Mademoiselle and her Mask

This story is a gift to my role model and every girl out there who lost the men they love, just like Hikari.

She never stopped smiling.

I watched, curious and aware of my newly-acquired voyeurism. Mourinho was right, some people namely me do like to ram into some people's business. It just gives you a certain vindictive pleasure, you know? Much like gossips.

I sharpened this new talent of mine very frequently. One of the practices was when they were hanging out under the tree in the school's courtyard we christened 'Love Tree', for lack of better imagination. As she giggled shyly and he caressed her flushed cheeks, I hid behind a tall pillar flanked by my buddies. They looked so happy and my heart ached. The practice ended rather abruptly when ten people tried to hide behind a single pillar and ended up shoving each other, not to mention spending the rest of the day in a foul mood. Even the highly-sought-after blueberry ice-cream which used to be the object of desire for many mouths was left in peace, everyone too moody to eat. But I was curious, too curious.

So the next time I wisely chose to be alone as they chatted in an empty classroom after a football practice. She was sitting on a desk as he stood facing her. I had forgotten how tall he was and how spiky his hair was. His handsome face was enthused with high adrenaline and his golden skin glistened in the dying sunshine. His eyes were strangely tender and, I noted with a pang, he was playing with her golden hair. I remembered a time when he used to look at me that way, smiling and laughing, but still gently. A memory I relived, again and again, in my lonely nights.

My traitorous eyes started to fill up with ears so I had to cut the practice short. Honestly, I couldn't take it anymore anyway. I walked away slowly. When safely out of earshot, I broke into a sprint.

In the defence of my bedroom, I hugged all of my faithful teddy bears. I locked the door so that no swaggering big brother can come in and jumped into the cosiness of my bed. I pulled the blanket to my face, comforted by its warmth. His skin was warm too. I plugged in my i-Pod and turned on the loudest volume, to drown out that sound that was growing day by day.

In the morning, I forced a smile into my face as my buddies hooked their arms into mine and we sang our way to school. I was still singing, very out of tune, when I reached my locker and there he was.

The flame in his eyes was gone. The smile he used to give me was gone too.

He looked guarded, careful.

My smile was shaky. My tongue couldn't utter hello. I forgot how to open my locker so I stared wildly at the grey surface, horrified. Oh, God. Why couldn't I maintain an image of dignity in front of him?

"Here," he moved to help me. I moved out of his way completely, transferring my hazy eyes to the floor. God, someone stepped on an egg. God, where did the egg come from anyway? The school's gardener didn't have any chickens as pets.

He still remembered my locker's combination. And why not? The numbers were his birth date. A thought struck me. I should change it soon. But it seemed perfect.

"Thanks," I managed to murmur. He stepped out of my way completely. I stepped into the space he vacated, moving my books into my backpack as fast as I could. God, these books were really heavy. How come I've never realised it before?

He shifted his weight, looking down at me. "Say… I want to return this."

His hand held a CD. A CD I bought for him on a whim, for no occasion whatsoever. I just felt he would like it. A CD I told him to keep forever, so that it would remind him of me whenever he played it. A CD I scribbled 'I love you' on its cover, with my neatest and tidiest handwriting while my heart was filled with that feeling.

"Say… I really like it," he muttered. "But I don't think, you know…"

I nodded, staring at the CD. So far, I've managed not to look at him. I was scared what my face would betray if I did.

After a while of awkward silence and nervous hands, I made to take it as he made to put it in my locker. The tip of his fingers brushed past the tip of my fingers. It felt warm. He almost dropped the CD, but I caught it. Pretending nothing happened, I hailed a friend out of the bustling crowd and chatted madly, not caring whether she understand what I said. I bustled away as fast as I could and I was proud that I didn't look back. I didn't want him to see I was shaken.

It was crazy, but I still feel his warmth on the tip of my fingers for months afterwards. I felt it as if it was still there, all the time, never leaving my fingers. I started looking for heavy metal songs to put into my i-Pod, as the sound was getting too loud.

