Note: A oneshot to get back to business and put myself in the mood before I go back to my multichaptered fics (so expect more updates during this week end!)
I wanted to explore a darker side of Mello, something really harder and twisted than what I wrote before. Be warned.
And it's the first time I do something I thought I could never do, I'm not telling what, you'll see, I don't want to ruin the suspense.

I am someone you don't want to meet, someone you don't want to have anything to do with, someone you don't even want to hear about.
I am someone.

I'm the one that claimed Mail as my personal slave. My servant, my nigger, my doll. My thing.
Matt was a name I gave him. First because masters always name their pets. I marked him as mine with a name, but believe me, he never needed a name tag to be reminded of how I owned him, so completely owned him.
Second because it suited him. Have you ever wondered if Matt could be something else than the real first name? It was something else.
I'm pretty sure you'll regret knowing, but the sole idea that you'll hate me a little more for that is way too appealing to let go.
Matt as in mattress. Yeah, nothing more than the shorten form of what he was, the way I treated him, the way he acted. A mattress. A rug. Not worth the dirt under my shoes, but collecting it all the same.

I was twelve, and he wasn't far from it when he arrived at Wammy's. I knew immediately he would serve my plans very well. Did you really think I'd stayed in that orphanage for so long just for the love of it? No. It was part of my plans. So when the perfect puppy arrived, I couldn't help but think a little higher of myself. Fate had provided me with the slave I needed, just like that. I owned fate itself.

He didn't resist when I grabbed his arm, leaving my fingers imprinted in blue a few hours later. He looked at me with wide eyes, on the verge of tears, but he quickly blinked hard to prevent them from falling, my gaze convincing enough for him to understand right away that it didn't do anything to me except putting me in a rage he wouldn't want to taste.

Years later, when I left Wammy's, I took him. In all the possible ways.
I don't know how he got the idea that my departure meant his freedom, I don't even understand how he could be so ungrateful.
I've provided him someone to worship, someone to respect, I've honoured him with my presence, giving him, and only him, the privilege of seeing me sleep, shower, study, allowing him to play games and get distracted from my person while I fucked Linda in the same room, in his bed because I didn't want to soil mine with bodily fluids, letting him watch me pound into the stupid bitch as she moaned from pleasure, and even, after I had noticed he was only watching me, uncaring for the girl as his eyes stared at my body, my ass, my dick, and realising I was turning him on, I made a sign to him with a hand to have him approach the creaking bed, and as I felt the familiar heat pool in my groin, I pulled him closer, grabbing the back of his head, and shot my load on his lips.
I gave him everything. Everything, and he wanted to get away from me? Bastard.

So yeah, I took him.
First, I took him hard, from behind, ripping his clothes apart, holding his arms behind his back for him to submit, and when he gave in, unable to take the pain anymore as I almost broke his arm, I penetrated him and gave him what he had seemed to want each time I gave it to Linda.
He cried, screamed of pain, struggled and bled, but I know he wanted it. That little bitch boy.
Then I took him with me, in a shithole I had found, leaving him to sleep on the ruined couch as I shared the bed with my one night stands every night, sometimes allowing him to get the remains of the sluts I brought home, but he wouldn't touch them, never. So dumb. So helplessly gay.
I took his sanity, his life, everything he was and had. I made it all mine. He didn't need anything but a bit of food, sleep, and me, after all. What else could he dream of when he shared his life with someone like me?
I was doing him a favour, and a really big one.

Soon, climbing levels in the Mafia allowed no time for girl chasing, and the ones surrounding me in the Mob were so used and abused that I wouldn't put my dick in such cumbuckets. So Matt became my own personal fuck thing.
There was something nice to have him suck me, lick me and take me everytime I wanted it, to have the same person every night in my bed. He quickly learnt what turned me on, what pleased me, and how to make me come. I, for once, could almost have liked him for that. Almost.

And, to tell the truth, he was the one who liked me. I saw it in his eyes, each time I glared at him and only this odd expression echoed in his pupils, each and everytime I fucked him, each and everytime he came, whispering my name softly as he laid loving eyes on me, knowing I would slap him for that each time, but still he did say my name, and still his eyes glimmered with love.
I stopped slapping him after some time. After all, it wasn't his fault, even I could admit it.
How could he not love me?

Have you ever wondered if I really was a believer? Catholic? Me? Let me laugh. So stupid...
Had I been a believer, a Christian, would I have killed, fucked girls out of marriage, fucked guys? Would I have lied, stolen, beaten, devoted myself to illegal activities?
Each time my boots beat the marble of a church, each time I passed the porch of a pseudo holy place, it wasn't to pray, or beg a figure carved in wood to forgive my sins.
No, the only reason I entered a cathedral or a temple was to reassert my dominance over the world, to mock Jesus face to face.

Chasing Kira. Why was it me against Near, ever wondered? Because L had died. Like a dog.
L's never been a model to me, unlike what people used to think. If I wanted the spot, it was only for the contacts, the power. I didn't give a fuck about justice, I wanted L's means, and nothing else. And Near was in my way.

Chasing Kira was never a battle for justice and a long run to the first place, no. It was a fight between God wannabes, with a helpless albino brat in the middle, trying to stop one or both of Light and me.
Yeah, Near was the good guy in the story. He didn't show any emotion, he was so much like L. Justice. Law. Good against bad. Stupid.

