I stared at the contents of the pages, playing around with the corner of the book. Do I really need to do this to get the love or even be noticed by Alois? I asked myself as I continued playing with the bottom corner. I shook my head. I wanted to keep things natural as long as possible. I'm not going to force Alois into loving me with this book—even though there's a possibility that it's a fraud and really can't grant wishes.
I closed the book, feeling the wind coming from that action rustle my bangs. I got up from my bed and turns to the bookshelf that I had in my room full of books that I owned or borrowed from the library. I kept a specific order on my bookshelf, the first corner to the middle of the top shelf was all adventure, from the middle to the end of the first shelf was all horror, the left corner to the middle for the second shelf was mostly historical-fiction or just plain nonfiction books, the middle to the end of the shelf was all romance (Yes, I'm a big romance geek) and the third shelf, and the last one, was all supernatural and science fiction. Yes I needed that many books in that category.
So after labeling the book that I bought as supernatural/ science-fiction, I placed it among the rest so I could read it later—If I was ever going to read or touch that again. Stepping away from the shelf, I saw how dark and childishly sparkly it was. The whole book was all black, save for the title words which were all golden. I laughed to myself before turning away—needing to do some chores before my mother came home from work.
Running down the stairs that lead to my bedroom, I mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed, swept, and dusted everything until the whole house was comically shiny and clear. If you had an imagination like I did, you'd see all marble tiles—when really they are your ordinary tiles—that sparkled as the lighting from a chandelier—really a light hanging from the ceiling—but you get the main idea of what I mean.
"I'm home!" My mother yelled through the front door. My eyes flew wide open as I struggled to take off the apron. Why was I wearing an apron? It's called dishes and I don't want to get wet, but the sad thing is, this is my mother's apron—because there's really no size difference for aprons—and my mom. . .is this hip person but she likes to call herself "Cool" or "Fabulous", so this apron is this lovely—Sarcastic by this point—pink color.
"Welcome home!" I yelled back at her. How many knots did I make for this apron?! I mentally screamed as my fingers shakingly tried to undo it.
"The house looks so nice since I've been gone!" My mother admired my work as she accidentally bumped into the couch. The wooden legs scraped across the floor and I cringed, still fumbling with the knot, as I thought about how all my work was going to go to waste.
"Are you hungry, Ciel?" My mom called out, her voice coming dangerously close to the kitchen. I sighed with relief as the knot finally became undone, then I turned around to properly greet my mother, but there she stood. Her phone was pulled out, her arms crossed—Save for the hand that peeked out and a smirk pasted on her face.
"W-welcome ho-home, mo-mother?" I greeted, pushing the apron behind my back onto the counter. She continued smirking as she placed the phone into her suit pocket and walked over to the fridge.
"You look nice in pink, Ciel." She snickered as she pulled out a YooHoo drink and took a sip. My ears burned red as I swung back around to finish off the remaining of the dishes. "I can't wait to show my co-workers this picture. It's so kawaii!" She exclaimed, I glared at my hands, my face now burning red. "You got good genes from me!" She cried, grabbing my thin waist and pulling me up.
"Mom! Not now!" I screamed, flinging soap and water everywhere. There went the cleanness of the kitchen. "But whyy, I want to love my adorable little baby while he's still young!" She cooed.
When she finally put me down, I looked at her. "Little?" I exclaimed. Please tell me that she didn't forget my age.
"Aren't you twelve?" She asked, throwing the drink into the trash can. I reached over and moved it to the recycling bin.
"No, mom, I'm seventeen." I flatly said. I felt her shocked stare at my back and she only received a sigh back from me. This happens all the time. When you're feminine looking and short, with a childish long hair cut, you can't help but be classified with people younger than you.
"Anywayssss," My mother attempted to change the subject. "How was school today?" She asked. I told her about how it was just a normal day and that I visited the bookstore and bought something. She made an approving noise and said that the books are going to get me a great job one day. "Well, don't do anything stupid, and make sure that you pray every morning!" She reminded me as she she walked up a staircase towards her room. Most likely going to sleep since she works early in the morning to late in the afternoon.
I continued cleaning up her mess, rearranging furniture, moving her bags to the table so when she got her coffee in the morning, she wouldn't forget her bags and cleaning up the water and soap that was splashed around not too long ago. By the time I finished—and collapsing onto a couch—it was already pretty late at night. I'd say about eleven at the last. I got up slowly and moved to my room to finish the homework that was due tomorrow and look over the plans that I had for the following day.
Another day waken up by the chirping of birds. Instead of lazily getting up—as I have done for the past week, I shot straight up and looked out the window. I forgot that today was one of those days where the whole school does a physical check up of your body. I threw my head to the side and looked at the time. 7:21 Again, I had time to go to Church, but not today, I knew that I had to go to school early before the hallways become flooded with the bodies of my peers.
