Mireille in Japan, Chapter 8
Kirika had slept sitting in the chair at the table, her head beside a carefully prepared plate of surimi, the ends of her hair dangling millimeters above the food. Slowly she opened her eyes and closed them again quickly, not wanting the glare of the sun in her eyes. Keeping them closed, she raised her head and rubbed the left side of her face. It felt oddly flat after sleeping on it for hours.
Her first instinct was to jump up and talk to Mireille-but Mireille wasn't there. Disappointment hanging over her face and mind, Kirika scanned the room for any signs of Mireille's presence. There were none. Even her moped remained in the same place, leaning against the window. For the first time, a pang of shock running down her spine, Kirika noticed that it was beginning to gather dust. Not a lot, however, she noticed, running her fingers along the soft leather seat. Perhaps Mireille had been gone about a week already.
Kirika was shocked.
"Mireiyu. . ." she whispered quietly, her gaze traveling around the room and finally coming to sit on the plant.
The pink flowers were blossoming up nicely now, looking nothing like the wilted plant Kirika had encountered when she first arrived. Almost refusing to believe it, Kirika came to the realization that the flower had been dying from lack of water. Lack of Mireille to water it.
"No," whispered Kirika quietly. "Mireiyu. . . come home. Onegai. . .
"Onegai!"
The word escaped from her throat as nothing less than a shriek, and Kirika was sharply reminded of the last time she had screamed so. It had been when she was at Chloe's hands, when Chloe was telling her what she had done. . . what she was. . .
Kirika stared around her in shocked silence and expected one of Mireille's neighbors to bang on the door, demanding to know what she was yelling about in Japanese so early in the morning.
Kirika put her head back down on the table-the right side on the table, freeing her left cheek, and groaned. The tips of her dark hair dipped in the sauce and Kirika impatiently brushed them out. Everything here was so. . . that of Mireille, except Mireille herself was missing.
And the wallpaper was changed. Kirika laughed bitterly at the fact that it had taken her so long to notice.
After living with Mireille for so long, Kirika had grown to understand her tastes, grown to understand the Corsican blonde's mind better than she did herself. They could go shopping and Kirika, the one who had no interest in shopping, could pick out what Mireille would buy before Mireille could even find it.
It was a paler shade of pink now, leaning more towards purple than red, but parts of her apartment had still been left their natural pale blue. To Kirika the lighter color symbolized Mireille's light-heartedness, partnering with her carefree feelings. She hadn't cared about Kirika's departure.
In fact, Kirika realized, Mireille had made no changes to her lifestyle at all since she had left. Not even a single piece of the furniture had been moved. Three stylish lamps still hung delicately from the ceiling. Wrongly Kirika interpreted this to mean that Mireille had not cared that she had left. She sat down on the steps leading up to the bed and put her head to her knees, sobbing tears of disappointment.
Only the plant had changed, she remembered. Was that because she didn't want to remember my pouring water into the old one?
"It'll probably just turn black now."
Kirika looked up slowly at the pink-blossomed plant. It had not wilted; its leaves were taut and rigid, filled with life within those fresh water replenished cells. She wiped her eyes with her hand and left the apartment.
= = = = = = =
"Don't follow me."
There wasn't a tone of voice that Mireille hadn't tried with Crystal yet. She'd coaxed and scolded to no avail at all. The cat wasn't leaving her, and still tagged along everywhere she went, even if it was from the bed to the chair.
"What am I going to do with you?" Mireille said wearily, and sank into the chair. She crossed her ankles and interlaced her fingers, placing them behind her head to form a rest for her tired neck. Crystal hopped up onto her lap and mewed enticingly.
"I can't bring you back to France, you know," said Mireille honestly, her blue eyes wide as she stroked the kitten's ears. Crystal closed her eyes and mewed, rolling back and forth as if she had no worries at all. Mireille sighed.
"I'm sorry, Crystal," she whispered.
Crystal did not respond. Mireille continued to rub her and felt a tear running down her cheek. There was just tonight left before she had to leave to return for Paris. If only she could stay longer. . . but Mireille already knew that it was hopeless. Kirika would never return to Japan; if she intended to, she would have done so earlier. And Crystal. . . Mireille sighed again, rubbing the kitten's ears harder than usual in a gesture of affection.
"Gomen nasai," she said quietly, using Japanese this time. "But we just can't be together. I can't stay in Japan forever and you can't come to France with me. . . ever."
Crystal responded with a sad mew that seemed several octaves higher than normal. Mireille closed her eyes and thought of Kirika, a gentle tear running down her cheek now.
= = = = = = =
On the way back, people stared at Kirika not because of her nationality-but because her hands were so full. The young Japanese girl's hands were filled with pots of paint, canvases, brushes, and other art materials that she knew she would only use once.
But this once would matter more than it had any other time in her life.
