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Poisoned With love	By : ShinigamiMailJeevas Category: Death Note > Yaoi-Male/Male > Mello/Matt Views: 1107 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I dot not own or make any money from Death Note

Chapter List
- 1-Poisoned With love
- 1
AN: This is what my mind thinks up when I dont have my Mello, and know I wont for a few days at the least...Spent three hours writing it :D

Poisoned with Love - Neon Hitch (no spaces) http: /www . youtube . com/ watch?v=sU-XPQlv14c&ob=av2e

(for dramatic moments "life is beautiful – acoustic version" by Sixx.A.M)

(for car scene "Sing you home" by Xania)

-Poisoned With Love-

She watched the figure stand perfectly straight, hands limp by their sides and staring off into the distance. He did not seem to notice that it was pouring down around him. That he was beyond drenched in water. That he was visibly starting to shiver. His gaze was fixated on some far off trail of footsteps that only he could see; something had snapped inside and no amount of yelling, shaking or taking away his games seemed to matter.

The pigtailed brunette bit her lip, debating whether she should brave the rain and pull him inside. But he always ended back outside, in that same position, in that same spot. She watched him for a few more long minutes—but in the end, she turned away, unable to watch him any longer.

.

Blood dripped on the wood floor as he paced in jerky movements under the pale moonlight that filtered in through the window. His mind was whirling. He had to leave, he had to get out of here, he needed to follow him-

He dug his nails deeper into the wound, feeling his insides at his fingertips. His jaw was clenched tightly shut and he did not utter a single pained sound even though it hurt so damn much. He ignored the stubborn tears that spilled from his eyes, and even the pulsing in his chest as his heart beat faster and faster.

He was dead weight; it was why he had been left behind.

He had to get better. Become useful. He couldn't wait until it was decided it was safe. There was no such thing, not where he knew Mello was going, had gone. The blond muttered to himself when he thought no one was listening—and Matt knew everything.

He curled his hand into a fist and felt something tear beneath his nails. Blood poured down his arm hot and fast but all he could do was stare at the empty bed illuminated by the moon. He needed him...

His vision became blurrier and the world tilted more. His arm felt numb. And he fell.

.

Attempted suicide they called it. He would have rolled his eyes had they not taken his goggles. He had done no such thing. The aim had not been to die. He had been caught up in his thoughts, and he might have dug around inside his arm too much. His fingernails had punctured his vein. Apparently, he had almost bled out on the floor.

He couldn't bring himself to care or to explain himself. It was easier if they thought it was a phase, something they could help with, give him meds for.

This had simply proved to him what Mello had known all along. He was weak. That he could only whine and complain and need. He clenched his fists. He hated that he was like this. Like a puppy deserted by its master. Like a schoolgirl with a crush.

Like he was in love.

.

He struggled and fought against the iron grip on his arms. Growled and hissed. Swore in a language he was certain they didn't know. Went limp and hoped he was dropped. None of it worked.

"There will be no more children running off to play hero, not until you are all properly trained or needed. You will stay in your room and be monitored so do think about that before you attempt to leave again."

Matt was thrown into his room and the door shut. He screamed. Kicked and scratched at the door. Threw anything and everything across the room.

He sat down and sobbed.

His plan had not gone accordingly and he was back in hell.

.

One of the older boys had had broken something in the hallway and he may or may not have have walked through the broken shards. He knew logically that the wetness on his feet meant he had cut them badly, and that he was probably leaving bloody footprints behind him.

Did he care though?

He held his broken Nintendo DS in his hands and trudged along. The screen was cracked and ever since he had thrown it at his door it hadn't turned on. It was a comfort though in a way. Just to hold it. His thumbs had scars on them from running the pads over the fractured screen.

He heard a gasp but ignored it. He needed to get to Mello.

Mello. His best friend.

"Matt, stay there, I'm going to get Mrs. Joanna-"

Mello. Who he had dreams about. Dreams a friend shouldn't have, and certainly shouldn't get hard to.

"Dear lord," he heard the nurse approach, "Matt please stand still."

Mello. Who he was in love with.

A crush wouldn't be this strong, wouldn't make his absence hurt so goddamn much. Wouldn't make him smile and frown at every memory of the blond.

"How did this happen? Matt?"

Mello...who had poisoned him. Infected every thought and action in his life. Got him addicted and then walked away leaving him with nothing. He was a junkie without his fix. He couldn't handle it. He was beyond repair. He needed Mello. "Mel..."

There was stoney silence and he was guided somewhere to sit. "Linda, please go get Roger here immediately," the nurses voice shook and her hands went to his face, pulling his gaze to her. "Matt, Mello left Wammys a year ago. You have got to let go of him-"

And that was why he had to follow him.

.

He was in his room again. His nearly empty room. Everything with a corner, an edge, anything sharp or remotely electronic had been taken. It was just as much of a punishment as it was a preventative measure to something he would never do.

Not usually...

He was slowly loosing his mind. In this bleak, dull, restricting place.

He ran his fingers over the thick scars on his left arm, where he had been sewn back together that night he had almost died. There were other scars on that arm. Ones he had done afterward. He found he liked the stinging pain. It provided no release, but his arms looked good dripping and red.

He lifted his shirt and poked at his stomach. He had to do this right or he would die. And that was not the goal. He wanted, needed, craved, obsessed over, Mello. And he would get him if it killed him.

