Disclaimer: I don't own digimon.
This chapter takes place immediately after the last…probably like an hour or two later.
Chapter Eighteen: Close Call: Kari's Story
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For us, some sort of theme always marks our summers together. Two years ago, it was reunions and first meetings. It was happy but sad at the same time. We were all brought together. Maybe it was fate, or maybe it was just my brother, and Sora's going away party. But it was short-lived, because Sora had to leave almost immediately after we met. But, true to our dramatic style, she came back.
Last summer, it was friendship and fun in the sun. We were together, and everything was perfect. We didn't have to be plagued with thoughts of how this would be our last summer together before the older ones left for college. They all went to the same school, and we were closer than ever. We all had someone. I had T.K., Tai had Sora, Matt had Mimi, Izzy had Yolei. Believe it or not, even Joe had a couple of girls that summer.
This summer, the theme hasn't been decided yet. Mostly because the summer had barely begun, but also because it could end up going two ways. It could be marked by tragedy, losing Tai, Sora, Matt and Mimi, or it can be relief, close calls, and utter delight.
We could lose Tai to the coma. We could lose Sora to either Tai's death,or Summer and her friends. Matt and Mimi, regardless of the outcome, will probably get married, move away, and have kids. Okay, so maybe they won't move away and start a family yet, but once they finish school they'll be out of here. I know that, T.K. knows that, we all know that. I feel bad for T.K. He's losing his brother. Not in the same way I'm losing mine, but I'm sure it still hurts.
I try to stay positive, but I can't shake the feeling that this summer will end in tragedy. And that scares me. What if I'm right? After all, I was right about the shootings. I told T.K. that day that I had a bad feeling, but he dismissed it. Oh well, even if he had taken me seriously, there was no way we could have known what would happen. There's no use feeling guilty, like somehow I could have prevented it. Because I couldn't, I know that. Just like I can't prevent what might happen now.
No matter what I do, I just can't shake the feeling.
All I can do now is pray. I pray a lot lately, ever since the shootings. Because as much as I try to ignore my intuitions and the feelings I get about Tai's fate, they are still there. I beg God to help us out. Help Tai recover; help Sora come to her senses. We all need help in one way or another. So maybe, if I pray, things will get better. Maybe things will go back to normal.
Maybe something will happen that will cast even a glimmer of light on this otherwise dreary and depressing time. Maybe.
Perhaps I'm not feeling this way because of Tai. Maybe something else will happen, that will be just as terrible. In a way, that's an even scarier thought.
I'll be honest: this situation sucks. Everything about it sucks. Not one good thing has come out of it, unless you want to count Matt and Mimi's engagement. I love them, and I know I should be happy for them, but I'm finding it hard to care about it. When Mimi called me up and told me she was engaged, I didn't really feel excited. I didn't really feel anything. She rambled on and on about how I just had to be a bridesmaid, and how happy and in love she and Matt are.
I felt sort of numb, which was weird for me. I've always been able to feel something, whether it's a god or bad emotion, but this was different. Not one feeling entered my heart. Probably because all I could think was, 'this was supposed to be Sora calling me. She and Tai were supposed to get engaged and live happily ever after this summer.' But there's nothing happy about this summer.
Sorry, Mimi, but you have terrible timing.
And even though I know this is not her intention, I can't help but feel like she's overshadowing Tai and his coma. He's my brother, and he's our best friend. We should be focusing all of our positive energy towards Tai, and his getting better. But everyone seems to be focusing on Matt and Mimi. Probably because they don't want to deal with Tai, so they think if they focus on something else the problem will just disappear. But it won't disappear. Oh, Tai, why are they doing this to you? Don't you deserve a few tears? Don't worry; I've given you more than enough.
The only thing I've really felt lately is sadness. Despair, utter despair. And anger, can't forget the anger.
When I'm with T.K., I feel a little better. But not much. I put on a smile, hug and kiss him; pretend I'm my usual happy self. But I'm not, not anymore.
I just feel like there is so much darkness and anger inside me. When I was younger, I was possibly the happiest child ever. No matter what, I would always smile. My mom says that I practically never cried, that I was always laughing and smiling. I guess I never really grew out of it, because I am still like that. I was, at least. But now, I don't know…I'm just not. I don't laugh or smile, not unless I force it.
