Alrighty. I know, I have other stories out. But I'm nearly done with this one already!
Anyways, this one's a Mimato. And contrary to my previous stories, it's got swearing (shock), sex (SHOCK), and… emo-ness (faints).
It was actually easy to write. It used to be hard to type the word fuck (which comes from the German word frichen, which means to strike, and can be used as a noun [I don't give a fuck!, verb [Fuck you!, or virtually ever part of the sentence [Fuck the fucking fucker! XD, I don't own History of the F-word, unfortunately).
But now, as you just read, I have no problems. Same thing with sex.
Now, let me tell you here. There will be sex. Among unmarried people.
I don't approve, seeing as I think you should wait until marriage, but there was no realistic way to make them all virgins, unless I made them either weird like me or highly religious (which I'm not, I just believe you should wait, that's all). So it was a bit weird, and it did go against me morals, but eh, whatever.
I'm not here to push my beliefs. I'm here to (hopefully) entertain you people with my story.
It's been a while since I last wrote anything, and boy does it feel good to write after all the stuff that's happened.
Anyways, here is the first chapter of Secretly Yours.
Mrs. Ishida presents…
Sigh. I need an aspirin.
"Whoa, you guys, calm down… GUYS!"
"Why should I? Ishida Yamato has to be one of the biggest assholes ever to walk the planet!"
"Oh please, at least I don't walk around thinking that the whole world revolves around me!"
"The hell you don't!"
He didn't. Seriously.
"Dammit… you think just because you've got some huge modeling contract that you can walk around treating other people like crap!"
"I do not! I don't have a huge-ass ego, like you do! Just because you're in a famous band doesn't mean that you can be a jackass to everyone else!"
"Why are you such a bitch, Mimi?!"
"Go to hell, Yamato!"
"Hey, hey, don't make me separate you two!"
"You can go screw yourself and die, for all I care, Ishida! I hate you!"
Lie. Biggest lie I ever told. One of them, anways.
My lovely dream is interrupted by the telephone. I groggily sit up, rub my eyes, and look at the clock. Shit. It's 8 in the morning… I'm late!
I pick up the receiver.
"Hello?" I ask nervously, stumbling out of my silk sheets and over to my closet.
"Mimi? It's 8… you were supposed to be here half an hour ago," Kari's voice came over the line, patient as always, although, with her job, which was to basically to wait on me, I didn't see how she did it. I'm not the easiest person to put up with. You see, at 22 years old, I am one of the greatest supermodels the world has ever seen. Or so I'm told. It started when I was entered in a beauty contest at 15, which a talent scout happened to attend. Two weeks later, I was approached by one of the biggest names in the fashion industries, Takenouchi Sora, who, at the tender age of 19 started her own line and became an overnight billionaire. Only 7 years into her job and at the age of 26, she could retire, and her children, nor their children, nor even their children, would ever have to work. But she absolutely loves what she does.
And today is one of the biggest days of the year for us… the annual show, where some of the top lines in the world have us model their clothes. Louis Vuitton. Gucci. Dolce & Gabbana. Versace. You get the picture. (AN: None of which, unfortunately, are mine. Or else I'd be in Hawaii right now. I'd probably own Hawaii right now.)
And I'm late.
"I know, I know, I'm so sorry Kari! I overslept, but I promise I'll be down there in 10!" I scrambled around for my shoes.
"Alright, but hurry! She's starting to worry…"
I knew exactly who 'she' was… she was Sora… Takenouchi Sora was brilliant, but I'm afraid she let the line of work she was in take over her life. She's a perfectionist, and everything has to be absolutely perfect. It can be irritating at times, but who am I to tell her how to do her job? Thanks to her, I really don't have to work much for my living.
"I promise, I'll be down there… bye Kari," I said, and hung up. I literally tripped over furniture around my spacious room trying to get dressed, and on my way out, nearly tripped into a table. Smooth. What an auspicious way to start my day.
"Aw, come on Tai! Why the hell do I have to go to this?" I asked irritably of my friend/manager Kamiya Taichi, on the phone, while eating my breakfast.
"Hey, didn't you promise your beloved that you'd be there for her big day? She is showing off her new line after all… and besides, it'll be good publicity, Yamato." he explained. I swear, if he wasn't one of my best friends since birth, I'd sock him. They both know I hate this kind of crap… I'd rather stay at home and watch T.V. than to go to some frea-, excuse me, "fashion" show where a bunch of anorexic models wear weird-ass clothes that cost ungodly amounts of money because of a famous name on a label. Yet it's Sora's passion, and while I don't understand it, she goes to my practices and is there for me when I'm stressed during the process of recording new albums she supports the hectic pace of my life, so I always think it fair to go for her. But Tai wants me to go. What the hell? He's my manager, of my band, not of my life. Good for publicity…. Like I need any more of that. I already have rabid fan girls plotting for Sora's demise and trying to get locks of my hair for love potions and such.
I ate the rest of my breakfast, and shuffled out the door.
Alright, quiero 4 review-os. Por favor.
4 Reviews. That's all I ask for. Even if it was just 'nice chap' or something.
Have a lovely Christmas (or Kwanzaa or Hanukkah or whatever you celebrate) season!