The One for Me
Willing the call-phone to ring, she stared at the despised object. Under the cover of darkness she waited for the call that she didn't want to admit but had anticipated for a long time. When it didn't, she groaned in frustration and hid her head under a pillow.
Amane Misa hated waiting and that was what she was doing.
It seemed like the world had turned upside down and inside out. A supermodel and pop idol didn't need to wait. She was goddess incarnate in Japan's showbiz scene. The world was at her feet. She was the most coveted star of all. It was a privilege to have her cell phone number.
And then he wouldn't call. Not even to say hi.
She pouted like a little girl and threw off her covers. It was the summer heat that kept her awake, tossing and turning by her lonesome. Her blonde hair was matted with sweat and stuck to her head in some places; her nightgown rode up a few inches every time she moved which was every five minutes.
The supermodel felt like screaming.
She'd never felt like this before. It was terribly frustrating. Playing the waiting game was not her forte. It's also common knowledge that she didn't have great patience and was prone to tantrums and fits. It was good that in the privacy of her bedroom, she could just throw dolls and pillows into the wall while imagining that it was his thick skull that she was bashing.
Misa screamed. It felt good for a moment and then the frustration crept up again. She rolled around the bed, beating her fists and kicking and yelling. It was the only way for her to vent her excess energy. If she wasn't careful or sane, she'd really go out and stalk him wherever he was to demand explanations.
Women should never wait, she thought spitefully. We're born to be served, petted and adored. We should be exalted, catered to and glorified instead of waiting over idiot savants!
Why'd he even take my cell-phone when he won't use it? She fumed. In her fit, she knocked over a precious music award out of its place. But she didn't care. It wasn't as though it was gold or glass.
As much as she liked him, Misa hated him. She hated his guts, his habits, his hygiene and even his appearance. In a profession that banked on image and talent, she personified perfection. So she was slightly irritated that he didn't quite understand her annoyance at his overall look. She highly doubted that he knew about the existence of things like combs and socks.
She hated his ego. She loathed his inflated self-importance. Though the world claimed that he was a genius and a master, she didn't care. Not even if they glorify him as the future of crime-solving and hero of detective stories. She hated him that much.
But the blonde had forgotten about the old adage that love and hatred were but a whit apart. Such strong emotions tended to look and feel alike. So she wasn't aware that if she felt both at the same time, she'd confuse one for the other.
The phone rang.
Misa squeaked and dove for it under the covers. A press of a button and then she said loudly "Some nerve you have."
"I wasn't aware that we're supposed to discuss nerve systems today," the soft voice answered.
"Argh!" she screamed, stretched to her last "What the hell do you want?"
"Language, Misa-san," said the disapproving caller politely "makes the woman… or man."
"I don't care;" she said defiantly "I can swear when I want to. When a girl's been hanging on a thread for so long, she's entitled to some screaming and private mangling of certain boyfriends who don't call when they should."
"I'm sorry;" started her boyfriend as gently as possible "but you know my work…"
"Work, work, work," Misa screeched, toeing her limit now "is all you care about. Won't you tell me how come you're never going to start caring about me?"
"I do," say the voice flatly "but if you'll please understand that we're working for the common good of the nation over here…"
"Right," she said sarcastically "like my work to save a badly dressed nation isn't for the common good."
The caller sighed. "If you'll be difficult, let's quit this conversation. A good night's rest is what you need."
"Don't," the blonde said suddenly "if you do that then I'd never sleep. I'd cry until morning and my manager would scold me. Do you want me to get scolded?"
An audible sigh answered her question. She smiled victoriously. So he cared after all. "All right, I'm sorry. Now, can you calm down?"
Misa giggled. "Yes, I can. Because I heard Ryuzaki-san's voice on the phone, I am."
"Then I'm glad," Ryuzaki, world's master detective, said very quietly "if Misa can go to sleep without crying. Why aren't you asleep yet?"
"It's too hot," she retorted; she sat up and started playing with the ribbons of her nightgown. "I can't sleep at all."
"Ah," said the boy. Hearing cutlery cutting into a plate was a welcome distraction. Closing her eyes, she savored the sweet sound of his indiscreet cake-eating habits at two in the morning. How she missed it. "If I'm correct, you were waiting for me."
"Am not," she replied rather huffily.
"Don't be so defensive," he said and she heard his slightly amused tone. "I'm glad that Misa-san cares for my calls."
"More than I'd like," Misa muttered under her breath. "I'm mad at Ryuzaki-san because he doesn't call me a lot and when he does, it's always in inconvenient times."
"I can't help it if I have an inflexible schedule," Ryuzaki pointed out, logical as always. "However, I'm here now so what is there to complain about?"
Misa gave up.
She couldn't hate this person when he talked to her in his soft and almost sweet voice. No, her heart refused to harden at this unconventional confidant, this unseen companion. Because though she had her pick from Japan's richest and brightest, she'd still choose him over them.
He was the only man she'd deigned to entertain by letting him have her cell-phone.
I'm mad at you most of the time. I hate you for a lot of things. But when it all comes down to it, I still love you for calling me and letting me know where I stood in your life. Misa thought as she lay down and wiggled her toes, giggling at his latest anecdote that included an adventure with a bakeshop, a waiter and a seriously disturbing cake decoration.
After a few seconds, she decided to forgive him just this once.
Though she could afford to sleep, flirt and stop waiting, she would. Because she believed that he was the only one for her in spite of all his eccentricities.