Sometimes, I can control it. But other times, I feel like I'm going to burst. I feel like I have to do something, or else I might explode due to a buildup of feelings. My parents aren't around, so I can basically do whatever I want when I get angry or sad. I usually scream, cry, or throw things. But none of those things ever make me feel any better. They can't erase the pain; can't make me forget about my poor brother.
No, I need something more extreme. Something that really makes me forget about everything and lose sight of reality, even if it's only for a moment or two. Maybe that's what I'm doing with T.K.
Besides, it's not like my parents will care. They aren't home at all anymore; they're always at the hospital. They never pay attention to me. I know it's selfish, but that's how I feel. Ever since Tai's coma, our parents spend every waking minute at his bedside. The only way I see them lately is if I get T.K. to drive me to the hospital. It's like they've stopped being my parents. Tai and I used to share them, but now…they're all his again. Just like it was before I was born, when Tai was an only child.
Tai used to tease me by saying, "Sure, you're all cute and cuddly now, but just wait until you grow out of it. Mom and Dad will remember how much better they like me, and they'll forget all about you.
To which I would reply, "You shouldn't hold your breath, Tai. I'll always be cute."
This quickly became our little joke with each other. Tai never really meant it; he only wanted to scare me. I never believed it; I knew our parents loved us both equally. I never thought what he said would come true, not in a million years.
But it did.
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T.K. just left. He said he had to get home because his mom would be wondering where he was. It must be nice to have parents that care about you, and what you're up to, the way his do. I used to hate how overprotective my parents were. Now, I'd give anything to have them here, showing any concern at all for me.
I change out of my school clothes (more like pick them up off the floor, put them in the hamper and put on fresh ones) and go to the bathroom. I go downstairs to search the fridge. I decide I have been spending too much time at T.K.'s house. Sure, his family likes me, but I'm sure I've overstayed my welcome by now. I walk by the answering machine and see that the light is flashing. I have one new message. When did that happen? Maybe when I was in the washroom. I play the message and continue my hunt for food.
"Hi, sweetie, it's Mom. Your father and I aren't going to make it home for dinner tonight, so you can order a pizza or something. Sorry that there are no groceries in the fridge, I guess I haven't gotten around to," my mother says through the answering machine. "I got to go, see you later." I close the fridge and trek back over to the answering machine. I grab it and rip the cord out, disconnecting it. I wrap the cord around the rest of it, go outside, and throw it in the trashcan.
As I do this, I can still hear my mother's voice echoing in my head. "Your father and I aren't going to make it home for dinner tonight." Big surprise. Have you made it home for dinner at all this week? Not one night, no.
"I guess I haven't gotten around to it." When would you have time to get around to it? It seems like all you have time for is Tai! Why are you even there, Mom? He isn't awake, he doesn't know your there! God, how stupid can you be? He can't hear you! He has no idea that you're sitting beside him, holding his hand! Don't you get it? He has no idea!"See you later." You're kidding me, right? There are so many things wrong with that sentence that I can't even point them all out. Not 'I love you', not even 'sorry we're terrible parents, but despite what you think, we haven't completely forgotten about you'. And no, you won't be seeing me later. You haven't seen me at all this week! The small amount of time that you are home, I hide in my room with the door shut because I don't want to see you. And do you know why? Because I hate you! I hate you, I hate dad…I hate everyone!
I storm back into my house and slam the door. I see my cat, Meeko, scurry across the floor and run into the other room. I wish I were a cat. Life would be so much easier. Our cat doesn't know that Tai's in a coma. Our cat probably wouldn't even care if it did know. They don't have to go to school, they don't have to put up with family and friends, and they don't have to do anything. My cat's biggest concern is whether her food will be chicken or tuna-flavored today.
I realize that I'm crying. I don't really know why, but I am. Hearing my mother's voice set me off, and I can't see to calm down. Correction: I don't want to calm down. When I'm pissed off, I don't have time to be depressed. I don't think about Tai, because all I can think about is how angry I am.
I go to the kitchen again, and get a glass. I walk over to the sink and fill it with water. I drink it down hastily, still as enraged as ever. My feet are still walking, so I just let them take me where they may. I end up in the living room. I look around and see a few pictures of our family. There's our most recent family photo, taken a few weeks before the shooting. There's my favourite picture, one of Tai holding me when I was a baby. Beside it, there's a picture of mom and Tai, when Tai was just baby. Mom doesn't say it, but I know that this is her favourite of the three pictures.
