25 Ways to Say I Love You
Sariah Loire
11. Death
Skip Beat! and its characters, locations, terms, etc, do not belong to me. Apologies for the angst.
It might have been easier to bear if I would have had Kyoko by my side. I would have had someone to lean on, someone to share my sorrow with. Even if I had to hold back my tears in front of her, it still would have been worth it, just to have been able to feel her presence standing next to me.
Instead, she was across the room with my father. Her arm was around his shoulders, as if a child was supporting their parent, instead of the other way around. I wanted to be in her place, oh how I wished to be able to have him tell me that everything was going to be okay, that I was still his Kuon, and that he didn't blame me for what happened.
But I knew that there was no way he could utter those words to me, they would be lies, after all. It was my fault; it was only because of me that the beautiful woman who had cared for me as a child lay cold, and unmoving in that metal casket.
The ceremony and burial took place in California. Despite the lecture I had given Kyoko about working even if a family member dies, I had cancelled appointments and spent a small fortune to get on a last-minute flight to make it to my mother's side before she departed this world. I had made it with precious few moments to spare.
And then, at the ceremony itself, I couldn't go to the one family member I had left in the world, for fear that he would reject me. He might have chalked it up to the fact that I was still keeping my heritage a secret, but that would never have kept me away from his side during that time.
The president arrived not long after I got there. As soon as he walked in, he strode past the casket and to his friend's side. The two had a tearful embrace; the president was no doubt reliving similar memories of the day he had faced so many years ago.
While I was watching them, I failed to notice the short young woman who had made her way to my side. "Why don't you go talk to Father? I think he wants to see you, he kept looking over here."
I knew better, but I went anyway. I didn't walk around the back, where the crowd wouldn't speculate why I was at the funeral for such a widely known model as Juli Hizuri. I walked across the front of the church, straight for the man who had done nothing but try to help me accomplish my dream.
When I reached the spot where he stood, he didn't accuse me. He didn't become angry, or tell me to leave. He opened his arms and I stepped into them. Five years was a long time to be apart, but facing the thought of never seeing each other again took away the petty things that had worked so well to separate us.
But I would never forgive myself for letting death be the thing that brought us back together.