After rushing through my daily necessities, I ran past my mother, who screamed at my back while waving a pan at me to eat something before I left, but the only response that she received was me shouting back gomen (Sorry) before slamming the screen door behind me.
As always, being a shut in otaku in my home without joining any sports or club activities, I had no stamina when it came to running. So what seemed like a marathon race to me—face all flushed, the messenger bag strap sliding up and down my shoulders, mouth opened to pant and my hair stuck to my face due to humidity and perspiration—was really a normal everyday person in Japan walking to work.
I stopped by a bakery shop because I knew that I couldn't go on if I wanted to live. So I stood there, leaning against a wooden stake or pole as I tried to get my wind back. "Voom, voom, it's the bullet train!" A little kid called out while playing with a truck, sliding its plastic wheels back and forth across a table. A mother sat next to him, her hand protectively resting against his arm as her head was bent to the side to chat with another woman—holding a cup of tea like she was a little old British lady—nodded to her every word.
I pulled out my cell phone to make sure that I had enough time to walk for now instead of spiriting for my life, and I concluded for the time being that I was okay to walk since school didn't start for another forty minutes and I still had about a fifteen minute walk from here. After about sixteen minutes of walking, I finally arrived at the school. I was proud, never have I ever came to school this early. (Since I'm usually a slow walker, I'll be at school just in time the gates were about the close.)
As I entered through the cold, painted black metal gates, I stepped onto the concrete steps that led inside the school. Let me explain this, I may be very bad with adjectives but this is a really nice school. By really nice I mean really nice. Like high school for rich people in those anime shows. But surprisingly, this is an old public for otakus, like me, to fangirl over the amazing anime aura of Victorian era schools.
Going to my locker, which wasn't something overly excessive or big, just big enough for you to put your at home shoes in and then change into your school uniform shoes. The girls had to wear black closed toe shoes with a little strap to go over the top of their feet, which would be either naked to show off their skin or clad with a white or black pair of tights. The boys at our school also had to wear black shoes, but these were mostly dress shoes.
Shutting my locker door, I was about to turn away until I remembered that I didn't say hello to my father that day. Walking back to my locker—No, I do not have his body in my locker—I opened it to see a picture of a rather tall and attractive man hoisting a little boy up into his arms. The little boy had straight black hair and bright blue eyes, while my father who also had my straight black hair, he didn't have the same bright blue eyes that I had, but instead had a handsome pair of brown eyes. I winced as I looked at him more carefully, before feeling light headed. I felt forward as the raging headache made my vision throb with each heartbeat, blinding me until I slid down the lockers.
"Papa!" I cried out to my father, who had his arms wide out for me to jump in and give him a hug. I did just so as I hopped into his arms and nuzzled my face against his cheek.
"Hello there, my little Ciel!" My father whispered lovingly into my little ear. I would giggle and grab his face while gazing into his brown eyes that were polar opposites from my bright blue eyes. As I think about it, my father didn't have a bad looking face, in fact it's one of those faces that you'd see businessmen wear when they are cheerfully walking around the lobby talking to the secretaries and to everyone there—people that he knew or he didn't.
"How was your first day of school?" He'd ask him, lifting me up in his arms before starting to walk back him. I cling to his business suit's collar to assure myself that I wouldn't fall though my father's strong grip on my legs should've been enough to tell me that he wouldn't drop me if it meant his life.
"It was great! How was work, papa?" I asked back with my little high voice. I was five jeez.
"It was fine." He sighed tiredly, "I wish that I had more time to stay home and take care of you."
"It's okay, papa! I'm happy with you picking me up after school anyways!" I cried out happily while wrapping my arms around his neck to ensure him that he shouldn't be sad about leaving mother and I early in the morning. My father chuckled before putting me down to switch the briefcase to his hand and took my little pale hand in his previously occupied one. "Well let's go to a nearby flower shop so that we can surprise mommy. Okay? You can keep a secret right?" My father asked in a teasingly voice.
I'd giggle before nodding my head back in response. My father has a habit where sometimes he'd mumble something under his breath where no one—not even himself—would know what he said. But this moment it was special since I heard what he mumbled under his breath. "Good, there are some things that should be left unknown." Was what he said. I tilted my head to the side and looked up at him, hoping that he'd notice and explain what he meant by that, but my father who was unconscious to his outburst never noticed what he said and continued walking towards a flower shop with a smile on his face.
Finally arriving at the store, my father looked around. He was stuck between a bouquet of red flowers—as I look at the name tag, they were roses—and compared them with a smaller bouquet of white flowers. These were dropping little white hearts on a dark green stem. When I came closer to the bud, they have their little pollen rods but they were small, slender and a beautiful golden color.
