Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note (duh), Requiem for a Dream (which is a movie that I've never seen), or Inception (which I must disclaim because a few sneaky references to it weaseled in towards the end).

A rather disjointed fic in which we follow Misa's final thirteen months alive. I'm not sure that I got all the "real" information perfect in this, but it doesn't really have to be perfect in a fanfic, now does it? Beta'd by midnight-elise, of course, because she is Just That Awesome... Also, for those interested, I finally got both a deviantART and a LiveJournal account (links to both are on my profile - Shut Up and Unscrew Me! is up again!). If something isn't posted on FFN, it'll most likely be on one of the links there.

One last thing worth noting before I go: I openly admit that there must be something horribly wrong with me to have written this. Think what you will of that confession.

Requiem for a Dream

I. February

The first month, it was acceptable to cry.

From the time the sun rose to the time it set and until it rose again, it seemed that crying was all she could do. Silently, loudly; with many tears, with dry sobs; in the open, under the covers. Not that any of it did any good - she could weep as long as she wanted, but it didn't bring Light back.

Her manager had told her fans that she was taking time off to mourn, and it seemed like they understood. To be so young and to lose the one you love wasn't easy, and they accepted that she needed to recover.

They're fools, she sniffed to herself. They might think they understand, but they don't know how much I loved him.

Whenever she thought about Light, she would break down in heaving sobs. Whenever she it occurred to her that she wasn't thinking of him, she would despair that she could have forgotten of him for even a moment. She was reduced to an aching shell, almost completely devoid of emotion.

She never went out in public. Mogi was kind enough to do her errands.

II. March

The second month, mourning was understandable.

For the first time in weeks, she ventured outside into the city. Every time she turned, she saw his auburn hair. A stranger would have his perfect eyes. She would hear his voice in the wind and on the street.

He was never there.

She almost broke down, like countless times before, but was saved when a girl recognized her and asked for an autograph. For a brief moment, her acting skills came back and she was able to put on something of a kind expression.

I'm sorry for your loss, the young lady said with a small, hesitant smile. I hope you come out of retirement soon. I really liked your movies.

As soon as the girl had left, happy with a worthless signature, she ran back to her apartment in tears.

III. April

The third month passed; sometimes it went at the pace of a snail, and others it seemed to slip from her grasp.

She was done crying. Her body had reached its physical limit, and her soul couldn't take any more despair. For days on end, she would barely move. She didn't eat, she didn't sleep, she didn't feel. She just existed when she might as well have been dead.

Ide visited once to talk and see how she was managing, and he foolishly suggested that she try and find someone else. Something about his comment unleashed a rage in her, and she chased him out of her apartment screaming with a knife in her hand.

Her manager began pushing for her to come back into the show business. She, in turn, pushed back by completely ignoring his calls.

IV. May

The fourth month was the most fucked up, in both the fact that she decided she would never move on and the fact that all she could do was think.

It was ungodly clear to her, at that point, that she could never do anything else with her life, and she accepted that fact with disturbingly little resistance. To live, in her mind, meant living without Light, and that just wasn't something she could wrap her head around. Instead of living, the alternative seemed to be sitting in her apartment.

And the only thing she seemed able to do then was think.

Think about her regrets. Think about life before Light. Think about life during.

And most importantly: wonder how long she'd have to live without him.

V. June

The fifth month hurt like hell.

Her manager finally accepted that she had retired for good this time, and he walked out of her life without a glance backward. She couldn't have cared less.

It seemed like Matsuda kept visiting her. By then, she had figured out the NPA's little game: one of the men on the former Kira Investigation Team always seemed to be sticking around for some reason or another.

Maybe they think I'm suicidal, she mused.

Maybe I am.

The cheerful officer would drag her off to movies and to arcades while saying things about "staying active," and "being involved." It was probably only to keep her from doing something stupid, like going out and getting drunk, and she wasn't sure how she felt about their little excursions. On about the ninth one, she cut him off by making up excuses about expecting phone calls and maybe meeting friends later. He probably didn't buy into any of it, but he didn't try to push her.

She tried to make it the truth: she really did. At the very least, she figured, it might stop the NPA from hovering around her anymore, which would be a huge bonus. But sitting by the phone, trying to contact her old friends, she felt even more alone than before. It seemed like her life was hanging on a very thin thread in that moment, and she hated it.

Finally, she went out, but she didn't know where she was going. She passed the studios, the clubs, the houses, and she just kept running. Running from what, she didn't know, but it seemed to be the only thing she knew how to do.