Her favourite.
Her favourite is a picture of her and Tai. Not the picture of all of us, or of both of her children. Her favourite picture is just of her and her precious baby boy. My grip tightens around the glass until it feels like I could crush it with my fist. I won't, I'm nowhere near strong enough, but it sure feels like I could. Without really thinking (or perhaps I did think, and just didn't care) I hurl the glass toward the end table that the pictures are sitting on. The glass makes contact with it, and smashes into about a million pieces. The picture, much to my dismay, remains unharmed. I think about leaving the mess there. Why should I clean it up? Let my parents sort it out when they get home, if they ever do come home.
Sighing, I decide that if I don't clean up the mess, nobody will. I track down Meeko and carry her upstairs. I lock her in my room so she doesn't come running in and stepping on any of the shards. Then I retreat back downstairs with a dustpan and vacuum.
I get on my hands and knees, and start gathering up some of the larger pieces. My finger is pricked by one of them. I drop it in shock, like the way you instinctively pull away when you burn yourself. I check my hand to make sure it's okay. It's not a serious cut, but there is a bit of blood. I watch as it flows from my cut and slowly drips down one of my long, slender fingers. I'm in a trance. It looks so cool, so magical. I bring it to my lips, and taste it. It tastes the way you would expect blood to taste...and yet, somehow, it seems different.
I reach out and grab a piece of glass (perhaps the same one) and bring it back to my hand. I stop; what am I thinking? Am I crazy? Do I fall into that category, with the rest of the loons?
Shooters running down the halls of my high school: they were crazy. My mother, sitting by Tai's beside, talking to him like he can hear her: she's crazy. Sora, hanging with Summer: she's crazy. Matt and Mimi, getting engaged barely a week after my brother's coma: they were crazy.
I'm not crazy. Everyone else is.
Taking the piece in my right hand, I bring it to my left wrist. It feels cool against my warm skin. With one, slightly awkward movement, I slide it against my skin, lightly applying pressure. After making a short line, I pull away to examine my work. Blood is seeping out of the new cut. Nothing major, but it is enough to melt my anger away. It feels…amazing. It doesn't even hurt. Well, maybe a little. But it was worth it. I stare at my wrist as more and more blood slides down my arm. It looks surreal, almost hypnotic. I drop the glass and stand up, heading to the sink. I wipe off the dried blood with a towel and apply pressure, trying to get the bleeding to stop. I don't care that my wrist is bleeding. I do, however, care if it gets all over the carpet and rest of my house. I still need to clean the glass up, and I can't do that if I'm making even more of a mess.
When the bleeding has stopped, I retreat back to the living room and clean up all the glass. I grab a small flake and bring it to my room. I don't really know why. I open the door to my bedroom and find Meeko sleeping on my pillow, like she always does. I put the glass down on my dresser, and climb onto my bed. Meeko lifts her head up, and snuggles up against me. I can hear her purring, and it's a strange comfort to me.
It's the one thing that hasn't changed since Tai's coma. How sad is that? The only thing that hasn't changed since a couple weeks ago is the fact that my cat still purrs and sleeps on my bed.
Wow, utterly amazing. Even in my thoughts, I am sarcastic.
But it's the truth. Everything else is different. Even my relationship with T.K. has changed now. Will things ever go back to normal again? Or will my life be turned upside-down like this forever? If it does, then maybe I just don't want to live anymore. What's the point to life if it's unfamiliar and cold and uncaring and shitty?
The phone rings. I sit up, much to the protest of my cat, and answer it.
"Hello?"
"Hey, babe," T.K. says coolly. T.K...he's going to be my "point" now, I guess. I smile, in spite of myself.
"Hey, what's up?" I ask.
"Nothing, I'm just bored. Wanna come over? We're gonna order pizza later," he offers. I am about to say yes, when I remember how many nights this week I've eaten at his house.
"No, I think I should stay here tonight. Why don't you come here and we can order a pizza?" I suggest.
"Sure. I'll be right over, okay?"
"Yeah, sounds good. See you soon."
"I love you," T.K. says before hanging up. I frown as I hear the dial tone. He didn't give me a chance to say it back.
