Be My Girlfriend
Chapter Seven
I forgot I turned a year old two days ago (on Philippine time zone). Yes, I fail at life. Still unbeta-ed.
The trail seemed endless.
One moment I thought I've reached the finish line, only to realize later on that there stood another curb or another maze shooting into different directions. On worst occasions, I'd find myself facing a brick wall after a long round of sprinting—a dead end—and I would be forced to turn around and sprint for a few extra miles to find the right path.
Maybe I was chasing someone; I couldn't tell who or what, exactly, or if I was actually running for a tangible (or any sensible) reason at all. Sometimes, I would catch a quick glimpse of a broad shoulder—a shoulder of a vaguely familiar man—disappearing behind a tall wall. No matter how hard I try, I couldn't catch up with him. Sometimes, I would see an empty shell of a turtle nearby. When I'd stop to stare at it for a while, it would pop and magically disappear out of thin air. It was strange, in most ways and the more I tried to think of the reason what I was actually doing at a place like this, the slower the time seemed to pass. In fact, time didn't even seem to exist.
"Ashina?"
A voice spoke my name and I stopped on my tracks. I turned my head to look and I was surprised to see Ootori's face smiling a few feet away. He waved a hand and winked playfully. Bewildered, I inclined my head to one side curiously and rubbed my chin to ponder if it was really him. His glasses were gone but the almost permanent curve on his lips was there. Only, it didn't look completely intimidating.
"What are you doing here?" I asked as I claimed a few steps closer to him. He didn't move away but the closer I walked to his direction, the farther he appeared to be.
"Ootori, don't move!" I commanded. "I can't catch up with you."
"You don't need to," he told me, while his corporeal form slowly faded away. He was becoming transparent, invisible.
"Rei."
I stopped. Shiki was suddenly beside me.
"What are you doing here?" I asked him, while reaching up to touch his face. He was real.
"Look at me," he said.
I wrinkled my eyebrows. "I'm looking at you."
"Can you see me?" he asked.
"Of course I can," I told him, while pinching his cheeks to assure him. "I can even touch you, see?"
"You're not looking at me." He frowned, almost childish, but his eyes were forlorn and dejected.
"But I'm looking at you." I turned to look at the direction where Kyouya was a few moments ago. He had completely disappeared and for a moment, I thought of running away from Shiki's hold to find him.
"But you're not." Shiki too, was suddenly fading away, like what had happened to Kyouya.
With a sudden jerk, my heart skipped a beat and I blinked once—maybe twice—Shiki was gone, along with the unknown path. I lay on my back, staring at the pale crimson ceiling of my cramped apartment.
Sunlight streamed through the open windows on my right and gingerly, I sat up. A sound of an unknown music sounded nearby, and I felt like I was still in a daze. I slapped my cheeks to get the sleep off my system. A few more blinks later, I was completely awake.
I had forgotten what my dream was about.
Dreams, as what my mother had told me, were supposed to tell us something significant. They were supposed to convey a story, a narrative of what could or could not happen in the future—just to give us a clue of what was in store for us and perhaps prepare us ahead. They always held meaning, and believe it or not (my mother had spoken with unbelievably convincing eyes) dreams come true. On one hand, it made sense. But on the other, it would be pointless if you could not even remember what your dream actually was. Besides, wasn't life supposed to be a surprise?
"I can do this," I cheered quietly while wiping the beads of sweat that formed on my forehead. It has been a while since I raided my apartment for an actual cleaning. In fact, it was barely recognizable anymore (in contrast to what it looked like on my first two-day stay here). Dust had accumulated on the countertop of my tiny kitchen; the same goes to the other surfaces as well (like my desk and the top of my closet). Even for me, the filth drew a nasty cringe and a look of disgust on my face. My things were cluttered almost seemingly everywhere. Even my laundry basket was complaining and screaming at me quietly on its innocent corner by the bathroom. I've neglected my pad for too long (and maybe if my landlady would barge in right at this moment, she wouldn't need a second glance, and she'd impulsively kick me out).
