ℝ𝕦𝕟𝕒𝕨𝕒𝕪 // 𝕃. 𝕃𝕒𝕨𝕝𝕚𝕖𝕥 𝕩 ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣

Separated || 26

~♡~L's POV~♡~

No.

No, no, no.

I'm not accepting this. Im not accepting being so useless. I'm not going to sit idley by for another second, and I am not going to let B get away with any of this.

Spinning around a plastic spoon the nurse gave me with a somewhat...Sad looking hospital dinner, I watch the late autumn sunset creep into the high up window - trying to keep my head level as I mentally build a wall between me and my own emotions, brick by brick. It's what I needed to do if I wanted to approach any of this rationally.

Closing my eyes, I take a slow, steady deep breath - feeling that distracting pain in my side as my chest rose. If I'm certain of one thing, it's that I'm going to find her. Somehow. And I'm going to prove B guilty no matter what it takes.

...Somehow.

If I were completely honest with myself, I didn't feel overly confident at the moment. It's not like I haven't faced difficult cases before...But this was different. He doesn't have just anyone, but he has Wammy's House on his side, the lying bastard. And while he was at it, he has torn me apart from my girlfriend and has gotten away with framing her. How do I even approach rebuilding credibility when I have no access to anything - not even my own laptop?

I'm not allowed anything.

...I'm not trusted with anything.

My only line of support - in any of this - is Wammy's House, and B's taken advantage of his time to utilize that against me to it's fullest extent...Just...Why? To start anywhere, I at least need a motive.

Feeling my hopefulness my situation slipping again, a moment later I calmly regroup myself - continuing to fiddle with the plastic spoon and stack bricks on that imaginary wall. I'm going to find out why. B has taken everything from me...Which makes this no ordinary case.

This is personal.

Suddenly, I felt the Flimsy plastic spoon break - almost cutting my hand and snapping me from thought.

Exhaling and closing my eyes, I take another slightly shaky deep breath as I calmly place the broken pieces onto my bedside table - trying my best to stay as level-headed as possible despite the complete unbridled rage and frustration I was feeling just beneath the surface. Four days...Or rather, two months is a long time. He had time to build this narrative...just, why?

I look out the window as I try and picture how he's thinking - keeping my breathing steady as well as my pure anger at bay. What motivation would he have? Why would he do any of this? What is he gaining?

...Maybe....A....Maybe when he...

Suddenly, I almost felt sick to my stomach, and I couldn't bring myself to finish that thought. But...Maybe that sent him over the edge and he directed his grief into aggression at me...In his own sick, twisted way.

Slowly, my anger subsided into a cold, hollow nothing as my thoughts trailed off. If A were here this would all be completely different. He would at least let me speak and listen to what I have to say, even if he didn't beleive me at first. If he was still here, he would been able to answer the phone...and none of this would have happened. I wouldn't be here. (y/n) and I would have been safe.