I wanted the world, I wanted eternity, I wanted to be reckoned as God.
Because I was.
I had the beauty, the irresistible ways to get what I wanted, I had power with the Mafia, and I had the brain. The whole world was mine to take and it was only a matter of getting to Yagami and take back what was mine: world domination. The pretty boy had thought he could rule things, but he was nothing. Had he been alone, without a shinigami, he would have been nothing.
I didn't need a shinigami, I even owned them. Sidoh. Stupid.

I took the frustration on Matt too many times to count. I also had to call the doctor too many times to count. The bastard was so fragile, he couldn't even take a blow.
But secretly, I loved the scars I marred him with day after day. Mine.

One day, I blew myself in the Mafia hideout. I didn't come back home for days. I woke up in a bed that wasn't mine, in a hospital. When I opened my eyes, and that they had adjusted enough to the blinding light above me, I distinguished someone I didn't expect to be here, beside the bed. Near.
The brat had saved me from what would have been my burning grave, like he said. Stupid. As if I could die.
Near didn't even realise that my fate was so powerful that he'd just been put on purpose on my way that day. He wasn't a saviour, just a pawn on my path. Used and then useless.

When I came back home, Matt cried. Poor little thing, feeling abandoned and alone. Poor puppy missing his master, worrying even. Stupid thing.
I slapped him out of my way, wanting to watch the damage on my face closer, but as I stared at my fresh scar in the mirror, the look of awe in Matt's eyes behind me told me that the scar wasn't that bad after all, that I probably could use some of its badass look to my advantage.

He tried to go away from me, a second time. That girl stayed at home several days, relinquishing him to the couch again. It wasn't a serious relationship, but she was the daughter of the highest ranked Mafia mob and I was seeing my interest in that relationship.
Oh, the look in Matt's eyes. Such big wet eyes. So much hurt contained in those blue orbs.
I smirked at the poor display of broken heart.
But I didn't expect him to be gone when I woke up beside my girl the next morning.

I chased after him for days, dismissing the girl and losing the spot I coveted.
When I found him, hiding in a disaffected building, dirty and hungry, I brought him home. He stared at me the whole week, each time I came closer to him. I know he was waiting for the blow to come. When he showered, when he ate, when I fucked him, when he fought not to fall asleep beside me...
But no matter how hard I tried, I wasn't angry. At that time, I didn't find out why. I just forgot about it and went on with life.

He helped me with the Kira case, a lot. Fate had really been good with me, providing me with such a perfect slave. No matter what I needed him to do, he could do it. But I guess it's only fair, after all, people like me can only be surrounded by people worth them. I didn't need a crowd of useless shit around me. The crowd would worship me soon, fear me and pray me. But there was no way they would approach my person. I had already let Matt, and it was a lot. I hope he knew how lucky he was. I guess he knew.
I only needed the people that could bring me something near me, and I had to admit he brought me a lot of what I needed. For the rest, it was up to him to give more, I didn't give a shit if he wanted to do extras like loving me. I guess it was convenient, he was easier to handle, feeling this way toward me. Would he have done all of this without love?

He had nightmares, all of a sudden. I first felt like beating the shit out of him for waking me in the middle of the night, but I discovered that it was easier to let him cuddle and fall asleep his head on my shoulder, so I let him for the sake of my sleep time. They got worse with time, and I soon ended up holding him from the moment he fell asleep to prevent him from having them, it was better than being awoken and having to calm him down during long minutes when all I wanted to do was go back to sleep.

He grabbed a red heart shaped confetti falling from above us one day that we were walking past a wedding store in LA on Valentine's day, as I was pulling him to the nearest leather store so he could pay for new leather pants to replace the ones he had damaged the day before while trying to clean them. He had spent the night hacking to get the money, and I was determined to make him pay with his own money.
I remember the smile on his face as he watched the confetti fall, just before he caught it, and then the fear in his eyes as he turned his head to watch me. He quickly hid the heart shaped piece of paper in his hand, crumpling it. I almost broke his fingers, trying to uncurl them, and took the confetti. I slicked it before sliding it in my pocket. He gave me a worried look then stared at his feet, looking guilty.
I briefly wondered if he aimed to give it to someone. But who would he give it to, after all? He didn't know anyone else than me. And I had taken it anyway. Case closed.

His state went bad. I tried to give him more food, maybe he had a late growth increase, we were 18 at that time.
But it got worse with time, he lost weight although he ate, and his already pale skin was slowly turning to a grey hue I disliked. I had to stop fucking him, he couldn't even take it anymore.

He became really sick. I was magnanimous enough to call the doctor when he didn't recover after two weeks of staying in bed.
He happened to have leukaemia. I had to send him to a sanatorium.

I briefly wondered how it could have happened, as I looked at him laid in this white room, under white sheets, with tubes plugged to him and his skinny frame looking half dead.
But I shrugged it off. After all, it wouldn't be long until he recovered and came back home. I wanted it so it would just be that way, and I left.

Weeks later, the hospital called to announce me that Matt was dead.

I am someone you don't want to meet, someone you don't want to have anything to do with, someone you don't even want to hear about.
And you're damn right, I tell my reflection in the mirror.

Because for once I see myself like I truly am. And I understand the decrease of angriness, of blows, I even become aware of the way I tried to care for him, unconsciously. And how much I have always needed him, how he has tried to save himself from me and how he never needed me, but wanted me anyway.
And when it's my turn to have nightmares, the other side of the bed is empty and of no comfort, because he's gone. Mail's gone. And somehow, I'm happy. Because someone above was mighty enough to take him back before I kill him.

Playing God, I lost an angel.

Note: Yeah, for the first time, I killed one of them. "We stand to fall" doesn't count, they died because they were old in that fic so that wasn't my fault...