She lost track of time, and things started to form a blur. The first thing she realized she was physically doing was standing on the edge of the subway platform. She didn't know how she'd gotten there, but she recognized that she'd been just about to jump onto the track.

But... to kill herself... that wasn't what she wanted.

More importantly, it wasn't what Light would have wanted.

A moment after realizing what she had been about to do, the train rushed by. Had she actually jumped, there would have been no chance of survival.

Something about that thought completely broke her. Sobbing uncontrollably, she went to the nearest bench, collapsed, and buried her head in her hands.

She wanted Light back so badly. Before him, she had been getting by alright, but she hadn't realized how wonderful existing could be until she'd seen him and fallen in love. He hadn't just given her a reason to live: he had been her life.

And now there was nothing left of her to speak of. No motivation, no desires, no heart with which to feel.

Yo, Miss. You alright?

She glanced up and saw a young man standing there in an overcoat.

...Don' talk much? he asked. She still didn't respond; he sighed and got out a cigarette. Hey, I've seen you somewhere... Misa-Misa, right? Didn't your boyfriend die a couple months ago? Without waiting for an answer, he continued, You need deliriants. They help a lot. Make you feel a helluva lot happier with him gone.

Gone? She never wanted to feel happy without Light. I don't want to forget him, she muttered out loud through her tears.

He puffed out smoke. Nah, they won't make you forget 'im. It'll make it look like he's standin' right in fronna ya. Incredible feeling.

...Feeling...

She had forgotten what feeling was. She vaguely remembered the concept, but she couldn't physically feel anything now.

Not since Light had gone.

Gone... and this man said that drugs could bring him back?

...To bring him back...

With frighteningly little hesitation, she stopped crying, stood up, and looked him boldly in the eyes.

Show me, she said.

VI. July

The entire sixth month, she was sky high.

Light? she asked. Light, where are you?

I'm here.

She saw as he was slipping into the kitchen. A sigh. He was late coming home from work for the millionth time. Are you alright? I didn't hear you come in the door.

He stuck his head out into the living room, an annoyed expression on his face. I didn't come in the door, Misa. I'm dead, remember?

...

Dead.

The thing that scared her most was that she knew he was right. He was dead. Her mind might not have registered that this was a true fact, but her heart was so empty that she had no strength to believe it was false.

Light was dead.

And based on what she felt, or more specifically the lack thereof... so was she.

VII. August

The seventh month was horrible.

The man that sold to her said that the stuff he gave her would make her feel better; in reality, it made her feel worse. Truthfully enough, it did make it look like Light was standing right in front of her, but the visions she saw of him were nothing like she'd remembered. The Light she had known could be distant at times, but he was usually very kind to her.

But this Light? He was a demon. He sneered at her, he told her lies, he avoided her, he was cold to her, he put her down and made her feel worthless.

And throughout that month, when the drugs weren't in her system, she kept wondering: if you compared the two, were the real Light and her hallucinations all that different?

VIII. September

The eighth month was supposed to be her last.

She couldn't force herself to get off the drugs. She couldn't force herself to get over Light. The drugs made her see him, and even though she hated the twisted hallucinations they gave her it was better than nothing. Around and around on the merry-go-round she went, and she was helpless to stop the ride.

Ironically, Light was the one to suggest the way out.

You should kill yourself, he said absentmindedly one day. That would solve your problems.

From the opposite end of the couch, her bloodshot eyes glared at him. Light wouldn't want me to hurt myself.

I am Light, he retorted with a scoff.

You are my imagination! she insisted. Light is dead!

With mock curiosity, Light examined himself over. I think he looks very alive, myself... But believe what you will. He stood up and began to head off. Whether or not he's dead, he's still controlling you. Pathetic.

...

Pathetic. The ugly word rang in her head, and the more she thought about what he had said, the more rapid her breathing became. He was controlling her, and he would control her until the day she died...

...The day she died...

So that was it, then. If she killed herself, then Light couldn't control her anymore.

Before she could try to convince herself otherwise, she ran into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and slit both her wrists.

IX. October

Sometime during the ninth month, she woke up strapped to a bed in a mental hospital.

She wasn't especially surprised; after all, the last memory she had was one of attempting suicide. The more correct term was probably "disappointed."

Light wasn't there anymore, and whether or not she wanted to see him, she was still unable to live without him by her side.

The doctors told her a lot of things. Something about treatment. Something about long-term effects and medication. Something about antidepressants. She nodded or shook her head when appropriate so they would at least think she was paying attention.

