Hey guys.
Kipla: About that, I felt too lazy to reveal everything at once. You'll see as everything slowly unfolds!
TheCertainSomeone: I would like to say a very big 'Thank you' to you. Reading your reviews were much fun and very insightful. Thank you, once again, for your comments.
MeepsterWalking: Interesting username you've got there! Thank you for your reviews. Well, Mikan here talks about a religion a lot because... again, it will be revealed slowly! I've already dropped a few hints that'll click later on.
God'sHenchwoman: Heh... sorry for offending you. This does, however, play an important role in my story. I'll tone it down, but I can't promise that I'll eliminate it completely, alright? :)
Guest: Hmm... MAYBE Mikan takes drugs... maybe she IS a murderer! For Natsume... Just hold tight!
Derp1Derp2: Haha, thanks for the review. Natsume'll appear soon enough. Patience is a virtue, my friend. (I lack it too... don't you fret!) ;)
NeverFallingDown: Thank you, thank you. As for the girl with flaxen hair, you shall soon see!
Disclaimer: Disclaimed.
One week passed. It has been exactly one week and since the autopsy; it had been one week since I have been lugged into countless arguments with anyone, and it has been one week since I have kept to myself even more so.
Over the course of seven days, New York had begun experiencing light dustings of snow. A towering evergreen was being erected in Times Square, Christmas carols mixed with Classical masterpieces spilled forth from coffee shops, bookstores, cafés, and just about anywhere imaginable besides perhaps prisons. Children danced to and fro, twirling in the soft, snow globe-like scenery of the Park. Lights of every kind warmly sparkled on rooftops and against windows.
I watched with a pang as the children frolicking without a worry, and I briefly wished for my childhood. I missed the endless times Mum would separate my brother and my fights; I missed Mother's warm lap as she tended to the fire under our chimney, with chopsticks loaded with warm, fluffy marshmallows, beside one another. That woman never allowed outdoor objects indoors – "pet" frogs and toads stayed in plastic boxes on the doorstep (They were lucky enough to either die from asphyxiation or escape before winter rolled around), glossy bird feathers remained strictly in the garage, and interesting leaves were snuck sneakily into the house.
But I don't live with my mother anymore.
I didn't know that, Sherlock. I thought Reo was a woman and that he gave birth to you.
Reo.
The name brought a hard, gritty feel into my stomach. Unsettled, that afternoon's liquid-y clam chowder threatened to come back up.
No longer comforted by the soft snow or the happy children, I shoved my clammy fingers into my jacket pockets and dragged myself away from the park.
"Are you Mikan Yukihira?"
I didn't even bother to turn around. As light footsteps followed me for several seconds, I hunched my shoulders and sped my pace. "Sorry kid. The name's Georgia Summers."
I swear, if the snow was not threatening to freeze me in half, the name would have seemed funny.
"What a warm name dropped carelessly onto a mean woman," came the reply.
Well, fuck that.
Somewhat surprised with the response, I stopped walking. Pulling my hood over my head, I turned around. The boy was short and round, his brown hair squashed by what I assumed was a hat knitted by his grandmother. His soft brown eyes were framed behind large wire-rimmed glasses and a sloppy lightning-shaped scar was drawn onto his forehead with a red sharpie.
He looked at me shyly as several snowflakes landed on his lashes. "Georgia Summers is still a beautiful name."
I shrugged a laugh in response, unaccustomed to the boy's sudden appearance. "Thanks, kid?"
Don't ask.
As he continued watching me, he tugged at his colorful, lumpy beanie and blinked up at me.
He was a rather interesting kid.
Pointing at his forehead with a freezing finger, I said, "You like Harry Potter?"
He nodded vigorously and beamed up at me toothily, his front teeth were half-grown. "I want to grow up and be famous like Daniel Radcliffe, and be the richest man alive!"
What ambition. I cleared my throat. Finding nothing better to do, I dropped onto one knee and met eye to eye with the little boy. "Yeah?"
He nodded again. "Yeah! I'll put even Bill Gates to shame!"
You do that. You do that.
Unmindful of the thickening snow, I chuckled, albeit oddly. "If that's the case, kid, then you'll have to work hard. You know Babe Ruth?"
He gawked at me, rubbing his flushed cheeks. "You don't look like someone who's into baseball," he mumbled with a little frown.
"I've got a brother who killed himself over the pithy sport. Kiddo," now I was referring to myself, "don't go around judging something by its cover."
"I thought you were mean!" he pouted.
"I am. If you want to kick Bill Gate's butt, big guy, don't forget that dreams don't work until you do. It's hard to beat a person who never gives up."
"Easy for you to say," he mumbled into his jacket.
Straightening, I tipped my head towards the dark sky and shivered. "Where's your mom?"
"Oh you know," he shuffled, "Somewhere."
I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Somewhere?"
Sketchy.
"Yeah, somewhere," he echoed.
By now, the romping children in the Park had disappeared. Their footprints were being erased from existence by the white flurries of originality swirling from the skies.
"She hasn't forgotten you, has she?" I joked halfheartedly, desperately attempting to wipe the frown off his face.