I hang up on my end and go over to my closet. I search through all my t-shirts, tank tops and skirts, looking for a shirt with sleeves. Much to my dismay, I can't find any. I glance down at my wrist, which now bears a visible cut, and chew on my lip. I know I have to find something to cover it, or else T.K. will see it and freak out. After five minutes of tearing my closet apart, the most I can find is a pink, three-quarter-sleeve shirt and a green angora sweater. I can't wear the sweater for two reasons. First, I'll sweat to death, and second, T.K. will definitely wonder why the hell I'm wearing a thick sweater in the middle of July. I put on the three-quarter-sleeve, but it doesn't cover the cut. Part of me wonders why I thought it would in the first place.
I go over to my makeup table, sit down, and take out some cover-up. I wince as I spread it over the tender cut. It stings a bit, but I keep applying it. After ten minutes, I'm finally satisfied. At first, one part of my arm was a completely different shade than another. I had to cover most of my arm, but then the other arm looked pale in comparison. I then covered the right arm too, and then washed it off because I applied too much and it was darker than the left.
I examine my arm, and can't see the cut anymore. I smile, sure that T.K. won't notice. Speaking of T.K.…where is he? I head downstairs and turn on the TV. Five more minutes pass, and I still haven't heard anything from him. I change the channel and the news comes on. They're talking about a three-car pile-up on the highway. My mind automatically goes to TK.
Sure, he wouldn't be taking the highway to get to my house, but he would be in his car. What if he was in an accident? I decide to wait five more minutes before I call his house and see if he's still there. Surely he would have called to tell me that he would be late, right?
Five minutes come and go. I call his house; his mother tells me that he left about twenty minutes ago. She asks me if anything is wrong, and I tell her no. I don't want to worry her until I know there is reason to worry. But of course there's no reason to worry. T.K. is fine. He's not hurt; he's fine. He isn't lying in his overturned car right now, slowly bleeding to death. He's…somewhere else. He's alive. There is a plausible reason for why he isn't here yet…there has to be.
Five more agonizing minutes pass. With a shaky hand, I pick up the phone and dial his cell phone number. A woman's voice comes on and tells me my call cannot be completed.
I can't help but wonder why that is. Could it be something stupid, like his battery is dead? That's usually the case. I'm always lecturing him, telling him that one day, someone will need to get in touch with him, but his cell battery will be fried. He just shrugs, tells me not to worry, that he'll charge it when he gets home.
But what if that isn't the case this time? What if he won't charge it when he gets home? What if he never gets to go home again, because he's out there dying somewhere and I'm at home, sitting on my hands? What if the real reason the call couldn't be completed was because his phone is smashed? What if he did get into an accident and his phone was blown to smithereens? I slam down the phone and start pacing around my kitchen. My heart is going a mile a minute, each beat adding a new question to the mix. Why is he not here? Did something happen? If he's going to be late, he should call!
I tell myself to calm down. The only reason he hasn't called is because his battery is dead, and not because he's lying unconscious inside his totaled car. He can't do that to me. He wouldn't do that to me. He knows that I couldn't handle it. Not with the situation with Tai. I would just die if something happened to T.K.
I mean, if possible, I love him even more than Tai. Sure, it's two completely different kinds of love, but still…
No, he isn't hurt. He's fine. He has to be. Then why hasn't he called?
I'm a menace to myself. Every time part of me tries to calm me down, another part jumps in and reminds me of all the terrible things that could have happened.
I realize that I'm biting my fingernails. When did this happen? I pull my right hand out of my mouth and examine it. I've always had long, beautiful nails. I love my nails. I love the way they look with my Chapel of Love pink nail polish on. I love how annoyed Tai gets when I tap the kitchen counter with them. I love the face T.K. makes when I run my fingers through his hair and my fingernails lightly caress his scalp. These aren't my nails.
My nail polish is chipped, and all five of them are now short and jagged, not long and smooth. I put my hand beside the other to compare. It looks terrible. I sigh as I realize I now need to cut my left hand's fingernails, so I don't look like a complete idiot. Disappointed and angry with myself, I tear my gaze away from my hands and return it to the clock. It has been seven—now eight—minutes since I last tried T.K.'s cell phone.
I go over to the phone and dial the number again, thinking that in the last eight minutes he has miraculously found a charger and charged his battery. There is no answer. I slam the receiver down again, growing more and more worried with each passing second. All I can think about is our last conversation. He hung up before I got to tell him I loved him. What if that was the last time I ever got the chance to say it? What if he could never hear me say it again? What if I never heard him say it again? What if I never heard his voice at all, ever again?
