I found this story on my laptop, it's creation date was over a year ago. I decided to continue it...
Original author's note: A bit of a change for me…Well, I considered this after OxMiss PeachesXo…ugh that name's too long…Amber left the review asking me why I never write anything from Michiru's POV. I started wondering if I could really do it. Here goes nothing, please be gentle on the reviews.
Thank you to Reusch17 for helping me to edit this.
Please note...Reusch17 isn't editing for me anymore, as she's never online :P But I thank her for her help in the first 3 chapters.
It is a sign of a creeping inner death
When we no longer can praise the living
-Eric Hoffer (1902 – 1983)
I loved nothing more than the music that I preformed for them. I would politely smile at them after each and every performance. But nobody knew the pain I was suffering on the inside. I was longing for something that nobody could give me. Nobody that would be good enough for them anyway. They would be so much happier if I were cold and lonely during my trips around the world.
I performed in many different venues, and have seen many different sights. Even at the age of 28 I have seen more things than most people who have already passed on. Everything from New York City to the Sydney Opera House, and all the small towns in between. I can't even walk out of a plane without being hounded by reporters and news cameras. If only they could see by my masks and see into my soul.
If only it were that easy...
"Michiru...what exactly did you eat on the plane trip here?" I looked up at my manager Hiroshi, then my eyes diverted to one side as I thought.
"Just a chicken salad and a bottle of water."
"Alright...because that dress is not fitting you right. You should watch what you eat before you arrive for a show." He frowned and rubbed his head. "There's not enough time for them to let it out, you'll have to find another dress to wear. Hurry up!"
I frowned and got up from the chair. "I'll be right back." I spoke softly in French to the young woman doing my hair.
I hated when he did this. I already ate next to nothing as it was. He's practically calling me fat every time he tells me to watch what I eat. I must be fat for him to say that, it's not like the dress is ripping at the seams. I stopped in front of a full length mirror once I was in the dressing room and frowned at the image reflected in it. I was fat. I pinched at the little bit of flab that was near my waist. He was right; I should watch what I eat.
"Hiroshi said you'd need a new dress…" I looked up at him. My French was a little rusty; it had been nearly a year since I had performed in this country. He must have noticed the blank stare on my face and spoke in broken English, a language I knew much better. "Hiroshi said…you…new dress yes?"
I smiled at how much he struggled to find the right words. "Yes. Please…I'm sorry to bother you again."
He simply laughed and rambled something incoherently. "This…here. Try, try, try." He held up a simple, yet elegant black silk dress. It was absolutely gorgeous; I frowned when I noticed the strapless top. "No like?" I shook my head and he put it back, quickly replacing it with a baby blue one.
"Much better." I went behind the screen and took off the white one to quickly slide on the blue one instead. It did fit better than the other one did, it was looser around my hips and didn't show off any curves. It was almost an instant relief.
With the last note played I bowed to my applauding audience and stepped back, allowing the curtain to close in my place. I ignored my stomach as it rumbled in angry protest of not having food for nearly 5 hours.
"Wonderful show Michiru. Try to watch the last few notes of song number 3; your hand was shaking some." I carefully pulled my hair out of the white pins and shook my head, allowing it to flow over my shoulders. "The plane's waiting for you; we have to get back to Tokyo by tomorrow morning Michiru. There's a new applicant for the pianist position that Yamamoto wants you to meet with to see how you like her."
Her? I frowned. I have never been able to work well with women in the past. They don't seem to understand that. The only reason I can't work with them is because I end up falling in love with them. They're always straight. I've got to be the only gay musician on this planet.
"Can I have about 10 minutes to myself right now, please? Hiroshi you know I need to relax after a show before I can travel. I can't just jump on a plane and go city hopping like you and your crew can."
"Michiru…Time's money. The more time we spend here, the more money we're losing. Just go out and get in the car, we've already gotten your things from your room. You can relax when we're on the plane."
Not only did I want to relax, I wanted to sleep. They'd only allowed me to sleep for a few hours over the past several days. Thankfully I'd have the next week off to practice new material. I'm much more relaxed when I'm behind closed doors practicing my music. I reluctantly followed Hiroshi out to the car and climbed in the back seat to sit next to him.
"That dress looked so much better than the other one did." He unbuttoned his suit jacket and looked at me. I realize more and more each day how much of a pompous ass he truly is. "The other one was entirely too tight on your body, it would have made people sick."
"I need something to eat…Hiroshi I'm hungry." I closed my eyes as my stomach growled again. This time it was followed by a feeling of empty nausea.
"No you're not Michiru. Hunger is nothing more than a feeling of mind over matter. If you think you're hungry, then you'll become hungry. You said you ate on the flight here didn't you. That was what…6 hours ago? You'll be alright until we get on the flight home. You need to start watching your weight Michiru. Nobody wants a fat superstar. Just think about that while you're doing you're 'relaxing.'"