SOMETHING SHORT OF PARADISE

SUMMARY: Scandals are what makes people interested in one's lives. At least that's how Miku Algeria views it. Once her mother makes a scandal out of her and her family's lives, Miku can't help but try to run away to the one place where no one can get through: Her Mind. But a certain host club decides to intervene.

DISCLAIMER:

Butterfly-chan, does NOT own Ouran High School Host Club or its characters, Bisco Hatori does. This story is mainly a work of fiction. Any place or person mention may or may not be real.

AUTHOR'S NOTE:

Thank you Escape to Ouran for your generous review and I will take your suggestion into consideration. Mori does sound like a good suitor for Miku… but I'm still deciding. Anyways, enjoy the newest chapter of 'Something Short of Paradise.'!

RATING:

T

WARNING(S):

…Cursing…?

Chapter Three:
The Meeting of Real Love

"I love your imperfections."

"Why?"

He smiles, "Because I can see how they perfectly fit you. I can see that those are my favorite things. I can see that even though you hate 'em, I love 'em."

"…I love you, do you know that?"

His smile widens, his arm goes round my waist. "I know, and do you know that I love―"

The sound of the school's bells cut off another of my daydreams. I shake my head free of those fantasies of mine that always haunt my head. I didn't know why I daydreamed of things like that. I never told anyone about these small dreams I had, not even my psychiatrist. Someone that was only brought when our Mother had blabbed to the whole world about our family; it was a show, a charade, a façade to show the world that my father was righting his wrongs. The psychiatrist had only prescribed pills that I never took. She asked all those cliché questions that you often heard on movies and wrote down little things in her cliché notebook and 'hmm'-ed when it was necessary.

I, of course, didn't tell her anything about myself; just repeated to her the things that she had probably read on the tabloids. Other times, when I felt so bad, so lost and scared of these voices in my head… I would tell her this and she listen. She never wrote anything down when I sometimes told her of these voices. She would sometimes grab my hand and rub soothing circles on it and whisper that they couldn't control me. She would whisper that they weren't real and that theycould be banished with the flicker of a thought.

This would help.

Sometimes.

And then, suddenly the meetings ended and I was deemed 'SANE.' I was allowed to be by myself and allowed to be in a bathroom without someone hovering by the door. I liked it but… I missed her. I missed having someone to see twice a week. I missed having someone waiting for me, waiting to actually see me. Not that I voiced these thoughts to my father. He didn't understand the feeling of being lonely and alone in a room full of people. He didn't understand the feeling of fear, of fearing your own mind that was filled with thoughts and voices that were dangerous and yet, sounded so―

"Algeria-san, the class is dismissed. You may leave now."

The teacher's rough, clipped voice snaps me out of these thoughts. I look around and saw that the once full classroom was now empty, only occupied by the teacher and myself. I smiled, a timid smile, gathered my notebooks and books, before hurrying out of the room. I bit my lip as I started to walk down the hallway; I still had no idea what I was going to do to occupy the two hours that I had before I left to the house with my sister.

I flinch as I hear giggles from the left side of the hallway. I knew that they were laughing at me. Everyone had probably heard about the small fight between my sister and me. I hold the books tighter to me and keep my eyes forward; I don't let them stray to the left to see who the persons are.

Kill them.

The voice utters so silently that I think that it's the wind; until it says it again.

KILL THEM.

I hold the books tighter, making them dig into my stomach painfully so that I can focus on the pain, rather than the voice. I walk a bit faster; hoping that I can get somewhere safe that I won't hear those giggles and laughs and voices that give suggestions that sound so… so rig―

There's no need to panic, Miku.

I breathe, and slow down my pace. My eyes wander over my new surroundings. Flowers and plants seem to cover the wall. Sweet smells and fresh smells mix and from far, I can hear some birds chirp. It's a garden, I decide because next to the bush of flowers, there's a pair of gardening gloves. They look worn out and yet, at the same time, beautiful. I hesitantly walk towards the gloves and kneel down in front of them. My fingers softly brush over them; from the ends to the beginnings. They're a faded red and the white on it looks dirtied. They're perfect and won―

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

The loud voice shakes me and makes me scramble away from the gloves. My uniform dirties but I don't care. The loud voice scares me.

"Casanova! You're scaring the poor gurl!"

It's feminine, this voice, and softer in her yelling. I look up and spot two figures. The redhead male is leaning over the beautiful worn out gloves while the blue haired female is openly glaring at the redhead. I wonder if they're together. And then I realize that I'm still on the floor and that the dress is sporting grass stains.

"I'm so sorry. He's an idiot; don't know 'bout manners and all that. Are ya alright? I won't bite. Seriously, I don't. . . unless ya count that time in primary school but that kid deserved it!"

I let the blue haired female ramble on because it's nice to hear someone talk about something else that doesn't include me. Her voice is also soothing, with her slight accent in her words. She must either be an American or something else. I'm not so sure.

"Just shut up, Komatsu! She was touching my property! She―"

"You're always leavin' those dirty gloves all ov'r tha places! Don'tcha place the blame on 'er for being curious."

I watch the exchange between both the blue haired female and the redhead male. They . . . like each other. Even though they're just fighting, I knowthey like each other. People that always seem to fight like they do . . . they always seem to like each other.

I stand up, smile and wave goodbye. Although, I know there's no point in it. They're both too caught up in their 'conversation'.

The female ― Komatsu― glares at the male and pushes him. He pushes her back. I leave those two with a smile on my face, knowing that at least love does exist somewhere outside of my daydreams.