I know I'm overreacting. So what if my boyfriend is a little late? But that's not T.K. He is never late. Ever. If anything, he's early. It's weird, but that's T.K. So when he is thirty-eight (that's right, thirty-eight!) minutes late, I know that something is wrong. Hell, something would be wrong if he were one minute late...but over a half an hour? He only lives about ten minutes away, if that. There's no excuse why he should be so tardy! I pick up the phone and am about to call his mother back when the doorbell rings. I drop the phone, ignoring the loud bang it makes when it connects with the floor, and run to the door.
With each step I take, I get angrier and angrier. He's going to wish he were in a car accident when I'm through with him! How could he be so late, and not bother to call and let me know? Of course he knew that I would worry! He knows how I can get carried away and overreact with stuff like this. So what the hell is his excuse? What could it possibly be? I fling open the front door, ready to inflict my wrath, and stop.
There is T.K., standing in my doorway, holding a bouquet of red and pink roses.
"I couldn't remember if you liked red or pink more, so I got both," he says sheepishly. All my anger melts away by the sound of his voice. I nod, smile, and tell him that they're lovely. I take the roses from him, grab his hand and pull him inside, praying he doesn't notice how badly I'm shaking. He doesn't, or he does, and doesn't say anything about it.
We walk into my kitchen and I sit the roses on the counter. He stares at the phone, which is currently resting on the floor. He bends down and picks it up. After putting an ear to it and hearing the dial tone, he hangs it up.
"Forget how to hang up a phone, Kar?" he asks.
"I tried to call you," I begin, ignoring the tears sliding down my cheeks, "but your damned battery was dead." He stares at me like I have two heads, wondering why in the world I would be crying over a dead battery. "I…I thought that something had…happened t-to you," I say before sobbing hysterically. He wraps his arms around me and I bury my face in his chest.
"It's okay. Don't worry. I'm here, see? I'm fine. Nothing happened," he tells me. I don't stop crying. "Come on, Kar, you can't get rid of me that easily," he jokes. I know he's trying to comfort me, but I don't feel any better. Even though I'm in his arms, it feels like he's still a million miles away, where anything could harm him. He kisses the top of my head, which makes me cry even harder.
After a few minutes, I finally calm down. I pull out of his grip and stare him in the eye. He opens his mouth to say something, but doesn't. I don't give him the chance to re-start his sentence as I practically leap forward and pull him into a kiss. He doesn't object, and instead, he wraps his arms around me once more. I stumble backward, pulling him along with me. I slide my hands over his well-toned chest before ripping his shirt off. He does the same to me as we continue awkwardly making our way through my living room and toward the stairs. When my foot hits the first step, he stops.
"I thought we were gonna order a pizza," he asks. I can feel his breath on my face. His lips are inches away from mine. I'm certainly not thinking about pizza, and I have a suspicion that he isn't either. I shake my head, trying to catch my breath.
"Later."
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My favourite thing about T.K. is…I don't know. I can think of about a million amazing things, and it's totally impossible to narrow it down to just one or two. He's, like, perfect. For real. Okay, so not 'for real'.
He's allergic to strawberries and he hates getting needles (he claims you just can't be sure what they're putting in your body; I think he's just a big baby). It will be quite the adventure the day he mistakenly eats a strawberry and needs to get a shot. He will constantly shush you if you talk while he tries to watch sports. He probably spends more time on his hair than I do (he is related to Matt, after all). Not to mention the fact that the way he pops his gum drives me utterly insane. He can't carry a tune, and he cannot skateboard for his life.
But do I really care about any of those things? No, not really. He has the important things, the things that matter. The things which I can't imagine not having everyday.
He's the sweetest, kindest person I know. He's so passionate about everything he does. If he can't put 110 into everything he does, he won't do it at all. He's certifiably insane, but that's okay. He has a list of things that he wants to do before he dies, including sky-diving and bungee-dumping (he likes to pretend he's going to make me go with him, but that's a load of shit and he knows it).
He tries to look real nonchalant once he finishes all of his fries and starts sneaking some off of my plate. I say tries because he'll always grin like a big idiot and give himself away. I'm not a very observant person, but I do notice when half my meal is gone and I'm not even kind of full.
