Oh my gosh. I am the worst.
But now, school is out, so I'm
back to being dedicated!!
Please pardon any typos.
I'm too tired to fix anything right now!!!
:D
xoxo,
Spoons
Crybaby!
...Chapter Five…
Oil and Water
I think, perhaps, there is a complete misunderstanding of wealth.
It isn't cliché at all really.
You don't have to be poor to be happy; you don't have to be rich to be unsatisfied.
Abuse comes in all shapes and sizes, and heartache doesn't care who you are, and those are two things I seem to know a lot about.
Don't get me wrong, my parents may fight, and my Mother may not be fond of me, but neither of them have really ever laid a hand me, maybe to bat my hands away or something, but never to actually hit me. No, not even my mother would do something like that. She's far too proper.
I don't know why this is all I can think about as I enter my empty home.; maybe its just the shock, maybe its my own internalization to fight when something tries to wheedle its way in. Self pity or something like that, I muse. At least I'm smart enough to realize I have the fatal flaw of coddling myself when I'm upset with these ideas of hurt and sadness, but I'm too lazy and stubborn to do anything about it.
I trudge up the stairs to the upper level of the house, my feet dragging. My face isn't swollen or red, I haven't even been crying. I don't usually cry when Takashi-kun isn't around, it's like, without him I don't remember how to as well as when he's there. A wall of concrete between me and all the things that make tears come out.
Kana-san is watching me, but she's not saying anything. Kana-san doesn't pry, and I'm very thankful for this. I enjoy solidarity. I can make it if I'm on my own…I'm very much used to it by now.
My bedroom is somewhat of a haven. It's very cluttered; I like picking up things and keeping them. Most of them are very ordinary; bottle caps, electronic store pens, pieces of paper, odd-looking stones or foreign coins. Mother calls it trash and Papa (who has barely seen my bedroom twice) only winced and called it charming. In truth, it was Sister who brought about the habit. When we were small she used to find things all the time and put them in a shoebox under her bed. When she left, the shoe box stayed, and so did all the habits she'd poured into it.
I shut my bedroom door quietly.
Sister poured a lot of things out when she left. She left them on the floor and in the walls, in the smell of her blankets and her clothes, the perfume on her bureau, her jewelry. It was like she had to leave it all behind, like she couldn't bear to bring it with her.
The very memories seemed to be painful, the objects themselves so distasteful she'd rather forget them than keep them for the sake of holding onto a part of your life. Sister even left me behind.
"YOU CAN'T GO! YOU'RE ALL MINE! YOU PROMISED! YOU PROMISED!" I dragged at her skirts, I pulled and tugged and screamed and cried and sobbed. Sister, with her suitcases at the door whirled on me and grabbed my claw-like hands.I can't remember much of after that except crying.
Screaming and crying and then silence. A great and aching silence.
Her palm collided with my cheek with such a heavy sting the very wind, all the breath in me, went catapulting out in a huge gasp.
"You are such a selfish little girl! A selfish, selfish little girl! I am not your Mother Hoshiko! Grow up!" But I couldn't say anything. The words were all gone. Gone, gone, gone. Any ounce of hatefulness, any ounce of contempt.
Because I couldn't cry anymore.
And it frightened me.
"She wasn't Sister then." I remind myself quietly, walking over to the photograph, the light masking the figures that sit on my dresser. My eyes narrow as I take in the tall, slender form of her Husband and my beautiful Sister. Even on printed paper she can still look through you while she speaks, and he is still ugly in all his beauty. The one that stole her, when she was perfectly mine and we were perfectly happy, and it was only the two of us. If it's anyone's fault for anything, it's his. He's the one that made her change. That made her hate me.
He's perfect; he smiles and is kind.
I hate him. I hate him like I've never hated anyone.
I want to kill him. I want to hit him for taking away Sister.
I scare myself as I slam the photo face-down on my dresser and suck in air through my teeth. I fall back on my bed, still wearing my puffy uniform and itchy stockings. With nimble fingers I unroll them and toss them onto my floor, bare toes feeling the warm carpet and curling into the thick braids of my huge rugs. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my fists into them until purple dots fly up and explode across my vision.
I shouldn't think that way, I should never ever think that way. Sister is happy with Katsuya-sama. They are happy and I should be too.
"I shouldn't be so selfish." I whisper to the empty air, to my china dolls and fancy dresses. I open my eyes and stare at the canopy hanging above me. I am reduced to talking to a bedroom of things. I never invite friends over. I don't really go anywhere. I am always alone.
And unlike unsociable girls who bathe and revel in complete silence, I cannot feel like that.
But it isn't unnerving; it is very, very sad.
I sit up, the blankets and sheets rustling. I can see my reflection in the standing mirror on the other side of the room, and I am quite unsure of what I see. I run a hand through my hair, practice a coy smile, tug my ribbon and look down at my very small chest.