A familiar sound hummed not far from where I stood and I jerked my head to look at the direction of the noise. It came from a pale yellow device, which vibrated violently on top of the desk beside the door. I blinked once, trying to comprehend what it was and how unexpectedly it resembled the handy phone Ootori gave me a few days ago, but which I happened to lose on my encounter yesterday.
I retrieved it from the desk and stared at it for a long time until my hand felt numb because of the rhythmic vibration against my palm.
Wait.
This was the handy phone Ootori gave me. In my haste and panic, the device nearly fell on the floor; I was just in time to catch it before it hit the tatami mats. I flipped it open and punched the green button unceremoniously.
"Uhm," I started. "Ootori—erm—san?"
"What?" he snapped and I flinched at the tone of his voice. I swallowed hard.
"H-how did this handy phone get back to me?" I asked. I heard him sigh loudly on the receiver and I knew I shouldn't have asked. "Uhm, you know what? Never mind. I was just—"
"Open the door," he intruded, startling me.
"What?"
"Open the door," he repeated pointedly. Obediently, I shuffled to the door to pull it open. Ootori's tall frame towered over my smaller form. I looked up to meet his eyes and one minute I thought he'd breathe fire. I shuddered, suddenly sensing that something unpleasant was going to happen. It took me a moment to realize my mouth was agape. I cleared my throat and closed the phone when he ended the call.
He spoke first, "I'll tell you two important things today so you better listen."
I bit my lower lip, too petrified to respond. He aimed his forefinger to the tip of my nose and I flinched. "One: don't lose that handy phone again. Two: read the manual and the contract—"
"Contract?" I interrupted. Damn, I almost forgot about the contract.
"—three: don't butt in when I'm talking."
"I thought you said only two—"
"Four: read your text messages, and five: if you don't want trouble, obey my orders. Am I clear?"
For now, I have two options. One: tell him off—
"Who are you to order me around anyway?" I could scream at the top of my lungs and poke his chest repeatedly with my forefinger. "Sure, I'm indebted ¥50,000 and I owe you a favor because, yes, I eavesdropped on your break-up with Akiko and that was considered invasion of privacy, which was my mistake. Does that mean I won't pay you back with the cash? Does that mean you can't ever accept my apology? That's what's wrong with you rich people. You always think you're at the top when you're actually just a bunch of scumbags! You make me really angry!"
After that, I would kick the door for a more dramatic effect and shut it to his face.
No, I shook myself inwardly. If I did that, his body guards would instantly shoot me down before Kyouya could even snap at my hysterics.
—then I guess I'd have to yield to option two.
I nodded meekly and lowered my head in defeat. "Yes, you're clear."
"And please," he continued while wrinkling his nose and covering it with his hand, as if in disgust. "Wash up. How long have you last taken a bath anyway?"
"But I was cleaning my apartment," I told him while filling my nostrils with the scent of my sweat. It didn't really smell that bad . . . just salty.
"I'll be back in an hour," he said. "Finish up. Akiko let us go yesterday but the lunch date resumes later."
"Eh?" Before I could respond properly, he turned his back on me and walked away.
Now, I have to remember Important Thing Number Five: follow Ootori's orders. I felt really sorry for myself. Kami, please save me. I sighed ruefully and closed the door. I could go back to cleaning later.
"What are you wearing?"
The moment I opened my door, an hour later, Ootori acknowledged me with a look of revulsion.
"Jeans and a floral blouse," I told him, trying to sound persuasive with a sugary smile. "I bought it on a rummage sale last week. Isn't it pretty?"
Ootori scoffed in disbelief. "You never fail to meet my expectations."
I scowled and tried to aim him a death glare but he didn't seem to notice (I fail at telepathic communication). Even if he did notice, he chose to ignore me. Instead, he continued to criticize my choice of clothing. "We're attending a lunch date with Akiko. You should have dressed a little more decent."
"But this is decent," I complained with a pout.
"Do you have a dress?" he asked.