They had taken everything they could find from the room. But no one knew Mello like Matt. And that the blond had a secret stash of things he had kept from Roger. Like the beauty in his hand. It was a shame to let them find it, but it was it out. Or so he hoped.

He pressed the blade to his stomach and slowly dug it in. It hurt a lot. Especially as the muscles tensed and contracted against his will. He dragged the blade across his flesh and hoped he had remembered the anatomy book correctly.

There were footsteps in the hallway and he knew it was for him. To drop off his school work and a meal. He might as well be in prison.

He worked quicker as the door was unlocked and opened. Wammys had gone insane.

He stared straight into Rogers eyes and plunged the blade deep in his gut.

.

.

"You need help Matt, you really do. Help we cannot give here-"

-And Matt grinned. Security had gotten tight, insane, dictatorial since Mello had left, 'escaped' to fight Kira. Matt had tried many times to get passed the gates of Wammys but was caught each and every time. It didn't matter what he did, how good he did it, he had been stuck.

The only way out until he was of age, or everyone fighting Kira was dead, was to be taken out.

He kept his head down and hidden by his shaggy muddled red hair so they could not see the wide stretched smile that broke his face. He could not help the shake of his shoulders, and he supposed it went with his 'mental breakdown' that they called it. Really, he was trying so hard not to laugh. They said he couldn't act, that he could only hide behind a wall of games—which had been why they had taken them.

The joke was on them now, wasn't it?

The euphoric bubbly feeling rose so high in his chest he thought he would collapse in a fit of giggling right then and there. But he didn't. He forced it down. He did not want to be restrained for laughing like a madman. He smoothed out his features into that blank soulless stare that Roger hated, and looked up.

The elder man shivered under his gaze and cleared his throat. "Matt, do you understand that you are leaving?" Matt didn't so much as move a muscle and Roger sighed, turning to the worried nurse, Mrs. Joanna, that had been head of their care since he had arrived there all those years ago.

"-I always knew that boy would destroy lives in his wake, I had just not anticipated this." Roger's gaze flickered to him again and Matt steeled himself not to react. If he broke now, he would never be believed again. He had to get out.

"Please get him ready to leave, the car will be here for him soon." Mrs. Joanna nodded to Roger and gently helped him off the bed once they were alone. "Matt, we need to get you dressed. Do you understand?" He ignored her and stared at the wall until she sighed and forced his arms carefully into the sleeves of a button up shirt. She hesitated at the thin cotton pants he wore and eventually left them on and went to grab him a jacket. He was grateful for that.

He quickly snatched something off the table to the far left—it had been left there earlier when a smaller Wammys house child had split open their knee and needed it stitched—and hid it under his clothing.

"Here we go Matt...all bundled up now," Mrs. Joanna smiled painfully as she pulled a thick jacket over him but he did not feel guilt. They should have just left him leave. And after he was gone, they would regret not doing so. He had access to all the accounts and money of the house. The funding.

It was cold outside and it made the object hidden against his side even colder as they waited. A black car rolled through the rot iron gates and his fingers twitched by his sides. He was seated inside as directions were given to the escorts, one a doctor from the hospital on Wammys payroll. He had seen him before. Had even spoken to him. They all had after Beyond...

He kept his gaze straight ahead and not on the scenery that passed by him. His timing had to be perfect. Far enough away from Wammys, but not too public—and definitely not on hospital grounds. He would have to judge the surroundings and pick the moment to act.

Something was going on that day, maybe shops closing early, or a holiday, but it made the streets crowded. So much so that the driver took a quiet side street. It was an unexpected alteration to the route, yet perfect. He waited, muscles poised, until the car paused at a stop sign.

And then he lunged.

The doctor in the passenger seat looked stunned at the blood that ran down his hand—the hand connected to the gushing wound in the drivers neck where a pair of surgical scissors had been plunged into. Matt ripped them free and jumped onto the doctor who was fumbling with his kit, searching for a sedative or perhaps something stronger.

Matt struck him again and again. His breathing was heavy and he kept hitting the doctor until he had stopped moving, not so much as even a twitch. His eyes were wide as he stared at the reflection of himself in the glass.

He was covered in blood. Splatters across his face, mouth, arms and shirt. Large soaping stains seeped across his front and sides. The hand clutching the scissors was red and dripping. He stared for a long moment before dropping the scissors and pushing his way from the car.

He would clean himself up somewhere, and then he would disappear.

.

.

He hugged the blond close and breathed in the scent of leather and gunpowder. Mello stood there stunned and unable to articulate a single word. He was quite literally shocked to see him.

He knew Mello had been prepared to leave his past behind, all for Kira, all for Near. However he wasn't going to let him. And he didn't care what he had done or had to do to make it happen. Mello slowly, and hesitantly hugged him back, holding him so tight it hurt his bandaged stomach. Matt never wanted him to let go.

"Matt...I'm glad you are here." Mello whispered by his ear and it was everything Matt had wanted to hear.

.

Mello never asked about the scars on his arms or stomach—the ones he stroked when they laid naked and lazy in bed—Or how he had found him. Matt believed that Mello had just never thought about it, simply content with him there, perhaps even believed the scars were from his life before Wammys. And Matt wasn't about to tell him differently.

Matt stared out the window, Game Over beeping insistently from his lap. His fingers twitched and he smiled a wide broken smile that even Mello would have questioned had he seen it.

-The End-

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Poisoned With love