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"I want to take a shit on God," Matt was saying. "I want to take the little fucker who hides behind that Holy Mask, and I want to give Him a fucking beat-down."
The dry thunder was rolling outside the car windows. It must have been six in the morning, the dawn stalled by the weather, as they drove from Los Angeles to Santa Barbara for a new temporary hideout in the slums, "but at least by the beach." Mello didn't notice, but he was clenching his rosary like the gear shift, one hand on the wheel as they drove through the barren highway. He glanced up at the rumbling sky, and he thought about the times when he still lived in the Orphanage and believed that sinners were struck by lightning.
"He could be fucking wiping His Almighty Ass up there while some fucking mass murderer can kill with a bloody notebook here, and millions could die and He still wouldn't give half a shit."
Matt had his feet up on the dashboard, his seat inclined backwards so that he was almost lying down. The lightning streaked across the sky directly above them, and the sound was nearly immediate. "How the fuck can you believe all this bullshit?" Matt spat 'bullshit' with so much ferocity and venom that Mello could almost taste it, and unconsciously, he held the crucifix tighter, his eyes trained on the road.
"God," Matt continued, "can sit in His throne, sending His son down to get nailed to a fucking cross while He does jack shit." He glanced at Mello and groaned. "And here you are, clenching your goddamn rosary like the Catholic shit you are, swearing up and down on the God that doesn't even fucking exist, and even if He did, He'd be the biggest asshole for putting you--us--through this."
Mello released his rosary and gripped the wheel, refusing to respond to Matt. He was eager for a fight after Mello took away his syringes--he wanted knuckles and teeth, and Mello was driving, and he was not going to cave in.
The lightning flashed, and the thunder followed.
"He burned your face off," Matt noted, retrieving a crumpled cigarette from his pocket and flicking on his lighter.
"Don't smoke in the car," Mello said.
"Fuck you," he responded icily, but he replaced his cigarette back into his jeans all the same. "Fuck you and your holier-than-thou attitude. We're driving halfway across California just so you could fucking run away from a little prick who knows your name and your face. We're setting up base in fucking Santa Barbara just so you could shit in your fucking churches and spend time watching some chick live her life. Mello, what the fuck? Why can't you just chill the fuck out?"
If Matt knew the plan Mello had been hesitantly considering, he was sure he would just take his shit and leave, move back to Las Vegas for his mediocre hacking jobs. Silently, Mello continued to drive, watching as in the distance, a clear white lightning bolt shot to the ground. His temples hurt. He wanted chocolate, but they hadn't had the time to buy any before their hasty move, and besides, chocolate was one of the luxuries he couldn't afford right now.
"When you took shit from all those priests in the monastery, where was your God? When you fucking got into Wammy's with absolutely nothing and no one, where was your God? When L died, where was your God? When you had to find ground working in the fucking mafia where you got shot at half a dozen times, where was your God? When you blew that fucking building up and lay there in a puddle of blood and your own fucking sick, where was your God?"
Matt was looking at him now, and from the corner of his bad eye he could see the absolute anger on his face. "Did God pull you out of that fucking mess before the police came and turned you in, before Kira got to your skinny ass and got you killed? Did God take care of your disgusting wounds and put up with your shitty habits? Did God buy you box after box of your Godiva Large 72% Chocolate Bars while you stayed in bed vomiting all over His fucking sheets?"
"Matt, shut the fuck up or I'll crash this car."
"Go on, crash it," Matt replied, just as the flash shook them once more. "I'm not too far from death anyway."
Abruptly, Mello pulled over at the side of the highway, where the squeal of the tires echoed on in the dark dawn. "Would you fucking stop?"
"No," Matt said indignantly.
"I broke your fucking syringes, big fucking deal," Mello hissed. "You can go buy some new ones when we're there."
Matt looked away, turning his head towards the window, He was getting so thin--the bones in his neck were prominent, his jaw sharp and locked. His shoulders seemed more angular than Mello had ever noticed, his hair a deep, murky colour of brownish red, his entire body looking like it would break with every exaggerated breath he took with his failing lungs. The flashing light of the thunder cast a white light on his skin, and he appeared skeletal with all the new shadows, nightmarish.
It made Mello feel ill.
"Matt," he said softly. Softer than he intended.
"What?" Matt snapped, his eyes trained on the highway outside.
"You have to stop taking all that shit."
"Yeah, and you have to stop chasing Kira." Matt snorted. "I'm not the only one killing myself."
Mello inhaled sharply. "I need you to be on your top game for this case," he said.
"Look, your case can go--"
"And I care about you, Matt. I care about whether you live or die."
There was a moment of stunned silence before Matt turned towards him incredulously. "What?"
"I'm not going to say it again," Mello said, already annoyed. Before Matt could respond, he had his hands on the wheel again, and began to accelerate. The highway was just as quiet and empty. The sky had lightened, the dry thunder all but a small sliver of lightning; they did not have a lot of time to be stopping for heart-to-heart talks by the side of the road.
"Jesus Christ, Mello," Matt murmured.
Mello kept driving, where in the far horizon in the east, the sun was just rising underneath the thick layer of clouds. A weak flash shielded them and accompanied a quiet rumble, but it seemed like the worst of the storm was over. Mello was slightly relieved, but he would be lying to say that the small part of his childhood had left him completely, leaving him insusceptible to his irrational fears.
"Matt, one more thing."
"What?"
"Don't blaspheme," he said quietly, his hand reaching out to play with his rosary. "Especially not during thunderstorms."