"Er," I began while visualizing the other pieces of clothing inside my closet. I owned a few dresses but most of them were barely past the knees. Further, I've grown a few centimeters these past few months (according to the latest physical examination I've taken) so I bet the dresses that covered my knees are pretty useless now. The thing is, last Friday, I tripped pretty awfully during my hundred-meter dash practice. But because the rubber was there to reduce the severity of the wounds that my fall would soon procure (my coach even told me the rubber was even exported from England), the accident only left a minor scratch on both my knees. Only, a nasty, purplish bruise formed later that same night. I looked up to catch a glimpse of Ootori's face and frowned. From what I've seen, I could tell he wouldn't be pleased hearing my excuse right now. I leaned in closer to whisper quietly. Then again, after weighing my options, telling the truth would be for the better. Besides, it was the only quickest solution I could think of. "Uhm, Ootori. San," I almost forgot to attach the honorific. "Right now, my knees are not nicely available for public viewing."
Quickly, he aimed me suspicious look. He recovered soon enough and spoke, "And what do you mean by that?"
I responded honestly. "I have a nasty bruise on my knees right now because of an accident last Friday. Right now, I can only wear jeans and track pants."
His eyes shouted, "You will never wear track pants, especially in front of Akiko."
I looked away, mentally preparing myself for the worst to come. He was still talking. "As expected. You never disappoint me, Ashina."
'I hate you, Ootori.'
"Tachibana." His voice was commanding. Soon, a middle-aged man who wore dark sunglasses and an elegant, black suit appeared to his side. He carried a brown box and handed it to Kyouya, who passed it to me.
"That's one of my sister's old dresses. Return it after you have it dry-cleaned."
I blinked in surprise and stared at the box for a very long time. When I recovered, I told Kyouya to wait for a minute, and I ran inside the bathroom. I emerged a moment later, clad in a white, demurely flower-patterned dress, which—thankfully—ran past my knees. The hem perfectly hid the bruises.
"That looks better," Kyouya complimented with a straight face, which negated his statement. He crossed the door and came up to me. "Now, put down your hair."
"Eh?"
With a sudden movement, he reached behind me—I blushed slightly with the close proximity—to pull the bobby pins from the loose bun that held my hair together. My hair fell down to my shoulders and a few strands got stuck on my face. There was a pregnant and awkward pause and I cleared my throat instantly. Ootori moved away and I brushed the stay hair off my cheeks to ease the tension.
He re-established his cool at once. "Come," he said. "We're running late."
I retrieved the key of my apartment door from the desk beside the picture frame, bowed at the photo for a second or more, before following Ootori and locking the door behind.
Because it held a few unpleasant memories, the back seat of the limousine made me fidget uncomfortably on my seat. Ootori, who sat a few inches away from me, was quietly looking out of the window to the establishments that we passed quickly by. He seemed to be deep in thought. In an effort to ease my apprehension, I tried to imitate what he was doing and keep my attention outside but apparently, it was useless.
The glare.
The threat.
The words, "Be my girlfriend."
I shuddered violently. The scene kept replaying on my head like a scratched CD.
"What is it this time?" a voice asked and I looked at Ootori.
"I'm really nervous," I told him with a grimace. He sighed inaudibly while reaching for a glass that sat on a small table beside him. A bottle of vintage-y wine was placed next to it and I watched as he poured the reddish liquid on the crystal. He handed it to me afterwards.
"It'll calm your nerves," he told me. "Take a sip."
I bit my lip and reconsidered. "I don't drink alcohol."
"Just take a sip," he repeated, his eyes threatening.
"But I really don't drink," I whined and continued matter-of-factly. "My coach forbids me to drink any alcohol. It's really unhealthy."
"This is wine," he argued back. "It's good for blood circulation."
His glasses glinted dangerously but I chose to ignore it. "No." I pursed my lips and shook my head.
Finally giving up, Ootori pulled his hand back and pressed the crystal against his lips. He drained it at once and placed the empty glass back on the small table.
"Since you refused and disobeyed me," he turned to me. "Shut up for a while and stay still. You're starting to irritate me."
I bit my lip to quiet myself.