With a small ping of realization, she silently decided she would never get out of there alive.

X. November

In the tenth month, it finally dawned on her.

For days on end, she simply stared at the ceiling in quite a literal manner. Her mind would occasionally wander, but her attention was focused only on the white plaster above her head. She didn't really eat, but she wasn't hungry. She would doze off for short periods of time, but it happened so infrequently that it barely counted as sleep. The doctors were concerned, but they didn't feel like they could force her to do anything. They discussed it over her bed like she wasn't even there.

Her only response: blink as she stared.

One random day, Aizawa had come to visit her. As per usual, she didn't say a word, but for a while he'd pulled up a chair and just talked. About his wife, his daughter, his promotion. He went on and on, but he wasn't really rambling: it just seemed like he was trying to prove some sort of point to her, something that she had been missing for a while. Whatever it was that he wanted her to see, she didn't understand.

He talked for about a half an hour. She didn't look at him once.

As he headed out the doorway, he cleared his throat and said one last thing. You've got an awful lot of mail sitting there... You know that, right?

And then he walked out, as if he'd said the simplist thing in the world.

But maybe what he'd said wasn't as unimportant as he believed. When Aizawa had been talking about his own reality, it hadn't meant a single thing to her... but her reality was that nobody from the outside seemed to care.

For maybe an hour after he had left, she managed to keep her gaze facing upward, but something about Aizawa's final two sentences was bugging her.

I... I have letters? Mail? From who? Who would send me letters?

Who cares enough to send me things in the mail?

Her brain was reaching for an answer that she subconsciously would have shunned before that day.

Somebody still cares.

And there was only one way to find out who.

Without even thinking anymore, she broke her gaze at the ceiling for the first time in nearly a week and looked over at the table next to the hospital bed.

Sure enough, there were several pieces of mail sitting there, stacked into neat piles.

Some sort of frantic desire took over her - she had to read them. She had to read them all. She had to see who was sending them. With more force than probably needed, she ripped open the first envelope. It was a -

Oh... It was just a get-well card.

She wasn't sure what she'd been anticipating, but she felt stupid for thinking it could have been something worthwhile. With a disappointed sigh, she set the card down on the table...

...Wait...

Anticipation?... Stupidity?... Disappointment?...

Those were all...

Feelings.

Emotions.

Something she hadn't had ever since Light had died.

And... the card induced them? For a moment, she sat in stunned silence before her brain reached another conclusion.

She wanted more. No longer could she stand to be the walking dead.

She almost literally pounced on the pile of mail, determined to force herself to feel again. Card after card, letter after letter. They were all from her fans, except for three. One was from Matsuda, who only wrote a short but amusing comment (Please get better soon! I never got the chance to beat you at DDR at the arcade!). One was from her sister, who left a long letter detailing that she had better set herself straight Or Else.

The final card in the pile was completely blank, save for a few words:

Misa,

You're not alone. You can beat this!

SY

And then, for the first time in months, a genuine smile crept onto her face.

XI. December

In the eleventh month, she finally had what could be called a recovery.

She took interest in life again. First she was asking for newspapers, then she wanted to watch the news. Eventually she had open conversations with her doctors and talked over the phone like a normal human being. She attended a meeting for addicts; the instructor had sense enough to realize that she had no desire to ever abuse drugs again, and she was told that she never had to come back if she didn't want to.

Three days before her birthday, she was officially released from the hospital.

Over the next few weeks, she spent a lot of time at her sister's house with her family. She even spent a day with the Yagamis'.

Never once did Light become a topic of conversation.

She rarely thought of him anymore.

She adjusted back to normal life fairly quickly, and she rarely spent any time at home with nothing to do. She got a new manager, and together they came up with some ideas of what to do with her acting and singing careers now that she was truly willing to go back into the show business.

The one dark stain on that month came from the dealer she had met in the subway station so long ago. He had tracked her down to sell her more, and like a real quitter she'd walked away. He'd laughed and yelled after her that she'd come to her senses soon enough; she didn't even glance back at his prediction.

XII. January

The twelfth month.

She should have realized it would all fall apart.

Three weeks of normal living didn't seem like too much to ask for. She went out. She visited friends. She signed a few autographs. She did everything that could possibly have been expected of her, and she did it all with genuine enthusiasm.

Until the night when her whole outlook changed.

It was in the middle of the month, on no particularly special date. She had made it through the day without incident; nobody had called her and she hadn't left the apartment, which was probably just as well.

It wasn't until after dark that she started to feel... different. One moment, she was fine: she was on the couch in the living room reading a magazine.