The afternoon after the Finger Incident, I saw her walking across the cafeteria. She was really pretty, I thought. I was hanging out with my buddies in the cafeteria, pretending to listen as one of us lectured the rest of us on the benefit of a new boyfriend. She was directing this to me, I knew, but I didn't care. I just wanted him. I didn't want anyone else.

Her golden hair cascaded down her small shoulders as she carefully carried a tray laden with a bowl of salad and a carton of milk to their table. Her cheerful cerulean eyes lighted up when she saw him and the smile brightened, growing bigger. He held out a hand to help her and whispered something, probably sweet romantic words, in her ears. She sat down giggling and I had to look away.

She was really pretty; I comforted myself as I returned to my cheeseburger. Small wonder why he fell for her. They made a great couple, I told myself sternly as I shoved the cheeseburger away from me. Everyone said so, everyone agreed, and I didn't mind. Not at all. Not at all.

Why should I? I didn't love him. I used to, but that's the past. The past didn't matter. It's gone. Really.

No.

Mysteriously, I was losing weight. I told my disapproving and worried buddies that I just didn't have the appetite, nothing looked tempting.

When I first saw them together about two or three months ago, so close and so private, nothing made sense. I remember nothing but my suddenly wild effort to get away from them fast. I remember thinking oh, how gentle he was with her as he held her hand, so protective. I reminded myself that I am a good girl, and that feeling that suddenly attacked me wasn't jealousy, not at all. I remember walking hurriedly past him; remember the distinctive cologne I gave him. Fresh like a mountain's dew. Fresh like the newly born leaves.

I remember shaking everyone off; remember hiding in the janitor's closet and hanging out with the brooms, dustpans and mops. I remember crying so hard that I wondered whether I was competing with the rain in producing water. I remember how the tears soaked my green top into an unrecognisable blue, how I tried so hard to wash it, almost breaking a hand in the process. I remember throwing it away, thinking how wonderful it would be if I can throw his memories away as easily.

I remember drifting into sleep imagining his arms around me and his lips whispering how in the morning it would be alright, that it was all just a big, crazy nightmare. I remember how his spiky hair grazed the nape of my neck; remember thinking how wonderful if I can just be with him, I didn't want anything else. Just him.

I remember how, in the morning, I realised it wasn't just a big, crazy fantasy but a big, crazy reality.

Because in my locker, there was the bottle of cologne I gave him. No note whatsoever, but the cold air was heavy with sorry.

I remember my buddies forcing me into an empty classroom and I broke down, the tears rising up my throat, streaming into my cheeks and soaking my black jacket heavily. I remember soaking my buddies' clothes too as they hugged me tightly as we skipped the first two hours of school together not for the first time of our lives. Some of them started crying too, and we laughed at the absurdity of the situation.

But something wrung my heart, over and over again.

It hurts. Felt like something was squeezing, twisting it. Like it couldn't breathe.

From that fated day onwards, that sound invaded my life.

It took me a week to swallow reality, a month to get used to seeing them together. I forced myself to think they were perfect together, a match made in heaven. As I cheered for them, my heart withered slowly.

For months afterwards, there was this invisible competition. I showed off my happiness whenever I could, trying to show him I was better off without him. Every averted eyes, every pretence of not realising he was alive, every step I took away from him, they were all meant to tell him, frankly and loudly, that I didn't need him and I certainly didn't love him. It was quite pathetic, honestly. Sometimes I laughed, most of the time I cried.

I went out with every willing guy in school and went to places where they would certainly show up. I laughed my loudest whenever he was around, embraced guys in front of him and proclaiming loudly in his earshot how I love this so-and-so. I pretended not to care about them but in private, I pumped my tired friends for gossips. I was trying to show him I was happier without him when in fact, I wished for him to come up to me and say how much he misses me, how much he still loves me.