I love the way his lips move when he reads, and the fact that to him, literature isn't Sports Illustrated (though he does read that, too). I love the way his tongue sits just on the outside of his lips when he's taking a shot during a basketball game. I love how he knows all the lines to his favourite movies, and can recite them at the drop of a hat. I love the way he wraps his arm around me when we're watching a sad movie, and the fact that he doesn't protest when I make him watch 'The Notebook' for the thousandth Saturday night in a row.
I adore that tiny, barely noticeable scar about his left eye, from falling off his bike when he was six. I also enjoy watching the grin spread across his face when he tells that story…or any story for that matter. I love the face he makes when I run my fingers through his hair, like a cat being scratched behind the ears.
School actually matters to him, unlike most guys I know (surprising, since he is a jock, after all). He won't compromise his beliefs for anything—even if he's risking expulsion—but he'll re-think it all if he thinks it might be making me unhappy.
He's the same old T.K. with everyone. He doesn't change himself depending on who he's around.
I love how he absentmindedly brushes my bangs out of my face, and the way he kisses my neck when he's bored and wants to make out. I love how, even after all this time, he still won't dare touch me in front of Tai (as if he doesn't know we're all over each other the second his back is turned). He always knows when I feel like talking, when I feel like fooling around, and when I feel like sitting on the couch and watching TV for hours on end. I love how, even now, he can still send chills up my spine and take my breath away with just one touch.
He opens doors for me without a second thought, and he'll always have a joke ready for when I'm upset. He is possibly the only person in the entire male population who doesn't wear his jeans around his ankles. Sure, he could stand to wear a belt since he has absolutely no ass to hold them up, but whatever. I'm not complaining.
He can't eat cookies without getting crumbs everywhere, and he compares my chocolate pudding to diarrhea, hoping I'll be repulsed and not eat it. The second I put it down and declare I don't want it anymore, he steals it and devours it whole. I love the way he looks at me, the way he chews his lip when he's deep in thought, the way he gets excited over little things like the ice cream truck or the carnival.
He doesn't gawk when some blonde bimbo with big tits walks into the room.
He won't kill a spider if he can help it. While I scream and try to step on them, he tries to get them back outside alive (he tells me that they have a family waiting for them out there somewhere, trying to guilt me into not squishing the poor bastard. It works).
I love the way he carelessly tosses his backpack on his bedroom floor after school. I love how he plops down on his bed and sprawls across the entire thing, then grabs my hand and pulls me down on top of him.
He hates 'Seinfeld' just like me. He is probably the only other person in all of Japan who agrees with me on that.
I love the sound of his calm, even breathing as he sleeps. I love watching his chest rise and fall in a rhythmic pattern, and the way my head goes with it as I lie next to him.
But wait a second. T.K.'s sleeping. Shit! We fell asleep. What time is it? I sit up and look at my alarm clock. Five to three. Shit.
"T.K….wake up," I yell. He doesn't budge. He sleeps like a log. I swear he could probably sleep through a rather serious earthquake if he wanted to. I slap his arm; he still doesn't move. I shake him, and still nothing. God, how does he wake up to his alarm clock every morning? I'm about to get some cold water to throw on him when a thought occurs to me.
Who cares? So what if he spends the night? His parents are probably already asleep, and mine aren't even home (big shocker, huh?). If his parents wake up in the morning and he's not there, he can just say he spent the night at Joe's or something. Or, that he was locked outside the house and slept in his car. After all, he's the one that fell asleep. It's not like I didn't try to wake him.
I lay back down and am about to drift off to sleep when the phone rings. Beside me, T.K. is startled awake. Sure, now he wakes up. He looks around the room, then at me, then at the clock, then at the phone, then back at me.
"Shit!" he yells. I stand up and answer the phone, on its third ring.
"Hello?" I say fearfully. I hope I don't sound as nervous as I feel, or else we will be in trouble. Please, oh please, let it be anyone but T.K.'s mother. Let it be a telemarketer calling to sucker me into an hour-long conversation about why I should switch insurance. Hell, it can even be my teachers, calling to tell me that I've failed all my courses and can't graduate. Just please don't let it be his mom!
