C'est moi!
Je sais, je sais; c'est mes vacances! Je ne dois pas faire le fanfiction!
I am ashamed of how much brainwork that took me. Sigh. If you can read it, good for you. 'Cause I'm not sure I can.
Thanks to:
JuSt To RaNdOm- Muahahaha!
bunnyjumps- If I do a fashion show, don't laugh at my unoriginality. Great suggestion... if only I weren't an idiot.
Najika Tsubasa-chan- I love ?????s. I'm evil. What can I say?
-Tribal Addict-- Secrets make a person interesting.
Also, since most of you commented on it-- yes, she vomited blood. Now Mikan hates me too. Sniffle.
Ce qui je n'ai pas, c'est Gakuen Alice. I'm not sure if that was correct grammar. Bleh.
I still don't know how to say own in french.
And if you didn't get it: I DON'T OWN GAKUEN ALICE, SMART ONE!
...I'm a hypocrite.
Never Again
Chapter 7
She felt like crap.
Mikan dragged herself through the doorway of her home, easing out of her uncomfortable high heels. She didn't really have the energy to eat, so she pulled herself to her bedroom with sheer determination alone. As she stumbled from the hardwood hallway to the soft carpet of her room, her foot caught on the level change and twisted.
Why is the floor rising?
She went down with a thump, instinctively falling on her side to minimize injury. She felt so helpless, lying there in her rumpled suit, the bitter taste of blood still in her mouth, unable to be rinsed out. Her neat bun had fallen apart, her entire body was stiff, and her makeup was dripping sideways.
She mindlessly rolled onto her back, trying to loosen her limbs. She noticed the miserable lump of ashes sitting in a glass vase on her dresser.
She felt like serious crap.
Usually, now was the point—when the damsel in distress was in her greatest time of need—that the knight in shining armor of Prince Charming or Prince Charming in shining armor would come rushing in, defend her from all evil, and sweep her into her arms for the beginning of a happily ever after.
Oh, who was she kidding?
Okay, proof: 1) She was not some brainless "damsel", 2) she was not "in distress", 3) who the hell wears armor nowadays?, 4) fatigue is annoying, but isn't evil, 5) being swept into someone's arms makes one sound like a pile of dust, 6) being swept into someone's arms probably isn't very comfortable, and 7) life sucks; get over it.
Number seven in particular.
She used these reasons to fuel her… perseverance, added that force to her pride, and agilely forced herself to her feet. The sudden shift caused her to feel dizzy, lose her balance, and fall onto her knees. She was having trouble breathing, and there was dull, throbbing pain in her chest. For a moment, the familiar situation caused a flashback, and she started having trouble distinguishing between reality and memory.
"Ahh—!" she screamed, her voice violently choked off, as one of the men pinned her slim throat to the hard, cold, brick wall with a tense fist.
She couldn't breathe…
She heard them snicker, laughing at her pain.
Why was the world laughing at her? What had she done wrong this time?
She felt stinging on her scalp as the man raked his thick fingers through her hair, roughly pulling out many tangles acquired from days of relentless travel. She couldn't cry out, her breath still caught.
She pulled at her hair, terrified by the old images, intensified by age. She rolled around on the carpet, scratching the minimal bare skin with the roughness.
She tried to kick at him, but he barely felt it. Yet he snarled curses at her and slid down her jacket zipper with his free hand. He reached in—
Her chest was being constricted. She couldn't breathe.
She was suddenly gasping for breath, crumpling onto the cold, wet ground, hardly registering the shrieks and screams of the men. One of them had elbowed her in the chest as they pushed away. When she had partially regained consciousness, she looked hazily at the source of the noise, and her eyes opened wide in horror.
The men were being tossed about by a flash of a shadow. The men themselves were cloaked in darkness, but their silhouettes in the fog were fairly light compared to the intensity of pure night emanating from the new figure. Every time the shadow would flash out an barely visible extension, crimson would appear like magic. Soon, there was only the shadow standing, now with spots of dark red. Where the face would have been, there were two red lights—
Her vision was blurring, she could barely understand that the darkness was coming for her—
"What's your name?" the shadow was asking.
Black.
"You don't have one?"
The shadow wasn't just black; it was holding silver, and it was red, and it was white…
"Can't you speak?"
No, the silver was a-a—a weapon of some sort, and the white was a face…?
"Are you hurt?"
There was crimson on the silver too, and some on the black. There was some crimson on the face as well…
"Are you hungry? Tired?"
The crimson on the face was eyes… but wait, there was more crimson on the face.
"Come on, speak!"
Suddenly, the world focused.
The shadow was a person—a beautiful person. Deep crimson eyes, with long eyelashes, slightly tanned skin, shimmering black hair, multitudes of earrings, and strange crimson swirls on the face. The person was holding a simple dagger, now dripping with blood onto the puddles on the concrete.
"Speak!" the vision repeated.
Natsume.
"N—Natsume?" she finally breathed. She caught one last look of the incredible, mesmerizing crimson before the image blurred.
Fade out.
It took some time for Mikan to calm down. She eventually laid on her back in the middle of the floor, inhaling and exhaling deeply, the pattern occasionally interrupted by hitches in her breath.
She allowed one guilty thought to escape before hauling herself to her feet and lurching to her closet. But even she could not suppress the longing, no matter how she fooled herself into thinking she could.
She wished Natsume were there.
Her head was ringing.
Her eyes fluttered open, but her eyelids dropped like weights after a few seconds.
No, her head wasn't ringing; something next to her head was.
She reached out and blindly grasped her slim, cool cell phone. She brought it to her ear and slid it open. "Hello?" she said blearily.
"Hey Mikan-chan!"