He never did.

No matter how much I denied and fought it off, deep in my heart, I prayed they would break up. It was guilty feeling, a guilty desire.

When they were nearby, I would chat with my buddies cheerfully but my eyes would go on its own path to him. My heart would breathe when he looked at me, and died when he didn't seem to realise I was there. I would force my eyes to look away but then my eyes would force me to look again. It was battle between commanding brain and rebellious body.

I convinced myself that I didn't care for him, gleefully think of other guys. But then he would come around and he would look into my eyes, breaking down my wall of defence. Even the best, sturdiest wall crumbled.

Yesterday, the best news for her and the worst news for me came. When a buddy reported he had said the 'L' word to her, I remember the first and last time he said he loves me. It was a week before we broke off. We had been fighting, me furious and him jealous. It was drizzling and my eyes were wet with tears. I was tired of fighting, tired of yelling, shouting and screaming. Our clothes were soaked and heavy with rain but still we screamed like maniacs. Out of fury and frustration, he shouted that he loves me.

It had wonderfully stopped the fight.

I cried myself to sleep last night, accompanied by heavy metal songs that had failed to drown out the sound. It was the sound of my heart breaking and bleeding. I was thinking how I seemed to do nothing but cry these days when sleep devoured my consciousness.

I dreamt. I relived the moment on the day after his blunt confession, when I asked him, rather childishly and innocently, how long would he love me? He answered, holding my hands in his, his amused dark eyes laughing and my heart soaring.

"Forever."

Hikari woke up, more alive than she had ever felt in months. She brushed off the residue of tears in her eyes, smiling hopefully. She tossed her i-Pod away, snickering when she saw it had run out of battery. She pushed her blanket away from her petite body messily, building a small pile at the foot of her bed.

She gave a tiny yell when she stepped on someone's foot and someone else shouted painfully. Ah, her brother was sleeping on her floor again. She had forgotten to lock the door last night, too gripped with grief. Tiptoeing out of the room, she snatched her diary out of its secret drawer and snuck into her brother's empty room. Hikari held the cap of a pen in her mouth, thinking and considering. After a while, she plunged into the world of words.

'Dear Diary,

I get it. I get it now. You keep telling me, pointing the error of my ways for centuries, but I've just realised it now. There, there, don't cry. I can be a little thick-headed at times. At times ONLY. NOT ALL THE TIME.

I love Daisuke. I still do. You keep telling me that. I've accepted it now. I mean, I've accepted that I love him, more than words can say. I've made peace with myself. That feeling is an emotion that you cannot bottle, an overpoweringly phenomenal emotion that you cannot cage in such a simple and useless word as love. That feeling is indescribable. And it certainly cannot be brushed off with a broom, like what I had been doing all these months.

But you know what, diary? The more I accept it, the more I realise it, the more it fades. It's fading away slowly but surely. Maybe it's like a speck of dust on your window that just refused to go away no matter how hard you wipe at it with a wet towel. The more you wipe with gusto, the more it clings to the window for life. But when you ignore it, it just drifted away. I guess I should let time do its work, instead of forced amnesia, threats and warnings. I feel sad to lose such a wonderful emotion though.

Maybe I'll find a guy better than Daisuke. Maybe I'll fall in love with that mysterious, unknown guy who I haven't met yet/

But for now, I'll just accept that I love him, eh diary? And because I love him so much, I pray that he will be happy with Catherine because is there a better pleasure than seeing the one you love happy? Maybe, just maybe, he isn't Mr. Right after all. I wish Daisuke and Catherine the best.

Forever.

Yours,

Hikari

P.S. Taichi, you monkey, you better not be reading this! I'm going to tell mum that you burned your own bed! Stop spilling drinks in my room, for God's sake!'

A/N: Simply put, this is a story about someone who is in love with her ex who now loves someone else. Painful, aite? I really, really hope you enjoyed reading this from the first second to the last. :)