The next, she heard Light's voice in the kitchen doorway.

Misa.

She glanced up and there he was, looking perfect, as she'd always remembered him. It struck her at that exact moment that maybe Ryuzaki had been right all along to claim that Light had been Kira, because he really was a god in every sense of the word.

Gorgeous.

She stopped breathing, perhaps out of shock or awe or skeptecism; who knew what it was?

Without waiting for an invitation, Light softly moved across the room and sat down next to her. How are you feeling? Very gently, he put his hand on her thigh. You don't look so good.

Finally she found her voice. ...Light? It came out breathy and almost inaudible, as though he had taken all the words out of her mouth.

Light raised his eyebrows, concerned. Yeah? What is it?

She didn't know what to think. She didn't know what the hell was going on. So many possibilities raced through her head, but her mind was unable to grasp any of them; she started hyperventilating. You're... but... how -

Shh. His lip curved upward in a very soft smile. I'm here.

No sooner had their eyes met...

Then she woke up. It had been a dream.

But dreams can be powerful things. The memories of the caring Light she remembered had been buried for so long that she completely forgot that they had ever existed; after that incident, however, she found herself crying with guilt that twisted her stomach into knots. She could understand forgetting the horrible, torturous, hallucinogenic Light that the drugs had given her...

But the kind man she'd loved since the moment she'd first seen him?

How could she have forgotten that perfect angel?

All of the illusions and walls she had managed to create for herself collapsed: for the next four weeks, she dreamed of him and woke up sobbing.

Every. Single. Night.

XIII. February 14

And that was why, in the middle of the thirteenth month, she was laughing while standing on the roof of a 150-foot tall building.

Light! she shouted. Light, are you coming?

Almost immediately he rose from the nearby stairwell, looking rather comically disheveled and horrified at the same time. Misa, what the HELL are you doing?

She threw him a teasing smile over her shoulder before turning around to face him. Isn't it obvious? She slid closer to the edge. I'm going to jump.

Light's eyes bulged. WHAT?

It's true, she said firmly. She looked backward, as if to prove to herself that she was really there and completely serious. I'm going to jump, she said again. There's no chance I'm going to survive this time.

But Misa - he stepped closer - don't do this! I don't want you to do this!

You are a figment of my imagination, she pointed out, a small smirk on her face. You can't stop me.

Well - LIGHT wouldn't want you to do it! the hallucination insisted.

She pondered that, and a moment later she smiled sadly. Maybe that's true... But he's dead. This is my own decision.

Light just blinked. But... why? he seemed to plead.

She turned to face the city. The sun was just beginning to appear over the buildings.

It was the last time she would ever see it rise...

Because, she answered slowly, like I said: he's gone. The only thing left for me in this world is to become old, all alone and filled with regret.

You weren't regretful the past few weeks, he pointed out.

No, she responded. She walked even closer to the edge. But surely you remember what I thought so long ago in that hospital? I won't get out alive. Maybe for a while I was able to fool myself into finding happiness again, but I'll never truly live again. She paused and musingly pointed her toe over the side of the building. I've accepted that the only way to live again is to move on to the next world, and there's nothing you can do to stop me.

But - the hallucination began to panic - how do you know he'll be there on the other side?

She glanced over her shoulder, then turned around to face him completely. I don't, she said. I'm going to take that leap of faith.

For a moment, nothing registered on his face. Then, the hallucination she remembered shone through once again. Fine, he sneered. Go ahead. I don't think you have the guts.

Her reaction was to smirk. Well then, she said, closing her eyes, you're going to be awfully disappointed.

Without a bit of regret, she leaned backward and let gravity pull her over the edge.

Near, Lidner said as she turned away from her computer's screen, Misa Amane died a few hours ago.

The pale boy paused in constructing a dice tower and delicately raised an eyebrow. Murder? he asked.

Absentmindedly, Lidner wondered why he even bothered to ask questions he already knew the answers to. No, she replied, suicide. The police think she was on some kind of deliriant, and she somehow got onto the roof of a skyscraper.

To anyone unfamiliar with Near's subtle expressions, they probably would have assumed that he was confused by her statement. She died ON the roof? he questioned, eyebrow still slightly raised.

Lidner gave a shrug of indifference. No, was the answer. She jumped, and the long fall killed her.

Oh... Thank you for informing me.

For just a brief moment, Lidner thought, Near's eyes held a curious glimmer, as though he was going to correct her on what she had just said... but he remained silent, and apparently he seemed to think better of it.