Lame. Fail. That's stupid, Mikan.
He waved his hand in an adult-like manner. "Imma big boy, I can take care of myself!"
Shrugging, I patted his head. "Take care, alright?"
"You too, Miss Summers!"
That name honestly doesn't sound half bad.
I walked away, a small grin on my face. Undoubtedly, I had learned something new today.
"I'm taking you home. Where do you live?"
It had been several minutes since I left the little boy behind. Ducking under the shelter of an evergreen tree, I watched as he stood under a streetlamp in the park, alone.
It didn't seem right. It just didn't.
He pushed himself to the ground, hugging his body for warmth as his shoulders shook silently. I could only assume that he was crying. He had removed the lumpy beanie from his head and he held it in his hands for warmth. The brown locks of hair quickly dampened as the snow soon created a transparent shoji screen around him.
"Where do you live?" I repeated.
The boy's whole demeanor had changed. "I don't tell strangers where I live," he snapped.
It was the truth to say that I was taken aback. Spending several moments to gather my thoughts, I watched him with a frown. "It's getting late; your parents will be worried."
"I already told you, my mom is coming to get me."
"It's been five minutes already."
He shoved his stiff, damp beanie back onto his head. I winced as he looked at me defiantly, despite the evident purpling of his lips and the slight shivers vibrating off his being. "Well she's busy alright? Why'd you care so much anything?"
His clear articulation and sure grammar struck awe in my shivering self. That's right. Why do I care?
I didn't know what to say. I didn't expect a mere six-or-seven year-old to ask me why the hell I was sticking my nose into his business. I didn't expect to witness a boy standing outside in the evening, in the snow, alone. Heck, I don't even know if I was even doing the right thing. Like he said, I was a stranger… asking for his address.
If it weren't for the large age gap between the two of us, I'd be definitely labeled as a hooker. If I'm lucky, maybe a slug. After all, I am dirty – just don't mess 'dirty' up with 'sleeping around.'
"Well?"
I looked down. Kneeling on the ground half-covered by snow, the little boy's eyes were watering and stray snowflakes melted on his cheeks.
I wanted to tell him to repeat himself. I wanted to tell him that I didn't hear him the first time around. I wanted to ask him to repeat himself.
But he took my answer as an insult.
With eyes bleary with tears, he rubbed his snowy sleeve forcefully across his eyes, picked himself up from the snow on the ground, turned around, and ran away.
He ran away from me.
Perplexed.
That's what I felt – perplexed.
The little beanie had disappeared completely from view and I was once again alone, standing stupidly in the snow, one hand picking at the wet droplets on my nose.
I never got his name.
Taking the long route home, I ducked into the elevator. Shaking out of my coat, I didn't know what to do.
It had become routine to slip silently into our apartment without either sibling coming across one another. I stayed out of Reo's way, and he stayed out of mine.
After his unfathomable accusation, I had steered clear of the orange blonde. If he had no intention of apologizing or believing me, I had no intention of speaking to him.
Pushing into familiar surroundings, I instantly made a quick getaway to my room. Hanging the wet coat on an unoccupied hook, I kicked off my boots and shut the door.
Surveying my surroundings, a heap of discarded clothes sat atop my bed – they were arranged in such a way that screamed "What the hell are you doing there, get your arse over here and clean us up!" Wooden and plastic hangers alike were strewn all over the floor; a few were snapped in two. Colorful undergarments littered the foot of the bed and sat uncaringly on the dark windowsill.
My favorite pillows were torn to shreds.
Glancing at the door behind me, I scowled at the small black cat. He continued blinking up at me innocently as he washed his paws slowly. I didn't do anything, he seemed to say.
With a huff, I mumble, "If you didn't do it, then who did?"
All Blackie did was purr before curling himself into a furry ball.
Reo.
I stormed out of my room and burst through my brother's door.
He was sitting on his own bed with a pen in one hand and a can of orange soda in another. Scribbling simultaneously on several notebooks, his sheets were littered with snack crumbs and print-out images.
Face resembling that of a spooked horse, he looked up at me in surprise. Straightening his hunched back, he asked, "What are you doing here?"
Seething, I pointed at him. "What do you want with me?"
Startled, he repeated, "What do I want with you?"
Hands balled into fists with frustration, I stalked up to him. Grabbing a fistful of the images on his bed, I tore them to pieces before raining them on top of him. "You heard me. What do you want from me?"
Narrowing his eyes, he glared at me. "You owe me." Downing a large gulp from his soda can, he said tiredly, "What is this about?"
Irritated, I growled, "Everything!"
"Is this about Sakurano again?"
Yes this is.
NO IT ISN'T!
I coughed. "Screw you. Who gave you permission to trash my room?"
"I don't need permission."
Deep breathes.
In. Out. In. Out.
Deep breathes.
"I'm done with you. See you in a month."
"I saved your ass, idiot. I would stay there if I were you."
Newsflash: You're not me, buddy.
Something was up with this guy.
And it seemed that not even Bill Gates could put him to shame.
Yup, I had to end it there.
You know the procedure! Favorite, follow, and review! Mostly follow though...
Okay? Okay. Yay!