The sharp, excited voice shrilling in her ear snapped her eyes open. Oh dear god…
"It's Tsubasa!"
"…Hi."
"Aw, you don't sound very happy to hear from me."
"That's because I'm not."
"Don't be so mean—hey!" Tsubasa faded and was replaced by a matter-of-fact woman's voice.
"Hi Mikan."
"Hey Misaki."
"Sorry about Tsubasa—" Mikan could hear his whining in the background "—he's usually not such an idiot."
"...Yeah, sure."
Misaki laughed. "I know, but it's good to be nice right—you baka, stop touching me before I stuff your—" Misaki covered the phone for a moment "—Sorry."
Mikan fiddled with the little charm on her phone. "Don't worry, I'm used to it." She noticed that Tsubasa could no longer be heard.
Misaki laughed again, and Tsubasa began wailing in the background, "I wanna talk Gimme the phone I wanna talk What's Mikan saying—" etc. Suddenly, there was a loud thud, and his voice disappeared again.
Mikan rolled over in bed, unwilling to get up. "So that's what married life is like, huh? Can't wait."
There was a rare silence.
"Actually Mikan, that's what I meant to call about—before the idiot took my phone."
Mikan buried her face in her pillow.
"I heard you went to a party with Natsume."
Mikan didn't deny nor affirm it; it was in the paper after all.
"I just…You know you can come to Tsubasa or me if you ever—if he ever hurts you," Misaki said softly. "We'll kill him for you."
Mikan rolled back over and laughed, but it stuck in her throat and came out harshly forced, even to her ears. "Yeah. You know I can't…" She didn't finish, but Misaki understood. She had been the one to comfort her whenever Mikan couldn't get mad at Natsume for some reason or another.
"Well... I hear your friends are going to model for your designs!"
"…Sumire has the loudest, most obnoxious voice I have ever heard."
"I see. Can I join?"
Dear god, kill me now.
"Can I? Mikan?"
"Are. You. Serious?" Mikan deadpanned in monotone.
"Um, yes…?"
Mikan reminded herself of her ability to break people's eardrums. "I… you know what, I really don't give a damn anymore," she sighed, trying to breathe without screaming.
"Then can I call Aoi?"
Mikan bolted upright. "You have Aoi's number? Aoi Hyuuga?"
"Yes… We do work together."
Mikan cursed herself for sitting up so quickly; her head was spinning. "God, Misaki."
"What did I do? She's a makeup artist, I'm a stylist. We work together Mikan."
Mikan sighed again. "Ugh. Invite her, whatever. Do what you want."
"Awesome! When should we come in? I'll contact the other girls if you want—and I think I have Nobara and Yura and maybe even Yuri—"
"Gah!" Mikan clambered to her feet. "Just have them send their schedules to my secretary. You know her email."
"Got it!" Misaki sang. "See you later, bye!"
Mikan growled when she heard the dial tone. So far, NOT a good day.
Dear God,
Thank you for all the kindness you have shown me thus far. However, I do not think I am strong enough to survive everything you have dropped on me. I profusely apologize for any crimes I may soon commit, be it assault or homicide. Please forgive me.
I am truly, sincerely sorry.
Mikan Sakura
Mikan prowled through the hallway. She needed to install a coffee machine in her room. Along with an aspirin dispenser. No, then she'd probably kill herself, so forget the aspirin.
At least she'd fired Shibata Azumi. Sadly, that was the only bright part of her day. Incompetence was not accepted here at—what was her company's name again?
Any employees skittered around her, their shaking, sweating hands nearly dropping all their papers as they took in the dark aura surrounding her. If nothing else, she had learned at least that from Rena.
After she retrieved her coffee, her mood lightened considerably. Not that that was saying much; she still had a shadow surrounding her. She stalked back to her office.
She wasn't feeling good as she entered her secretary's office, which was like an anteroom before anyone could reach her office. It was a reasonably large room, taken up mostly by chairs lining the walls for people to sit in and several large desks.
Reika-san was her secretary, but it was a stressful job, so she had two assistants. To ease the boredom, Mikan also allowed them to bring in other people, so long as they completed their work well and the guests did not touch anything.
"Reika-san, I have a lot of work to do if I'm going to finish by the time the new 'models' come over," she said as she entered. "Could you—" She broke off when she saw them.
Why are they standing there? She realized a second too late that she had spoken aloud.
Literally, ALL of them were there. Hayate was mooning after Hotaru, who was having a staring match with Subaru, Ruka was constantly glancing at them gloomily as he talked on the phone, Sumire was beating Koko up, Rui was hanging onto Tsubasa as Misaki loomed over them dangerously, Tsubasa was breaking out into a cold sweat, Wakako was admiring the design of the office, Yuri was trying to get Reika's (female) assistants off of her, Nobara was sulking in the corner, Kitsuneme was flirting with Reika, Nonoko was ranting about some new element to a confused Anna, Yura was spacing off towards the wall, Yuu was frantically typing on his computer, Youichi and Aoi seemed to be off in their own world, Kaname was handing a new toy to Shizune to play with, Megane seemed to be inhabiting a chair, Sakurano was wondering why a chair was hopping around, Mochu was looking at a magazine for hair growth products, and Natsume was glaring at Akira/Tono who was about to jump on her.
And Mikan's jaw was dropping.
And Tono was pouncing.
And the room was heating up.
And Mikan was sighing. Why was the world against her today?
:3
o-.-o
Does that look like anything?
Btw, fellow authors, I need some help:
After a chapter is posted, if documents expire, will the chapter disappear? Please help me, I don't want my hard work to vanish!
If I'm being a total idiot, feel free to let me know.
Review!