The telephone rang for the first time on the second day of Michiru's absence
Haruka's hand hovered over the phone. She had been sitting in the loveseat by the telephone ever since Michiru's "trip to the supermarket" elongated to several hours. Tears trickled slowly from Haruka red eyes and slid down the deep hollows circling them. Something deep inside of her heart told her that she didn't want to hear the message that awaited her.
On the day that Michiru left, she had suspected much: Michiru often spent a deal of the day at the more distant shopping centers buying new dresses, getting manicures, and the such. On the second day, Haruka had become overwhelmed by a mixture of confusion, regret, and fear. She had an idea of what had happened. She had taken the place of the top dog of Japan's F1. She, a woman had bumped Hajime Takashi to silver. He had tried to get rid of her on every occasion, trying to knock her car off of the road after victory, verbally assaulting her, making comments on her sexuality, and threatening to physically assault Michiru. He had even tried jumping her once. Hajime and his buddies had cornered her, but Haruka had taken them down without a sweat, and they had never attempted that again. Still, Haruka had no doubt that they would hurt Michiru.
Haruka picked up the phone.
"Hello?" Haruka asked in a voice so strong that it didn't seem to have come from her quavering body.
"Hello. Is this the Tenoh Haruka?" a man's voice came.
"Yes," she replied.
"This is Yamada's Garage. Your bike is ready to be picked now."
Haruka blinked and thought for a moment.
My bike? What is he ta-
Then she remembered. She had left her Kawasaki at Yamada's for a check-up. It hadn't passed her mind in days. Two days, actually. Haruka had been hoping that it was Michiru. She would have told her that her car broke down and that she had stayed with a friend for a few days. Maybe that she gotten lost?
Haruka couldn't fool herself. She knew that there were only two solutions: A.) Michiru had gone to stay with a "friend", or B.) Michiru's body was currently decomposing in a desolate gutter in a desolate town in a desolate prefecture.
As much as it pained her, Haruka was going for solution A. She didn't blame Michiru. She just wished that Michiru had never bothered with her in the first time. Never dated her, never confessed her love, never aroused her.
She and Michiru had gone to school abroad in America and graduated together, both at the top of their classes. They had moved back to Haruka's impressive piece of property in a small and friendly town in Hokkaido. Haruka and Michiru had spent a peaceful life together up until two days ago.
Haruka stood up, shaking her head in refusal and rubbing her numb backside. It just didn't make sense: Michiru was a very sincere and honest person. If something had been bothering her, she would have said something. Haruka would have noticed something in those beautiful ocean-blue eyes as she made love to her three nights before.
Then the doorbell rang.
Haruka pulled a tissue from the Kleenex box on the coffee table before the loveseat, dabbed at her eyes, and rushed toward the door to greet her fate.