hopes that it would stop him from feeling anything. He'd use the drugs when he got home when the drunken stupor wore off. He was rarely sober, and when he was, he felt like trash, he felt like he wanted to die.
Part of the agreement he had made with the apartment's tenant was that he would pay rent on time, and the tenant wouldn't call child services. But when the man finally figured out why Light hadn't been home all hours of the night, and why he was starting to feel so sick, the tenant had to break the agreement or else he knew Light would eventually die.
One day, while Light was taking a break from his "job", he was curled up in his ratty bed, trying to sleep despite the raging fever he had been dealing with for the past two weeks. He heard a strident knock on the door, the sound of knuckles pounding on wood made his empty stomach dry heave. He reluctantly crawled out of bed, the room spinning as he crept out of his room and towards the door.
"Who is it?" Light called weakly, his voice hoarse.
"It's Mr. Mukato." His tenant replied. In his feverish fog, Light's brow crumpled in thought. I thought I had paid this month's rent already… His thoughts were broken when the man spoke again. "Could you open the door Light, I would like to have a word with you." Light groaned inwardly, subconsciously wishing he had something that could kill the man so that he could be left alone to slowly die in peace.
"Can't this wait until later, Mr. Mukato?" Light croaked, his irritation swelling. The man outside the door sighed and Light could tell he was shaking his head.
"No, Light. I have to speak to you now." His voice was firm and left no room for discussion. Light gritted his teeth, trying to straighten his hair and wipe the sweat off his forehead before, hesitantly, opening the door. Who he opened the door to was not Mr. Mukato. It was a woman in a navy blue suit. She was average height, with long black hair. Not bad to look at, Light thought, looking her up and down discreetly.
"Who are you?" Light rolled his eyes, leaning against the doorframe, crossing his arms over his chest. "Look ma'am, I've specifically told my customers that my times are from 11 pm to 3 am and—"
"Are you Light Yagami?" The woman asked, cutting his off. Light looked up at her in irritation, scowling.
"What if I say I am?" He replied, his tone clipped. The woman dug through the purse slung over her shoulder, obviously looking for something. She pulled out a card and handed it to Light. Light snatched it from her and scanned over it.
Naomi Misora, Child Services.
Light froze, his breath stopping in his throat. Shit.
"What are you doing here? How the hell did you find me?" Light hissed, ripping the card in half. His irritation soon bubbled into anger when Mr. Mukato stepped out from behind the woman.
"I'm sorry Light," the man apologized, "but if I didn't do something, you might have died. I had to call Ms. Misora, she'll make sure you get the loving home that you ne—"
"HA!" Light spat, throwing the ripped card into his face. "Loving home? When you say that it just makes me wanna laugh!" His voice was growing louder in hysteria. "I don't know what love is and I've been perfectly fine on my own without you interfering you bastard! Part of our agreement was that you wouldn't call them," he jabbed a finger in Naomi's face while still yelling at Mukato, "if I paid rent every month like I have been. It's not you're responsibility to be worried for me, you aren't my father! I've never had a damn father! I'm not in need of anyone to tell me what to do or how to live my life. If you think for one second that I'm going to—!" Light's rant was cut short by the sharp stab in his chest. He dropped to his knees, clutching his torso as he tried to breathe though his constricted windpipe. The world began to crumble around him, the shocked faced of Mr. Mukato and Naomi Misora blurring around him before finally dropping out of his vision all together. Am I…dying? Light wheezed a few times before coughing, blood splattering the ground in an asymmetrical pattern. The last thing he heard was his own words to the pair of adults standing helplessly before him.
Then everything went black.