Spiders Caught in Tangled Webs

a story by Elphabah

PART I.

Matt stared at his bloody arm, fascinated by the gaping hole where a stray bullet had wedged itself in the muscle tissue. It wasn't every day one aquired such a wound. Funny thing was it wasn't how Matt had imagined it to be. In video games it wasn't nearly so messy. Or gross. And painful. He moved his hand absently and accidently placed it in the sticky substance coagulating on the concrete floor. His own lifeforce pooling around him like a minature mote. Why was the room spinning? He laid his head aganst the crate, sitting with his back against its hard surface.

"How long?" He asked, in the darkness Mello can't see that his comrade is most certainly not up for conversation. He wouldn't mind a trip to the hospital perhaps, although doctors and their cold fingers tend to irk Matt, but conversation was not on his list. Outside, Chicago's charming ambiance of rain and thunder was pounding on the factory's tin roof. Matt was speechless for a long pause, letting Mother Nature fill the silence, but Mello's fierce stare is something he can feel even if he can't exactly make out the other boy nearby. Just the thought of it makes him nervous and subconsiciously he finds himself fidgeting with the 9mm in his good hand as if the answers to the question might be written on the hammer. A script of somesort, anything really, to help alleviate the awkwardness of this exchange. If this were a movie, surely it would have been worthy of a comedic relief. A little gag to cast humor on their words. But alas, Matt realizes that try as he might to wait for the moment to arrive, the scene in which everything will be smoothed over is not on the horizon.

"What do you mean, 'how long?' " Matt stalled, the words dribbling out of his mouth and he listens to his own voice sound much like that of a drunk. Truth be told, he had never pictured them talking like this. Certainly not in a dilphapated factory, ducked behind a wall of crates as they waited for the police to drive away. It was really just another day in the life of two criminals. Steal something, in this case their weekly groceries, and artfully dodge the attention of their friends in blue. Criminal was such a harsh word though, Matt prefered to call himself law-abiding challenged. It made it sound like his lifestyle was more like a handicap. One wouldn't look at a crippled person with disgust. That's just bad taste. So surely people could offer some sympathy [or at least some food for this poor deliquent. This law-abiding challenged young man. At least was the explanation Matt like to entertain from time to time. For the most part it suited his interests.

"You fucking know exactly what I mean," Mello growled in a frustrated tone, waving his gun in Matt's direction. I certainly hope he doesn't shoot me. One bullet wound is enough for me today I think. Matt blinked, his gaze blurry around the edges. Why do so many of their adventures end with one of them being seriously maimed and/or in a great need of a band-aide? If Matt had any sense of self-preservation he devised it might have been benefictial to take up a different existence.

Naturally inclined to value his life, Matt looks at the gun in his hand and then Mello's annoyed expression, then back down at the gun. So why did he have to say those words? Why did he have to place himself in this situation where he had to answer such an embarrassing question. He had panicked. When the barrel of that officer's gun lit up, it was like his whole world had been set in a split-second fire. An incineration of all the memories he had accumulated of his eighteen-year existence. What was it people often described? My whole life flashed before me, or some shit like that. In the cinders of a life wasted, the only thing that seemed worthwhile was the time he had spent with Mello. He parted his lips in an attempt to say such but the words were like rocks in the pit of his stomach. He tried to match Mello's gaze and was surprised by how close the young man was now.

The anger Matt thought he had seen in Mello's gaze was suddenly extinguished by another emotion: fear. "Shit! You got shot!" Matt cocked his head to the side, mildly perplexed by the other boy's concern; was it really that bad? He tried to tell Mello not to worry. After all, he didn't need Mello thinking he was a weak pussy too. Not on top of all the other preconcieved notions the blond boy might already accumulated. But coherency was quickly becoming an overrated activity. As was consciousness.

Just before Matt succumbed to the black void he remembered something, or at least wanted to think he remembered hearing Mello whisper something. Words that equally surprised and relieved Matt. But were they real? Were those tears in Mello's eyes or just something his imagination had thrown together to make up for the pain searing in his arm? Matt supposed it didn't matter. It wasn't going to change the rough road that laid ahead for the both of them.

But it made Matt wonder:

Did Mello really feel that way too?

[Author's Note Well it most certainly has been a prolonged vacation. I thought I could walk away from these boys and wipe my hands clean of them and their crazy spider-web of issues (the idea of being tangled in webs is what inspired the title). But everytime I sit down to work on other projects they are metaphorically hoovering over me with their stories and saying 'when the hell are you going to write about us?'. So after a long fought battle, they have managed to distract me from my original work (trying to pull together something publishable) and here I am. As the chapter title would indicate, this will be continued in several segments.