I blush and cross my arms, falling back, only this time on my side and curling my legs up. The sheets tickle my nose and I inhale the smell of myself. I am very tired.
I want to give up. I am probably going to give up. I am giving up.
"I have been very selfish." I say again, only this time a little louder, like I was chiding a small child, who happens to be me. I bury my head into the blankets and furrow my brow, fighting at the weird sensation in my heart. So stupid.
"You're not stupid. You're not stupid at all! You don't want to get hurt that's all." The girl in the mirror is comforting me and I feel grateful I have her.
This whole idea, this premise that I could accomplish anything was so ridiculous…it should be funny, I should be laughing, I should be crying.
I should be…something. Anything. I want to feel something. But I don't.
All I can hear in my head is the firm "I don't love him." Over and over and over.
"We don't love him. We don't love him like that." She echoes, helping me along.
When did I become so concerned with not loving another person? Isn't it always supposed to be the other way around?
What could I possibly be afraid of?
'You know. We know. It's alright. We can just stay here, it's safe here. We aren't going to talk about it. We won't ask questions, we don't have to remember.'
The mirror girl smiles at me and I roll over, away from her prying eyes. I squeeze my own shut.
"Yes." I whisper.
The mirror girl only sighs and says "Its Sunday tomorrow. We should go out."
But we'll just stay in.
And it is all very, very sad.
Sunday morning comes and I breathe easier. I swing my legs, kicking them over the couch in my pajamas because I finished all my homework last night. I'm sitting upside down, watching a funny movie that isn't supposed to be funny but in fact very serious.
Our living area isn't normally occupied, but this Sunday I feel like putting my patient things to good use; they are such excellent listeners after all. So I turned on the TV and set about watching whatever was on, and all I got was the American Film that is so comedic in its sincerity. I like how the sounds of the TV fill up the rooms.
"Young Miss…"
The squeak that erupts from my mouth sends me over the edge of the couch and pulling myself off the floor, I can only grasp my heart through my shirt and blink at Mura-san with confusion.
How does she keep doing that?
"M-Mura-san…w-what is it?" Mura-san squints her eyes and I can almost see her head shake in distaste, the invisible reverberation of the clicking of her tongue bouncing into me and off again. She takes a shallow breathe and straightens, one hand smoothing her kimono.
"There is a young man here to see you…a certain Fujioka Haru-…" My eyes widen and I scramble around the couch staring at the elderly woman with instant anxiety.
"F-FUJIOKA-KUN?!" I shout, hands grabbing the side of my face. She purses her lips, lifts her chin with a haughty sniff of her nose.
"Honestly, Young Miss. Yes, Fujioka Haruhi is waiting your audience in the library…" While I hyperventilate she watches, her face covered in nothing but dissatisfaction, "Young Miss, you would do most well if you changed and made yourself presentable. Young Miss, if you Mother saw you in such a state…what on Earth would Madame even say." I swallow guiltily. Mura-san has always loved my Mother, and its always been there that her loyalties have lied, waiting and lurking in the shadows cast by my Mother's tall frame. When she speaks of Mother, even now that she hasn't set foot in the house for close to six months, she speaks of her so highly, so fondly. I hang my head a little and smile shyly.
"O-of course. Please tell Fujioka-kun that I'll be down momentarily."
"Very well Young Miss."
Mura-san moves aside to let me pass by her, and up the adjacent stairs in the next room, but as I leave, the telephone rings. Instantly, Mura-san has traveled to the low coffee table and the phone is cradled in her bony hand.
"Hai. Hai." She says indifferently, and as my hands grip the railings, half way to the second floor landing, I can hear her speak before there is a long pause and then her almost giddy voice.
"Ah, Madame! So good to hear from you…how is Moscow? Yes, Yes, the Young Miss is…well…the same…yes…Oh…Madame?" Suddenly, Mura-san's voice becomes low, and there is a low hiss of air. I am frozen, fingers turning white on the banister. Mura-san's frightening silence hangs in the atmosphere, and my chest feels tight. Rubbing my heart through the fabric I can feel the tense beats through the thin material.
"Madame…if…I…yes. Of course. Of course Madame…your room will be…prepared…" The phone rattles as she replaces it and my brow furrows. My heart is still beating erratically. Why did Mura-san sound so worried?
"If you are still listening Young Miss…your Mother is returning this evening."
I jump as Mura-san's voice, now strained and thin wrap around the staircase and ooze into my ears, waking me up. With a jump I run the rest of the way up the stairs, and rattle the portraits in the hall with the slamming of my door.
Smoothing down my dusty hair I clear my throat and walk into the library. Fujioka-kun is indeed there, seated at one of the chairs, hands folded on his lap…only…
"Fujioka-kun?" I blink, realizing just how small he looks sitting on the plush furniture. He's very delicate for a boy. His shaggy head lifts and he smiles hesitantly.
"You have a very big library." I blush at his deadpan statement and walk over, sitting down slowly in the chair across from him, my ankles crossed, hands gripping the fabric of my dress.