"Hikari?" Sure enough, it's Mrs. Takaishi. Not only does she sound pissed, but she called me Hikari. The only other people in the entire world that have ever called me Hikari are my parents (only when I do something really bad…which is, like, never), and my principal (but that doesn't really count). God truly hates me. I open my eyes wide and gesture wildly to T.K., letting him know it's his mom. 'Shit' he mouths as he pulls on his pants. I fight back the urge to laugh as he puts them on backwards.
"Hello, Mrs. Takaishi. How are you?" I ask, hoping to buy some time to come up with an excuse.
"Is my son there? He hasn't come home yet, and it's three in the morning," she informs me. As if I don't know. I bite my lip and wish I was a quick-thinker like Tai.
"Yes, he is. We were watching a movie and we fell asleep," I lie, and then add 'I'm sorry' for good measure. I hope that I can cash in all the trust I've built up over the years on this one little 'incident'.
"Put him on," she demands. I try to figure out whether she's mad or not, but her tone gives nothing away. I'm usually so good at stuff like that, too. Tai got the quick-thinking gene, but I got the cut-the-shit-because-I-can-see-right-through-you gene. Apparently, I lost it. Or maybe it only works in person, and not over the phone. Either way, it isn't helping me out right now.
"Again, I'm sorry," I say before passing the phone over to T.K.
"Hey, mom. No, we fell asleep. Yes, I'm aware of what time it is, but like I said before, we just fell—" he stops, his expression a mix of impatience and nervousness. The room is so quiet that I can hear her talking through the phone. I can only catch bits and pieces, though.
"I don't care, T.K….three in the morning…worried sick…now…" Okay, so maybe I was wrong when I thought his parents wouldn't notice he was gone. She's still talking, but I'm not listening anymore. I get dressed and look at T.K. Even if the dark, I can tell he is blushing a little. I know exactly what she just asked.
"Mom! No we did not," he says firmly. "How can you even ask that? Are you honestly saying that you think Kari and I would do something like that? I thought you had more faith in me, mom." I am impressed by both his ability to guilt and to lie through his teeth, all at once. I fight to suppress my laughter as he winks at me and turn his back, probably to keep from laughing himself. That would not go over too well right now.
I sit down on the edge of my bed and sink deep into the soft mattress. I see T.K. turn around and wave his arms, trying to get my attention. He has a stupid grin on his face, like he's going to die of laughter any second now. 'What?' I mouth. He mouths something back at me, but I don't have the slightest clue what he's trying to say. It's too dark, and he was going much too fast, anyway. I raise an eyebrow and shoot him a confused look. He dismisses me and goes back to the phone conversation.
"That's okay, mom. I forgive you," he says. The fact that T.K. and I had a sleepover, and his mother is the one apologizing, almost kills me. I fall back on my bed and stuff my fist in my mouth so I don't erupt into a fit of laughter. Okay, so it isn't really that funny, but it to us at three a.m. "Yeah, I'll be right home."
He hangs up and almost falls over giggling. I have never, ever seen T.K. giggle before, but that's what he's doing now. The sight in front of me only adds to the hilarity of the situation. I'm now convulsing with laughter. When he finally calms down (and I say he because I'm still dangerously close to pissing my pants with laughter) he yanks me off the bed, throws me over his shoulder, and goes downstairs. Gosh, my boyfriend is just so romantic (please note my sarcasm). I let out a small scream as T.K. almost trips over Meeko. One day, that damned cat is going to kill me because she always perches on the sixth step.
"Bye," I tell him as he gets ready to leave. He kisses me softly but it quickly deepens. After a minute or two, he pulls away.
"Don't start that again," he warns with a grin. I open the door, and push him through.
"I love you," I say quickly, and then slam the door. I don't give him the chance to say it back, just like he did to me on the phone. I watch out the window as he laughs, gets in his car, and drives away.
……………………………………………………………
IMPORTANT:
I've got some exciting news for all my readers! I'm going to write a sequel (or trilogy?) when this is done! Mainly because I feel like there's more to write. I want to write about their lives after the fact, approximately a year and a half or two years into the future. I'm in love with this story, the characters and everything else, and I don't want to let it go just yet.
I've already started to write some of it...just bits and pieces when it pops into my head and I don't want to forget the ideas...and I feel that it's really good! Actually, the stuff is better than my writing in this fic, if I may say so myself!
Tell me what you think please.
One more thing: to whoever the hell Pinkdigi Angel is, I totally don't appreciate you stealing my name. Get some originality, please.
And, as always, review!