Fragments of Me
A/N: This is my first fic, so please be kind. I'm learning. Constructive criticism is always welcome. Thankies!
Disclaimer: I don't own Digimon... or anything related to Digimon... it's rather sad, really. :(
Story Summary: When Mimi gets her heart shattered by Michael, she decides to return to Odiaba, hoping to find some way of putting herself back together again. Hope, it seems, springs in the most unlikely of places, or people. Mimato.
Tachikawa Mimi gently closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair. She took a deep breath in, and then slowly let it out. In and out. She did all that she could to focus on nothing else but her breathing. Today had been a long, long day. So much had happened. She needed all the courage she could muster for what was coming...
The phone was ringing. Mimi's eyes snapped open. She was standing in the shower, reveling in the sensation of warm water running smoothly over her skin, soothing the tension from her tense, knotted muscles.
She'd been waiting all week for a phone call from an executive from the TV station. S he knew that her cooking show's ratings had been going down lately due to the rise in popularity of a rival show on the same network. Her sponsors were thinking of pulling the plug on her show, leaving her heartbroken and undeniably jobless.
Her production manager was currently doing everything he could think of to finagle a contract for one more season. They could use the season to attempt a comeback, hoping the viewers would see that the bubbly blond Melinda, her rival, was nothing more than a bimbo with big boobs and a pretty face. Mimi had tasted Melinda's food before. It was... well...lacking was putting it lightly.
So all week she waited by the phone in hopes of getting "the call" from her manager to tell her whether or not she'd have a job in the coming months.
She sent a silent prayer up to whomever happened to be listening as she snatched a towel from the towel rack. She quickly wrapped it around her thin, lithe body and dashed into the living room, grabbing wildly for the phone. She caught it on the last ring.
"Hello? This is Mimi Tachikawa speaking."
"Mimi? It's John, hey. Well, I just got off the phone with Michael. He called me and told me to give you the news."
"Why didn't he just call me himself?" Mimi asked. Michael, her long-time boyfriend of five years was one of the executives at the TV station she worked for.
"I don't know. I guess he was busy. Look, hun, I'm really sorry. They decided it would be best to cut the loss and pull the show." At the silence that greeted him, John (her manager for the entirety of her career since she was just 16) went on. "I know that's a harsh blow, but it's not the worst thing that could happen."
"What do you mean?" Mimi's mind was frantically racing, searching for a way to understand, to cope, with this. She had tried all week to prepare herself or this, but now that she was staring the truth in the face, it nearly knocked that air from her lungs. "How the FUCK is this not the worst that can happen?! They just fucking fired me!"
"Mimi, I know. It sucks, majorly. But listen to me. They're giving you a really nice retirement plan." John was doing his best to put a positive spin on this.
"Retirement? Retirement! I'm 23! How is that retiring?" Mimi was having trouble keeping her voice under control. It cracked, and she knew it was rather loud. She honestly didn't care just now.
"Okay, you're right. 'Retirement' probably was the wrong word to use. The gist of it is that they're giving you money. Lots of money. They're being... really generous. You've brought really awesome ratings to the station for four years straight. They know that, and they're grateful! I couldn't believe how hard Michael was pushing for them to give you more. This is a hefty figure we're talking."
Mimi sighed. It's not that she was unhappy at getting the money... it's just that, well, she really liked her job. And now that was gone.
"Okay, John. I'm sorry I yelled at you. I know you did all you could for me. We had a good run, huh?"
Mimi could hear John's smile in his voice. "Yeah, we really did, sweetheart. Look, you take some time to relax, okay? Go on vacation; do something you've always wanted to but never had the time for until now. The world is at your feet. You have enough money to have some fun before we start looking for more work. And there will be jobs for you. I promise. Alright?"
"Yeah, alright. Thanks, John. For everything."
"No problem. It's been fun. Take it easy, hun."
"Okay. Bye, John." Mimi set the phone down with an intense mixture of emotion: fear, anger, loss, and yet... relief. At least she wouldn't be waiting in the dark for the answer anymore.
One question bounced around in her mind, never settling in one place long enough to search out the answer to her desperate plea. What now?
End of Flahsback
Mimi groaned and did all she could to ignore the thoughts of her conversation with her manager she had earlier that day. She wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone right now; not in the mood to be where she was. Michael's secretary had called earlier telling her that Michael had made reservations at a nice restaurant for the two of them tonight. He would meet her at the restaurant.
And he was late. She sat alone at a table in the center of a softly lit dining room. Candles glimmered on every table.
The sounds of happy couples, laughing businessmen out to impress a special client, and the grating of silverware on fine china filled her head. It was annoying her; a strong headache was beginning to make itself known in her temples.
She was dressed in a long, sleek, black silk gown. She had curled her hair so that it fell in luscious, honey colored waves down just past the middle of her back. She had on nice jewelry, including the silver ring Michael had given her a year before to celebrate 5 years together. Her makeup was perfect, and she was stunning. She had seen several mean staring at her throughout the night. Too bad she felt like trash, even dressed to the nines.
She glanced down at the thin silver watch that encircled her delicate wrist. He was 45 minutes late. Fifteen minutes more, she thought, and I'm leaving.
A waiter appeared at her elbow with a glass of champagne on a silver tray. "With compliments, ma'am," he said, setting down the glass in front of her, "from the gentleman at the bar."
Mimi glanced at the bar, and sure enough, there was a man in a cream colored tailored suit looking at her intently. He raised his drink to her in salutations. She smiled, or rather smirked, and raised her glass as thanks. She was definitely in the mood for a drink.