"Ah…Yes…I collect books. My favorites are foreign poetry." I know I am speaking to fast. Why is my voice so loud? Why do I always sound this awkward when people come over? "I-If you ever want to borrow one…" Fujioka-kun smiles light-heartedly.
"Thanks. I'll be sure to ask when I'm done studying for finals!" I shift in my seat and the silence drops off before Fujioka-kun clears his throat a little.
"You know, the reason I came was originally because I was supposed to be giving you this, or something silly like that." I look at the hand digging into his pocket and he pulls out a heavy black envelope scattered with crystal stars and swoopy, glittery handwriting. He holds it out to me and with hesitant fingers, I accept it, and I can almost feel all the books on the shelves peering over my shoulder as I turn it over in my hands.
"Its next week, the Senior Ball. Apparently it's the standard thing here; for The Club at least." I blink at the parchment quality paper I've drawn from the inside, and I can hear my pulse thrum in my ears and my blood heat up.
"Tamaki-senpai really wanted me to tell you that whatever impression you got from us, we're really not that shameless, and we do want to help girls, so please don't give up on us." My lips part slightly and I look up at Fujioka-kun as he stops talking again, hands back to being folded on his lap.
"But that's not really all. In my opinion, he's going about this all wrong, but then again, he's kind of an idiot, so it happens." Haruhi's eyes lift and he stairs straight into mine. "Hoshiko-senpai, I don't know a whole lot about you, or even about Mori-senpai, but I know enough to understand that you two don't necessarily voice your feelings or what you want very often, do you?" I can't say anything. I just sit there, useless. Haruhi blinks and continues.
"I mean, its like, well, I guess I kind of get it." He rubs his knee softly, "When I first joined The Club I really hated it. I thought it was stupid…but I'd been alone for a really long time. I had my dad, and I was so used to just doing what I needed to I had kind of forgotten what I wanted…What I'm trying to say is maybe, Hoshiko-senpai, you feel like you need to say something to Mori-senpai to compensate for what you want? Tamaki-senpai is always talking about what he wants, so he doesn't really get that. And what he needs is what Kyoya-senpai wants…and the twins, well I don't think they can really differentiate…" Haruhi-kun is starting to ramble now, and I would have laughed any other time at the natural air that surrounds him, but I can't. My fingers, still curled into the invitation, are numb.
"I…I…don't understand…" The words are so soft I don't even realize I've said them, but Haruhi-kun is so sweet. He only blinks, and thinks before trying to rephrase it.
"You've been alone a lot, too? Haven't you? Well, sometimes, when people are alone, we trick ourselves…" His voice breaks, as if he too is also understanding something he's been struggling with, "we trick ourselves we're ok. We all do it for different reasons. I do it so my Father won't have to worry, so that I can make my Mother proud…but Hoshiko-senpai, sometimes you don't know exactly what you should be doing until you're given it. I don't really know why you do it Hoshiko-senpai, but you really do deprive yourselves of chances at being really happy."
Haruhi's eyes are so level, so stern, it's almost frightening the amount of energy he pours out of his small body.
"I think you should take this chance with Mori-senpai. No. I think it's what you have to do, which is even more that just needing or even wanting."
"You're a selfish girl! A selfish, selfish little girl!"
All at once, I twitch to life. No. I shouldn't want anything. Nothing at all. I'm fine, all alone. I'm absolutely fine. I don't want anybody to think I'm selfish.
I have everything. I don't need anything. I don't want anything.
I'm happy. Perfectly happy. Fine. All alone, I'm fine.
"But you see," I say, and I wince at my voice. It's clear and cold and so aristocratic; the shield that my kind have if we have to use it, the barren wasteland of emotions the beautiful reserve where we can hide from the intruders that threaten our existence, our everything's. I smile stiffly.
"I don't need or want Takashi very much at all anymore. We're like oil and water, so different…so you see Haruhi-kun, I've decided that I don't even want to pursue it anymore."
Haruhi's face betrays no emotion, save for the barest glimmer of his eyes as he flicks them to the carpet. He smiles.
"Well then, I guess I'll be going then." He stands and I remain seated; he walks himself to the edge of the library. I know he can see me, my fingers gripping the arms of my chair, my eyes squeezed shut. Even with the back of my chair between us, there's no way he can't see. My whole body betrays me, my whole face is contorted in the lies I just said.
"But you know Hoshiko-senpai? Isn't it funny how oil holds up the water when it would otherwise sink to the very bottom of the cup?"
You'll be alright…
Yes. I'm alright. I'm alright
My fingers tremble.
And the invitation becomes a crumpled ball in my hands.
Did you like it? I think Hoshiko has a lot of goopy feelings to work out, but the ending will be a grande affair!
Recent chapter special for Ouran were SOOOO cute! Ranka-san is so much like Tama-chan!! So cute!
Please fave AND review!!!
xoxo,
Spoons