Breaking the UnbreakableChapter Three Mello & Near's Secrets
Mello was nervous.
No, he was a wreck.
Roger had Near and Mello move into a secret room away from the other rooms at Wammy's Orphanage, 'to keep either of you from sneaking off to a friend's room,' he said.
Mello was self-conscious around Near and to be forced to room with him was too much. His stomach churned horribly and Mello ran to an abandoned floor where there was an empty bathroom. He was far from prying ears and far from any accidental meetings. A thin film of sweat formed on his face as he sat in a stall, his hands gripping either side of his face. He heaved dryly several times before he finally vomited into the toilet.
This was a weekly, if not daily, occurrence for Mello. He binged on chocolate to think and get an adrenaline/endorphin rush when he needed it, only to purge it later that night. It was a constant in his life, something he needed. Before Wammy's, he remembered being bigger with an alcoholic father who taught him how to purge when he should've been teaching Mello how to hunt.
When he arrived at Wammy's he had been purged daily for over a year. He had horrible health and he showed the signs of a binger. His face was always pale and puffy, like a chipmunk, his teeth were corroding and he tried hard to cover the smell.
Roger helped Mello, thinking he had cured Mello's habit months after meeting him, but he only served to tone the binging to a minimum. Mello turned into an emotional binger.
Chocolate was what was in his house all the time before Wammy's. If only for a time, it sobered his father enough to the point where Mello could play with him. As long as Mello had chocolate, he had a "happy family."
Now he was careful. Because of his chocolate fetish whenever the dentist saw corroding he perceived it was Mello not brushing his teeth as often as he should. He simply gave Mello an enamel-building toothpaste he was to use every night before bed. Mello mixed it with his normal whitening toothpaste and used it twice a day and his teeth were perfectly healthy.
Symptoms taken care of.
Mello flushed the toilet, washed his hands, and rinsed out his mouth. He glanced in the dirty mirror and froze. His eyes were swollen and bloodshot, tears had streamed down his face and left white marks on his cheeks. He had been crying while purging and didn't even realize it. He grabbed a wet paper towel and cleaned his face, wondering why he'd been crying in the first place.
Mello dragged out cleaning his face as long as possible to give his eyes a chance to deflate and whiten. When he looked presentable he snuck from the abandoned floor and back to his new room. He stood outside with his hand on the knob before glancing at a nearby clock, 8:46. Roger would be coming in at nine to check that both him and Near were in their room. Mello braced himself and walked in the door.
Near was confused.
No, he was hopelessly lost.
Mello and he now shared a room in a separate wing at the orphanage. Near knew it was because Roger thought Mello would try to sneak into Matt's room to sleep there in the middle of the night.
Dread and a new emotion wormed their way into Near, straining his heart and nerves. It was present when Near realized how hard Mello worked to keep up with him. It grew when Mello had kissed him and was going to burst from his body when Roger roomed them together. If messed with his body and mind and Near had no clue how to deal with it.
It terrified him. Terrified him to the point where he reached for his secret letter-opener stashed in his drawer. It was thin, silver, and shaped like a toy soldier's sword. He quickly took off his white over shirt and poised the metal over his white skin. When his thoughts turned back to Mello, and the new emotion came back, he slowly and deliberately pressed the opener into his skin, drawing small lines across his bicep. The tiny red marks filled with blood and traced down his arms gracefully and gradually.
Pain shot across Near's sences and cleared his mind like cool water across a muddy mirror. Only when he lost control. Only then.
Toys were the things Near never really had when living with his mother. His mother told Near his father left them because he was born. His mother worked everyday only to get wasted every night and how she managed to keep the cycle up for six days straight and keep her job for the entire time Near was with her was beyond him. There was nothing proper for him to play with at the house and the neighbors didn't have children, not that they cared about Near, so he played with whatever was in the house. Television programs bored him, but animatronic dolls advertised in between them fascinated him and he played with the electronics around the house and worked hard to make his own.
His mother found out about the missing parts late one night and flew into a rage.
"You little shit!" She shrieked, throwing Near into a wall. "I work hard for the things around his souse and what do you do? You screw it up, you sorry excuse for a mistake! I wish I had never taken you!" His mother's flaming red hair clashed with her face as she took a letter opener and began cutting his arms. "It's your fault! Your fault! Your Fault!" A few angry strokes later she stepped away from Near and spat.
"Clean yourself up."
Near hobbled into the bathroom and ran a bath for himself, filling the bath as high as he could. He submerged himself to his neck in the warm, soapy, messy water and it stung at his cuts, gifting him with odd bursts of clarity in his mind. From there he was able to clean himself u pand bandage the cuts on his arms. His body was weak, but his mind had an icy clarity to it he'd never had before. After making sure the bathroom was void of blood, he walked into the hallway, stark naked, and headed to his room for new clothes when he came across his mother. Her expression was soft and she held out a fresh, warm towel.
"Oh, my poor baby." She cooed, wrapping Near into the pure white towel. "My beautiful, pale angel, you look so wonderful with your pale body and white hair and clothes. So pure, my pale angel!" Even if it was the booze and guilt, Near felt safe and loved, if only for a time, and he realized the more he appeared like mother's 'pure, pale angel' the more attention he got, and the more his mother let him keep the things he used for his toys.
Mother hated the red marks on Near's skin so he cut on his upper arms where no on could see. But now he cut to clear his mind, especially lately. Near hid the bloodstained clothes in his drawer to clean later and he went into the bathroom to wash up. When he was done dressing the wounds he looked into the mirror and froze. His nose was pink and so were his cheeks; white, salty tears stains streamed down his face and he was mortified that he'd cried. He hastily fumbled for a washrag to clean off his face and stopped, wondering why he was so nervous and uncontrolled.
Near heard the front door of the bedroom open and close, hesitantly, but Near still began to panic. As fast as he could, without being heard, Near put away all the antibiotics and bandages, stashed the bloodstained washcloths and put on his shirt before a loud knock resonated on the door.
"Near? Are you in there?" Mello's voice struck a chord in Near's hear and he struggled to put on an unemotional façade. "Near?"
The strain was too much on Near's body and he felt light-headed, saw stars and barely noticed when he fell onto the floor just as Mello burst down the bathroom door and caught his head before it collided with the tile.