Her Favorite Boy
By Y. M. H.O
Chapter 14: I Know
It was so contrary to the movies.
It should've been raining heavily, the cold water soaking her clothes and chilling her bones; she should've been crying and the moisture in her eyes hogging her vision that she bumped into people unknown, receiving curses and mutterings of a 17-year-old wandering in the streets clothed in white, with discernible tears flowing to her cheeks.
She should've lost all energy from her limbs and dropped to the ground, crying in frustration and pain all the while looking so utterly destroyed yet beautiful.
But it wasn't raining, no, not at all.
The sky was dark blue with hints of violet, littered with starts blinking brightly. Strangers walked the opposite direction, never paying her any attention. She wasn't crying, there was not a drop of saline moisture from the corners of her eyes,
In fact, she could see very clearly.
The red-orange cap the old lady was wearing looked similar to the flames at their fireplace, when her mother invited her to smores and almost burned the manor down. The font of the sign above the computer shop was the handwriting of her father's, its strokes so intricate and careful, not a drop of ink will be spilled. The yellow light the street lamp post was emanating a strange aura, like the warmth on her bed and the hot chocolate the old lady made at home—
Home.
The word struck her like a freight train that she stopped in her tracks. Home. She was going home wasn't she?
But as the thought presented itself, her head reeled.
Will they let her in? Has her father commanded his servants to bar her from the manor, to not talk to her and just send her things outside the gate?
He would like her departure to be quiet, she thought. The whole encounter would just be under the guise that she had run away and he, being the loving and understanding father, let her do it with a generous amount of money from his pocket.
When asked about his daughter, he would just explain all that, and add that he was still keeping tabs on her, just to be assured that she's safe. He would probably send her to Germany, or to anywhere else as long as it's far, far away from scarring his reputation.
A drunkard walked past her and sent her a wink, his eyes roving up and down her body with a malicious tint. A man in a wrinkled old suit followed hotly on his heels, before grabbing the drunkard's shoulders and throwing a punch. A loud 'crack' was heard and the drunkard was on the ground, groaning.
"You bastard!" The man bellowed and swung his arm once more, sending the other reeling.
"Wadahell…" He groaned once more, receiving a kick to the side.
"You bastard, pervert! My daughter won't leave the house or move from her room because of you!" He shouted and hit the goon relentlessly; ignoring the bloody mess he was making and the crowd that had gathered around.
"You touched my daughter you bastard! You did, and you're going to pay. I will kill you!" Three police officers appeared on the scene and tried their hardest to restrain the man who was kicking and fighting from their grasp.
"My daughter, you bastard. I will kill you!" He repeated.
It was after a few steps away that Mikan registered the scene. There was no way in fucking hell she would let her father do that to her.
She would stay and she would fucking enjoy it.
"Miss Mikan?" A maid asked after her as she stormed through the double oaken doors and ascended the staircase without a word. She raised a hand.
"Please bring a cup of hot chocolate to father's study. Thank you." She said stiffly and made her way to the said room, pausing before the door. Her hands were slippery with sweat and her heart thudded inside her chest.
Mikan pushed the door open and carefully stepped inside.
Everything was as she remembered it. The shelves, the and leather-bound books lodged inside; the huge, rectangular, mahogany table at the far end, the maroon couches a few meters away from her, the golden chandelier and the portraits.
Her head snapped to the side and she caught sight of the woman whose face was obscured by a fancy hat. Not so faceless anymore, she thought. She was a fool not to notice that the figure indeed resembled Aunt Kaoru.
"Did you know?" She directed at the portrait, her voice echoing in silence.
"Did you know about me? Have you always known it was me?" She repeated, a hot, burning sensation in her throat.
Her hand found a vase, the vase that she was so scared to break before, and she launched it to the floor with a loud crash. There was a knock and the door opened, revealing a worried maid carrying a saucer with a steaming cup.
"Is everything okay, Miss Mikan? Here's your hot chocolate." She added the last part, and raised the cup warily. Mikan turned and smiled, sweeping a hand at the room and the broken vase. The maid's eyes widened.
"Everything's okay. Please leave that outside the door, thank you." The maid stared at her and then at the vase before nodding and scrambling away.
"Oh, this must be important to you…" Mikan mumbled, and grabbed a porcelain figurine of a horse and threw it against the wall. It shattered with a ringing sound, and she found herself laughing.
"This lamp must cost sooo much. Too bad," She nudged the Victorian-style lamp and watched it fall to the floor before stepping on it. "—it's broken now."
She grabbed at anything blindly, throwing priceless vases and figurines across the room, clawing at the paintings, tossing chairs and tables she was too weak to lift before. Funny, she thought, how you become so strong in such a short period of time just because of Chinese food.
Chinese food.
Her head snapped up again and she made her way towards the only untouched portrait, wincing as sharp glass pierced her foot.
"What should I do with you? Do I get the hot choco outside the door and fling it at you?" She asked, glancing at the door. But the moment she did so, she understood.
"No, I'll let you watch. Let you watch as I trash this place and you nod your head because I'm delinquent and reckless and dumb, right?" She smiled, baring her gums and clapping her hands together. She was so good at this! She could be an actress… or a singer because how could anyone mimic the modulation and smoothness of her voice before? How could anyone—
"My little girl, Mikan…" A familiar, gentle voice snapped her from her clapping and she spun around slowly to face the door.
"Mama Anne." She whispered. The woman at the door smiled and stretched her arms in gesture of a hug. Mikan raced forward, ignoring the clatter on the floor and launched herself in the woman's arms.
"I'm here now, Mikan. Shhhh…" Anne murmured in her ear and stroked the younger's hair.
It was then that Mikan noticed that her cheeks were wet, and she didn't know why.
"Who knows what true loneliness is - not the conventional word but the naked terror? To the lonely themselves it wears a mask. The most miserable outcast hugs some memory or some illusion." – John Conrad
Hi readers. Erm, I have to tell you that the following chapters will be short so that I can update more often. Sorry to disappoint you. T_T
Do you think Kaoru knows from the start that Mikan is the daughter of Yuki?
Y. M. H. O