Inside Mireille's apartment, Kirika flipped a light switch and the three hanging lamps came to life. She laid out her canvas and unscrewed bottles of paint on the pool table and carefully dipped in her paintbrush into a bottle of deep red. She had bought supplies in America, but had never used them-Spanish had been her new obsession. Painting had been a thing of the past, been a thing of France-of Noir. She spread a thick layer of red on the canvas.
The old familiar feeling was back. Kirika smiled.
= = = = = = =
"Please. Onegai. . . onegai shimasu."
Mireille was practically pleading by now, but the kitten didn't get the point and tagged along happily at her heels. In despair, she ignored it while dropping off the keys to Kirika's apartment with a polite "Arigatoo," and opened the door to the outside.
It had been hard to leave, harder than she had imagined. In just five short days Mireille had grown so attached to the past. Kirika wasn't there, but the essence of Kirika was everywhere, although it was Kirika the amnesiac- Kirika who didn't know anything about herself. Kirika's essence had long since fled their apartment in France.
Mireille had left everything exactly how she had found it, although much cleaner and neater. There was nothing to say, nobody to say goodbye to. She closed the door and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. It was as if another door of the past had closed in her heart, leaving an empty void within her.
She walked down the streets of Japan, wearing her tall black boots and her usual red shirt and short black skirt, a pale purple trench coat on top. Crystal followed her as she strode down the sidewalk, ignoring the looks that the Japanese people gave her. She couldn't look at the kitten. The cat had never reminded her of Kirika as much as she did now. The pain was too much to bear.
Mireille raised her hand, calling a taxi, and when it pulled up in front of her, Crystal mewed desperately as Mireille's hand touched the metal car door handle. Mireille turned to look at her for the last time. "I'm so sorry," she whispered in English, pulling the car door open. "But I can't take you with me."
And with that, she stepped into the car, tears welling in her eyes. The last thing she heard was a high-pitched mew as she shut the door.
Mireille cried silently, tears sliding down her cheeks, all the way to the airport. She dared not look back at the kitten sitting miserably on the side of the Japanese sidewalk that she had left behind.
She didn't even know if it was the old pain of having lost Kirika or the new heartache of saying goodbye to Crystal that made her more miserable, but it didn't matter anymore. She had said goodbye to a part of her past and couldn't open it up again, no matter how many painful reminders she encountered.
Author's Note: I don't know why but this chapter seemed really sad and writing the end made me cry. . .I think I've grown to love that little kitten. . .
Anyway, please leave me a note and tell me how I'm doing; I'm considering doing a sequel to this story but I don't know if it merits having one. . .?
Kirika had slept sitting in the chair at the table, her head beside a carefully prepared plate of surimi, the ends of her hair dangling millimeters above the food. Slowly she opened her eyes and closed them again quickly, not wanting the glare of the sun in her eyes. Keeping them closed, she raised her head and rubbed the left side of her face. It felt oddly flat after sleeping on it for hours.
Her first instinct was to jump up and talk to Mireille-but Mireille wasn't there. Disappointment hanging over her face and mind, Kirika scanned the room for any signs of Mireille's presence. There were none. Even her moped remained in the same place, leaning against the window. For the first time, a pang of shock running down her spine, Kirika noticed that it was beginning to gather dust. Not a lot, however, she noticed, running her fingers along the soft leather seat. Perhaps Mireille had been gone about a week already.
Kirika was shocked.
"Mireiyu. . ." she whispered quietly, her gaze traveling around the room and finally coming to sit on the plant.
The pink flowers were blossoming up nicely now, looking nothing like the wilted plant Kirika had encountered when she first arrived. Almost refusing to believe it, Kirika came to the realization that the flower had been dying from lack of water. Lack of Mireille to water it.
"No," whispered Kirika quietly. "Mireiyu. . . come home. Onegai. . .
"Onegai!"
The word escaped from her throat as nothing less than a shriek, and Kirika was sharply reminded of the last time she had screamed so. It had been when she was at Chloe's hands, when Chloe was telling her what she had done. . . what she was. . .
Kirika stared around her in shocked silence and expected one of Mireille's neighbors to bang on the door, demanding to know what she was yelling about in Japanese so early in the morning.
Kirika put her head back down on the table-the right side on the table, freeing her left cheek, and groaned. The tips of her dark hair dipped in the sauce and Kirika impatiently brushed them out. Everything here was so. . . that of Mireille, except Mireille herself was missing.
And the wallpaper was changed. Kirika laughed bitterly at the fact that it had taken her so long to notice.
After living with Mireille for so long, Kirika had grown to understand her tastes, grown to understand the Corsican blonde's mind better than she did herself. They could go shopping and Kirika, the one who had no interest in shopping, could pick out what Mireille would buy before Mireille could even find it.
It was a paler shade of pink now, leaning more towards purple than red, but parts of her apartment had still been left their natural pale blue. To Kirika the lighter color symbolized Mireille's light-heartedness, partnering with her carefree feelings. She hadn't cared about Kirika's departure.