"Ciel, which one do you prefer?" He sang out, as he took the different colored flowers in his hands and presented them to me. I looked at them both, they were both a beautiful, a deep red color and a bright crisp white, but what made me cringe was that on the roses, there were little thorns. I'm not sure what made me cringe about them, but the first thought in my head was "They seem evil."
"The white ones father, I'm sure that mother would love them." I tilted my head to the side and smiled. My father chuckled and ruffled my hair before going to the counter to pay for them. "Well, let's go before it gets dark and your mom starts to worry." He turned around, waving behind his shoulder at the workers before leaving the store.
Taking the usual route home, the sun was still up enough that it wouldn't cast their bright red and orange colors across the blue canvas, but low enough that it was in the danger zone of turning red. We walked in silence—my dad would be occasionally humming, tapping his fingers on my little bony knuckles as I would stare straight ahead of us, as if my gaze would protect us from what dangers could potentially lie before us.
"Papa, I'm getting scared." My voice quivered as I watched the beautiful sun slow disappear from the horizon, shining its red and bright orange colors across the blue canvas board. My dad let go of my hand and pat the top of my head, ruffling the silky black hair until they stood up.
"It's okay to be scared now, Ciel, but once you get older, you have to be stronger and braver." My dad replied as he resumed holding my hand before turning a corner into an alley.
"Is papa not afraid of anything?" I asked, excitedly, imagining my dad to be a cool superman—which was ironic because he was just about as scrawny as I was.
My father laughed at this, and turned his head to see the admiration in my eyes, before looking back in front of him again. "No, that's not true. Everyone is afraid of something—and I'm included in this." He replied back to my quietly. I observed our surrounded in quiet as I took in his words. He was scared of something. Mother was scared of something. So that would mean that I would naturally be scared of something.
But what? I asked myself, and clutched the warm hand tighter. "Papa, what am I scared of?" I asked him because I couldn't figure it out on my own. We turned around in a circle before my father answered with, "Well, that's for you to find out." What could that be then? I wondered to myself as I dropped my hand from my father's and felt it hit my thigh with a thud.
"Ciel. . ." I heard my father whisper to me, even quieter than he did earlier on. It was just barely audible, literally so quiet that the wind could pick it up and blow away with those words. "Stay quiet and slowly back away." My father commanded me as he gripped the white flowers harder, the petals shaking off onto the ground as my dad's arm trembled with fear.
I stood there in shock, not really knowing what to do; confused by the chain of events. "Ciel, please go, run back to the flower shop, somewhere, just not here." I could hear the fear in my father's voice now and that naturally made my body quiver as I stepped back five half steps. My eyes opened wide as I saw the reason why my dad was afraid.
There stood three men, all tall and dark from the shadows the alley cast on them. The one in the middle—who was the tallest—took a step closer to my father. My father stood there, shaking also, his body small compared to the heavily built men before him. "Wh-what is it y-you want? M-money?" My father stuttered as he reached into his pockets to fumble for his wallet. The tallest one punched father in the face and watched him as he fell backwards. The other two chuckled as they walked over to him, picking him up by the underneath of his arms.
My dad gave a weak struggled as the tallest one kept kicking him in the stomach, the face, neck and his legs. I still stood there, hands shaking unbearably as I sat there uselessly watching my father get attacked and throw up blood. "Wasn't there a little kid with you?" One of the men spat into my father's face, but the only reply back was a groan before the sickening thuds and smacks were heard again.
The tears finally came out of my eyes as I watched, watched as these terrible people beat up my father, before taking everything from him. When the three men were finally out of sight, I ran to my father, the tears pouring like crazy and my nose clotting as I sobbed. "I'm so sorry, papa. . . " I cried into his bloody shoulder, hugging him hard.
Papa slowly lifted a shaking hand to my hair and stroked my hair while whispering words like, "It's okay, it's not your fault", "I'm glad you're safe", and "I love you and your mother." After he said the last I love you to me, his shaking breath stilled, and his hand fell limp on my head. I looked up at his peaceful, bruised, closed eyes, the tears rushing out even harder again.
"Papa? Dad?! Please don't leave me!" I screamed at the top of my lungs as I tried shaking his bony shoulders as if that would do anything. The faint sirens of the police was nearing now, if only they came a few minutes earlier they would've been able to save him. I gritted my teeth in pain as I got up on unsteady legs, feeling hands and voices all around me, asking if I was okay and what had happened.
Nothing came out of my mouth as I bent down to retrieve the flowers that dad was holding. People were still asking what had happened but their words seemed too distant, as if all that mattered were these white flowers—tainted with red—red just like the sunset up above me that flashed across a beautiful canvas.
Author's note: As for now, since it's a school year, I won't be able to type these chapters really fast, but I do promise that I'll update at least once per two weeks. Thank you for reading chapter two of My Sinful Love. Please favorite, follow or post a review on this story! It'll do wonders to motivate me to write more. So yeah! Stayed tuned until next week. . .or something. xD