AN: Thank you very, very much for reading and reviewing:) I hope you enjoy this chapter!
Chapter VII
"Chindan! Into the office, please."
The girl's sharp tone elicited unusual haste in the maid. So did the fact that her employer called her to the office—namely, Michiru's father's office, a room the girl never used. Abandoning the dishes she'd been listlessly washing, Chindan hurried to comply.
"Take a seat."
Across a bulky wooden desk, the teenager sat in a chair almost twice her size. For a long moment, all she did was tap her fingers on the desk, keeping her gaze fixed on a point behind Chindan.
"Yes, Michiru-san…?" the woman finally questioned, with a tinge of uneasiness. "How can I help you?"
Michiru reached in a drawer and took out a folded newspaper. She banged it on the desk with surprising force. Her eyes swiftly met Chindan's; anger had lent them a darker shade of blue. Yet when she spoke, her tone was icily calm:
"Take a look at this." She almost shoved the newspaper into the woman's slightly shaking hands. "Take your time" she added after a second.
The woman swallowed visibly. But she wasn't going to allow one wispy teenager to intimidate her. She displayed a confused mien.
"I'm afraid I don't understand…"
Michiru nodded slowly.
"Can you read?"
"What! This is insul—"
"Can. You. Read."
The girl's tone was almost menacing. Chindan had never seen her employer in that state. True, the girl had been jumpy and more withdrawn in recent days, but never that bad. Her voice dripped sarcasm, and her steely gaze seemed to bore straight into the woman's skull. Chindan was alarmed.
"Yes" she replied, trying to sound offended.
"Read this for me, please". Her tone reverted to normal, and Michiru put a finger on one of the articles.
The maid's eyes skimmed over the title, and the corners of her mouth tightened.
"This is a bunch of—"
"Read it."
"But I don't—"
"Read."
Chindan swallowed hard, and complied.
" 'Teenage Artist: Child Prodigy or Social Recluse?'" she started, trying to keep a steady voice. "Her paintings make the object of great admiration in art galleries, and her violin playing draws crowds to her concerts. Most of the art lovers in this area have heard of Kaioh Michiru, the striking teenager who has charmed everyone through her works."
The woman paused, but one sharp look from Michiru made her continue. What did she care, in the end? It wasn't her fault the girl couldn't take some constructive criticism:
"But what kind of person truly lies behind the sweet façade? Our sources inform that the seemingly charming Michiru actually shuns the company of the very people she supposedly plays for. Living in an isolated house, surrounded by great luxury, but no companionship whatsoever, the girl prefers solitude and displays little warmth towards those around her. She…"
"Stop."
Chindan complied. She took her hands off the tabloid, as though the simple contact repulsed her, and gave Michiru a blank look.
"Tell me, Chindan" the girl started in a calm voice, "what do you think of this article…?"
"These journalists don't know what to write these days" the woman supplied quickly. "Don't worry, Michiru-san, hardly anyone reads—"
"You have thirty minutes to pack your things and leave this house."
For a second, the woman seemed to want to continue her idea. Then the words registered, and her composed expression dissolved into shock and anger.
"What? I had nothing to do with this, you have no right…!"
"Well…" Michiru seemed completely relaxed, but one could tell by the way she gripped the handles of the armchair that she was anything but. "Chindan, social recluse I may be, but even I have my contacts. Would you like to know what they said on the identity of those 'sources'?"
The woman started shaking her head, when Michiru said curtly.
"Save it. You're fired, Chindan."
The maid—or former maid—froze for a second, then stood up in full rage.
"Fine!" she shouted, "fine, have it your way, you brat! I was sick of working in this house, anyway! You think that was bad?" she threatened pointing at the newspaper, "Just wait and see what I'll tell them next! They paid me well enough for this! The 'source' will have a lot more to reveal!"
"At least I'll know she's not living in my house anymore!" For the first time, Michiru started losing her composure. "How could you say something like that about me!"
Chindan snorted.
"You really can't see, can you? It's all true, you fool…" She seemed to draw strength from the girl's shocked expression, and her voice escalated in loathing. "You think it was easy for me? You think I enjoyed serving you all this time, seeing how a snotty little fool with illusions of grandeur had it all?"
Michiru felt tears well up in her eyes. She felt disappointed, betrayed…alone. If someone who had lived with her for one year thought such things, was there any surprise that others believed it, too?
"Just…go away", she ordered, her voice suddenly thick with the urge to cry.
Chindan stormed out of the office, and the girl slid down in the oversized chair. Her breath was fast and unsteady, and her hands shook lightly. She heard the—former—maid packing, opening closets and drawers where no possessions of her own could possibly be—but Michiru didn't care.
She could barely believe the meanness the world held. How did others deal with it—or did the world hold that malice for her alone? People were so cruel. They obviously didn't mind hurting others, not people like Chindan at least, or like whoever had written the article. People who thought she was cold…who could blame her if she chose to stay away from them?
Is this world worth saving?
She frowned at the strange thought. But before she could wonder where it had come from, a thousand others invaded her mind, and she was almost overwhelmed with the intensity of emotions that she did not recognize, with the gravity of thoughts she did not conjure.
Saving…is this what will have to be done? Who? Who will do it? How? How can I help, why should I help, why not? Why now? Where? Where do I find it? What will it take, the saving of the world? What will I do…we? What will we do…?
Where are you…?
Michiru's eyes sprang open, and she scuttled out of her seat. She hit the edge of the desk running out of the office, but she didn't feel the pain. Down the stairs she flew, to the basement where, hidden among shadows, the answer awaited. Her heart pounded wildly, and suddenly…
…suddenly it reverted to its normal rhythm. As if freezing water had been poured over her, the girl felt…cold…numb. Her mind abruptly took control of her body, but something had control over her mind. Her moves were slow, deliberate, as she pulled the cover off the large canvas.
"No!"
Michiru recoiled from the apocalyptic sight that the almost finished painting revealed. She stumbled across a small wooden stool, and fought to keep her balance. She had to escape the haunting thought! Turning on her heels, she fled from the room, feeling the weight of the image as an evil stare behind her.
Instinctively, she dashed down the well-lit hallway of her house, towards the door. But as her desperate run brought her closer to the exit, the indistinct panic escalated. It surged through her veins, and it was more than panic, it was foreboding, and it was no longer indistinct, it was focused.
As Michiru reached the massive front door of her house, all the horrifying thoughts, all the unwelcome emotions that ravaged through her focused in one single, clear sensation: imminent danger.
And the doorbell rang.
AN: Like it? Hate it? Should I go on? Please let me know what you think:)
Myosotis