A/N: For anyone who has read my other story Perpendicular, I have no idea when I'll finish it or continue the plot and I'm sorry I haven't updated. I'm having some really strange writer's block. I'm always coming up with new plots and stories, but I'm always finding myself losing the urge to continue writing. Your lovely comments, views and alerts are greatly appreciated however, until I can get over my funk I won't be continuing that for sometime. I've been really obsessed with this Taiwanese drama Devil Beside You. I watched when I was in 8th grade (I'm now a senior in high school xD) and the title has been stuck in my head recently and I realized the alternate title would be perfect with this new story.
Anyone who takes the time out to read this I send my love and I guess if you ever have your own writer's block and you can't come up with a plot I have a book filled with them.
Well who knows, maybe this story will be better.
Disclaimer: I do not own OHSHC !
Summary: I wanted to be a writer, not some gossip columnist on bad fashion designs for Hitachiin Yuzuha. The worst part of this internship is spending it overseas with my grandparents in Japan and those unscrupulous devils Yuzuha calls children.
Writing is a socially acceptable form of schizophrenia.
- E.L. Doctorow
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Prologue.
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Some people grow up never knowing what they want to do in life. They'll take up odd jobs or something to pass the time, just so that their capable of making money to survive in the world. They're convinced that although money isn't everything, it is everything. How could you survive without it? In what way could you pay hospital bills if you're sick, buy food when you're hungry and pay for heat when you must endure the chilling winters? Then again, some people come out on top and even if they have no idea what they wanted to do whatsoever, they manage to become the most successful person in the world and you wouldn't have imagined that loser from down the block was a millionaire now.
But I didn't fall into that category. In fact, I was the complete opposite. From the time I could read and write, I would engage myself in twisted tales and fantastic stories about adventure and learning the truth. And then I began to think to myself when I was seven, "Stories haven't always existed. Someone had to write them and put them down for everyone to read. But where did they get this idea, and how did they make it so interesting?" How appealing was it to have Aesop's Fables or Mother Goose's Nursery Rhymes to lull me to sleep at night or entertain me when there was no one around to talk to?
From then I knew I wanted to be a writer more than anything. I didn't know if I wanted to write novels or children's books, but if I had an idea, I would write it down- pen and paper in hand. No matter where I was or what I was doing, if it was embedded in my head from last night's dreams or doodling in the middle of math class, it was mine and I grew hungry to remember it all. If I liked it enough, I kept strong and developed it into more than something my mind could understand, but a story for everyone to yearn for. And if I couldn't work with it now, then I hoped that one day I could.
At this point in time, I could honestly say that I was suffering from great writer's block because I was so discontent with life. Usually I was quick to write something when I was so miserable. At the moment I wanted to bury myself alive under a thousand pillows and hope no one would decide to look for me to say the least. Because I was practically sure, there was no way in hell, I could live in Japan. Even if it was for one measly year. Bare with me here when I say this, but even as fluent as I am in Japanese, English and German, the only country I could live in with all those language skills was America.
America loved me and I loved America. I don't think it's possible for me to abandon my parent's pent house in upper Manhattan. I couldn't even imagine what it was like to live out of New York City and its lovely transportation system. Sure the hustle could get quite frantic and worrisome, but some days when I really wanted to relax, I'd go to Central Park with some friends and watch them play football in the snow or soccer in the spring. They'd be my inspiration and my motivation. There was so much art here, it was hard to get away from it all.
So I'm sure anyone could understand me when I say that I love my home, I really loved my home. What that means is, I'll be giving my parents a hard time until they let me stay here. So what if I'm sixteen? I'm allowed to break down and cry, 'Daddy don't let me go!' Or even 'Mommy you have to let me stay with you!'
"No. You're going and that's final. You have two days to pack everything in these suitcases and I want you out of my house before the summer starts."
I was on my knees clutching my mom's legs. Her ebony hair was tied up in chignon and her ear was pressed to her cell phone. She was trying to contact my grandmother with no avail and I was ready to kiss the ground and thank god for sparing me the conversations on cultural festivals in the fifties. Dad was setting down the food for dinner at the kitchen table and Mom stumbled to take her seat in an attempt to ignore me. Her dark eyes glared and me when I squeezed her calf tighter, and she began trying to scrap my hand off of her with her heels.
I yelped, pulling back in shock. I can't believe my own mother attempted to injure me!
"Cora, you'll be fine. Can't we just have dinner as a family before you go without all this confusion?" My father pulled me up from the floor and helped me up into one of the chairs closer to my mother.
He kissed her sweetly on the head before patting mine and seating himself. "How was work, Miu?"
Mom smiled gently into his cerulean colored eyes and I had to refrain from gagging at the sight. "Oh Leon you'll never guess who called me today!"
"Try me." He gathered some rice into his plate before passing it on to me.
"Yuzuha Hitachiin!" It was almost as if she was a teenager and she couldn't contain her joy. What was so important about this woman anyway?
I pretty much sunk into my seat trying to ignore them by making up some story in my head. I had to think to myself that this part of my life was a bit cliche. Of course the pretty popular girl gets thrown out of her natural habitat and into the wild of of foreign people. I would be prey to those sexual harassers who wanted a good time from a girl who didn't know better. Then again Tokyo had a lot of crime. I'm pretty sure even if I lived there I was still increasing my chance of death steadily. And it was horribly obvious that people would know I wasn't from Japan.
Even though I had a lot of similar structural features that my mom had, most of my traits came from my dad. Yes, my dad is German, but only half. His father was like Spanish and black or something like that. His mother was full German and she raised him in Germany until he was about six and then brought him to grow up in America, since he was born here to begin with. He took after Nana with her big gorgeous blue eyes, but he has curly strawberry blonde colored hair and olive colored skin. It's safe to say however, my mom is full Japanese. Dark brown hair, medium brown eyes.
If you ask me he looks pretty exotic, but I never intended to come out exotic looking myself. I wish I could look more like my mom. I had wild, curly dark auburn hair and narrow green-grey eyes. It didn't help that I was closer to dad's complexion than mom's. It was annoying to have people ask me where I was from. When you're mixed sometimes it's too difficult to explain. Honestly, how many Japanese people would think I blend in with them? I was half Japanese and part everything else.
"I was able to get Cora a job with her in Japan while she's staying over there. I was telling her all about how Cora loves to write and such and she said she would love if Cora would tend to a column she has."
"Oh joy..." I mumbled shoveling some food into my mouth.
"She even promised to pay for Cora's studies so that she doesn't miss out on anything while she works." Mom kept going on happily.
"Well Hikaru and Kaoru will be able to keep Cora company." Dad vehemently spat stabbing into his pork chop. Mom grimaced a little, but I knew she figured I was on dad's side with this.
Who ever Hikaru and Kaoru were- didn't sound too thrilling at all.
A/N: I think for a very long time I've tried to imagine what it would be like if Hikaru and Kaoru never got along. I can always imagine how one would react if the other died, but how would they be if they never spoke to each other? Hikaru would probably drink his way out of depression until someone saved him and Kaoru would either figure out how to deal with it or end up in some kind of mental institution. I had plots for two stories like that, but I often find Kaoru's personality more difficult to portray since Hikaru is so overbearing. It's like he's both of them don't you think O.o?
I'll try to update this month, but probably not until after my birthday~
Remember your views, alerts and reviews encourage me :D and I do hope that I can finish one story in my life.
Enjoy!