In fact, Kirika realized, Mireille had made no changes to her lifestyle at all since she had left. Not even a single piece of the furniture had been moved. Three stylish lamps still hung delicately from the ceiling. Wrongly Kirika interpreted this to mean that Mireille had not cared that she had left. She sat down on the steps leading up to the bed and put her head to her knees, sobbing tears of disappointment.
Only the plant had changed, she remembered. Was that because she didn't want to remember my pouring water into the old one?
"It'll probably just turn black now."
Kirika looked up slowly at the pink-blossomed plant. It had not wilted; its leaves were taut and rigid, filled with life within those fresh water replenished cells. She wiped her eyes with her hand and left the apartment.
= = = = = = =
"Don't follow me."
There wasn't a tone of voice that Mireille hadn't tried with Crystal yet. She'd coaxed and scolded to no avail at all. The cat wasn't leaving her, and still tagged along everywhere she went, even if it was from the bed to the chair.
"What am I going to do with you?" Mireille said wearily, and sank into the chair. She crossed her ankles and interlaced her fingers, placing them behind her head to form a rest for her tired neck. Crystal hopped up onto her lap and mewed enticingly.
"I can't bring you back to France, you know," said Mireille honestly, her blue eyes wide as she stroked the kitten's ears. Crystal closed her eyes and mewed, rolling back and forth as if she had no worries at all. Mireille sighed.
"I'm sorry, Crystal," she whispered.
Crystal did not respond. Mireille continued to rub her and felt a tear running down her cheek. There was just tonight left before she had to leave to return for Paris. If only she could stay longer. . . but Mireille already knew that it was hopeless. Kirika would never return to Japan; if she intended to, she would have done so earlier. And Crystal. . . Mireille sighed again, rubbing the kitten's ears harder than usual in a gesture of affection.
"Gomen nasai," she said quietly, using Japanese this time. "But we just can't be together. I can't stay in Japan forever and you can't come to France with me. . . ever."
Crystal responded with a sad mew that seemed several octaves higher than normal. Mireille closed her eyes and thought of Kirika, a gentle tear running down her cheek now.
= = = = = = =
On the way back, people stared at Kirika not because of her nationality-but because her hands were so full. The young Japanese girl's hands were filled with pots of paint, canvases, brushes, and other art materials that she knew she would only use once.
But this once would matter more than it had any other time in her life.
Inside Mireille's apartment, Kirika flipped a light switch and the three hanging lamps came to life. She laid out her canvas and unscrewed bottles of paint on the pool table and carefully dipped in her paintbrush into a bottle of deep red. She had bought supplies in America, but had never used them-Spanish had been her new obsession. Painting had been a thing of the past, been a thing of France-of Noir. She spread a thick layer of red on the canvas.
The old familiar feeling was back. Kirika smiled.
= = = = = = =
"Please. Onegai. . . onegai shimasu."
Mireille was practically pleading by now, but the kitten didn't get the point and tagged along happily at her heels. In despair, she ignored it while dropping off the keys to Kirika's apartment with a polite "Arigatoo," and opened the door to the outside.
It had been hard to leave, harder than she had imagined. In just five short days Mireille had grown so attached to the past. Kirika wasn't there, but the essence of Kirika was everywhere, although it was Kirika the amnesiac- Kirika who didn't know anything about herself. Kirika's essence had long since fled their apartment in France.
Mireille had left everything exactly how she had found it, although much cleaner and neater. There was nothing to say, nobody to say goodbye to. She closed the door and closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. It was as if another door of the past had closed in her heart, leaving an empty void within her.
She walked down the streets of Japan, wearing her tall black boots and her usual red shirt and short black skirt, a pale purple trench coat on top. Crystal followed her as she strode down the sidewalk, ignoring the looks that the Japanese people gave her. She couldn't look at the kitten. The cat had never reminded her of Kirika as much as she did now. The pain was too much to bear.
Mireille raised her hand, calling a taxi, and when it pulled up in front of her, Crystal mewed desperately as Mireille's hand touched the metal car door handle. Mireille turned to look at her for the last time. "I'm so sorry," she whispered in English, pulling the car door open. "But I can't take you with me."
And with that, she stepped into the car, tears welling in her eyes. The last thing she heard was a high-pitched mew as she shut the door.
Mireille cried silently, tears sliding down her cheeks, all the way to the airport. She dared not look back at the kitten sitting miserably on the side of the Japanese sidewalk that she had left behind.
She didn't even know if it was the old pain of having lost Kirika or the new heartache of saying goodbye to Crystal that made her more miserable, but it didn't matter anymore. She had said goodbye to a part of her past and couldn't open it up again, no matter how many painful reminders she encountered.
Author's Note: I don't know why but this chapter seemed really sad and writing the end made me cry. . .I think I've grown to love that little kitten. . .
Anyway, please leave me a note and tell me how I'm doing; I'm considering doing a sequel to this story but I don't know if it merits having one. . .?