We enjoyed the next three minutes of silence when I found it nicer to focus my eyes outside to look at the plate numbers of each car that passed us by. It somewhat distracted my thoughts from the dark memories that the back seat of the car reminded me. Soon, my bangs pulled me away from my thoughts of cars and plate numbers and jerked me back to reality. I pushed the annoying hair back but it fell on my eyes. I tucked my bangs behind my ears but didn't reach that far so they fell back on my eyes. I blew them away but they remained a nuisance. Maybe I should get a haircut soon.
"Will you stop it?" I jumped at the sudden sound of Ootori's voice. My heart skipped a beat. He snapped, "What's the matter this time?"
"My bangs," I complained. "They're really stubborn."
"You make my life difficult." I swallowed. He was towering over me again. "Tachibana, stop the car."
The driver, Tachibana-san, obeyed and Ootori immediately stepped out of the car and slammed the door behind him. I trembled in fear.
"He's really scary," I told Tachibana-san and he chuckled. He responded with a smile and a modest comment, "He may seem really frightening but Kyouya-sama is really a nice guy, if you get to know him better."
He didn't seem like it.
His smile widened and continued, "He rarely shows it to anyone, but he also has a soft side."
I highly doubt that.
The sound of the door opening startled me and Ootori stepped inside at once. He tossed a small paper bag on my lap and before I could register what it was, Tachibana had started the car and dashed off.
As if it might burst, I poked the small bag carefully before I decided it was safe enough to tear it open. A small, primly designed hair clip fell on my lap and I picked it up to take a closer look. Small-cut crystalline gems adorned it and the hair accessory, I have to admit, really looked nice and cute. I turned to Ootori while biting my lip to hide a smile. "Is this really mine?"
His death glare was enough to shut me up and ask no further questions. Knowing him for a while now, I learned that the glare often said yes.
I turned my attention back to the hair clip and admired it quietly before pinning it on my bangs. But before I could properly put it on my hair, I accidentally pricked my forehead with it. "Ow." I ran my fingers on the sore spot to tend on the area. When I glanced to my right, Ootori was staring at me in disbelief. I'm guessing he already wanted me dead; I've crossed the line too much.
"Sorry," I apologized while biting my lip. I mentally ordered myself to quiet down before Ootori could initiate a bloodshed, which I was able to accomplish, to an extent. After much care of keeping the pin any inch closer to my forehead, I pushed it gently so it could hold my bangs effectively.
When I stole another glance to the man on my right, I flinched and shuddered at the dark aura he was emitting.
I'm really hopeless.
To be continued
A little back-story: Why borrowed? I figured Kyouya would gain no merit on wasting his effort to buy her a dress so he ordered a maid to sneak into Fuyumi's old room and steal one of her old clothes. After Fuyumi got married, she moved into her husband's house and left all her clothes behind. When Yoshio ordered Fuyumi to dispose of the clothes already, Fuyumi greatly disagreed, saying the clothes held too many memories of the house and her single life—it would take time before she would have to let them go. That was five years ago.
A/N I: This should have been longer but I changed my mind (I try to limit the word count). Though, expect Akiko on the next chapter.
Teaser for the next chapter, though not exactly verbatim:
"Let's go home," he complained aloud, without any obvious effort to hide his impatience. "This place really looks unsanitary."
The vendor behind the stall aimed him a glare but even if Ootori noticed, he paid no attention to it. Instead, he continued with a smug look on his face. "Besides, there are a lot of airborne diseases you can catch by eating in this kind of place. Not only that, but the sauce may even be contaminated with salmonella and E. coli and a lot more species of bacteria.
I had a mouthful and I almost choked at his comment. I swallowed quickly, before I could spit the food out. I glanced at the vendor, and he I could tell he was fuming. Ootori was still talking. ". . . and germs too." He huffed. "I doubt the stall owner even owns a sanitary permit."
To say the uncle behind the stall was pissed off to a certain black-haired man who wore glasses, was an understatement. I grabbed Ootori's arm, directed an apologetic smile to the vendor, dropped a few coins on the stainless counter, and ran for it.
A/N II: I think I gave away too much. Well, at least it gave you an idea of what to expect. I'll try to finish the next one soon. Leave reviews and constructive criticisms. Keep me motivated with your hits. Tenchu.