Mimi whirled around in her chair to see Michael standing there, looking as if nothing at all had happened. He appeared unaware that he had kept her waiting for so long.
"How was your day?" Michael asked. Mimi scowled at him. Something was up. Who would ask that at a time like this?
"You're late." Mimi said, voice as cold as ice.
"It's nice to see you too, darling." Something was definitely up. Michael sat down across the table from her, draped his napkin across his lap.
Michael frowned at Mimi. Seeing she was upset, Mimi figured Michael would apologize and tenderly offer his sympathies at the loss of her job. Instead, his gaze turned just as icy.
"I was busy. I... had to meet with someone at the last minute." Mimi noted that his voice held no note of apology.
"You couldn't call? I've been sitting here, alone, for nearly an hour!" Mimi hissed. This was not her day.
"I said it was last minute!" Michael ran his hands through his hair. Mimi found this to be somewhat odd... Michael only ever did that when he was either very nervous or very upset about something. Not a good sign, to say the least.
"Did something happen at work?" Mimi asked.
Michael's mouth twisted into an ironic smile. "You could say that. I'm just being... pressured a lot lately." Michael picked up his menu and began to look at the selection, signaling he didn't really want to discuss this anymore. Mimi, however, was not done.
"Who's pressuring you? And to do what?"
Michael's gaze flicked over to her for just a moment before returning to his menu. "We'll talk at home, okay? I'll... I'll tell you everything at home, alright? Can we eat now?" Michael signaled to the waiter that they were ready to order.
Dinner was eaten in more or less a sulky silence. Mimi contemplated Michael's attitude throughout the entire drive home. Since they had arrived separately, they each drove their own car back to their classy loft apartment in the heart of New York.
Mimi got home first, and immediately began to undress and take off her makeup. She got dressed in her pajamas and went to the kitchen for another glass of wine, wondering what was keeping Michael.
She held her wineglass gently in her small hands. Walking to the huge windows the overlooked the city, she stared out into the chaos of New York City's night-life. Her mind was thousands of miles away, not seeing anything in front of her.
She knew something was coming. Something that would rip her world out from under her feet. Something was coming, and Michael was bring it ever closer. Her breathing quickened and her eyes began to tear. She was terrified. A fear of the black abyss of the unknown terror gripped her heart tightly, trying to wring the life out of her.
Mimi's surrounds suddenly rocked back into place as a key turned in the door. She spun quickly, gasping for air, facing the door. Her mind didn't register her hands slackened, dropping the wineglass to the carpeted floor.
Michael came into their apartment. Seeing her, he couldn't make eye contact. He set down his briefcase by the door and loosened his tie, focusing on the red wine on the carpet. Finally, with a grudging sigh, he let his eyes lock with hers. He noted the red wine was definitely going to stain their pristine white carpeting, but decided to ignore it for the moment.
"We need to talk."
Mimi swallowed hard. This wasn't going to be good. She didn't want to deal with this; not today. She broke their gaze and walked to the kitchen for a towel to clean up the wine.
"Let's talk tomorrow. I've had a bad day," she said. She was amazed at how calm her voice sounded. She certainly didn't feel that calm. Her hear would surely tear through her rib cage at any moment.
"We need to talk tonight."
"Michael, please!" Mimi begged.
"Mimi... I need you to listen."
"No! Not today; not now. Whatever it is, it can wait!"
"No, it can't. Dammit, Mimi!"
Mimi was already blotting the towel on the carpet, desperately trying to soak up some of the blood red liquid. She could smell the sticky, sweet tang of the alcohol; it filled her senses, making her head feel fuzzy. Her back was turned from Michael, but she could sense him shifting uncomfortably from foot to food in nervous anticipation.
"Mimi, would you look at me, please?" Mimi didn't move, didn't respond. She just continued to sop up the spilt wine.
"Mimi, I'm leaving. I mean... well, Mimi... I- I've been having an affair. She... the woman I've been sleeping with... she's been pressuring me to leave you- to move out. Now, I've thought a lot about this, and I think it would be best for both of us if I moved out."
Mimi's hand froze on the wineglass she was picking up. She just sat there, kneeling in front of the stained carpet. When she didn't respond, Michael rushed on.
"We've just... we're different people now, Mimi. You're not who you were at 18, and I'm not who I was at 20. It just seems like we're just together anymore because we're all each other know. And I'm tired of that, Mimi. I'm... I'm bored.
"I was late tonight because... the woman I'm sleeping with, she came to see me. She was angry; she wanted me to make a decision. So I made it. And this is it. I called her in the car on the way over here. I just- I really think this is for the best."
He paused, picked up his briefcase, and continued, turning back to the door.
"I'll just buy some new clothes tomorrow. I'll stay at her place for a couple days and give you time to decide what you want to do. Call me when you've made your choice, Mimi... I'm sorry. I need you to know that... I really wish you'd say something..."
Mimi didn't answer.
It was some time later that Mimi became aware of her thoughts again. She got slowly to her feet, wineglass clutched tightly in her hand. When she turned around, Michael was gone. With a heaving sob, Mimi threw the wineglass against the opposite wall, watching as it shattered to pieces, falling in a spectacular show of glittering shards, sharp and hard, but softly, deceivingly reflecting the light. It shattered. Her heart, her life, shattered along with it, into just as many pieces.
Into a thousand, tiny, sparkling fragments, each glinting with an impossible hope of being reunited as a whole.