Disclaimer: I don't own Gakuen Alice. Just this story which I made up. Teehee.
Our Suicidal Engagement
Written by EzMouse
I'll never regret that day when I agreed to marry a stranger who proposed to me with a Coca Cola can pull-tab.
I stood at an elevated edge of a building, holding on to nothing but the long metal railing in front of me that was just at my waist level. I swallowed, looking straight at the sky. It was a cloudy afternoon in April, one of those days when the Cherry Blossom trees were in full bloom, and the weather was cool and clear.
I opened my eyes and took a deep breath, shaking my foot off my shoe. When I got it off, I stepped on the metal bar, and the coldness I felt against the sole of my foot sent a shiver down my spine. A calm breeze brushed against my face and I inhaled deeply as I tried to recall every reason I had that resorted to this.
How did I end up standing at the edge of a building?
It was like carrying the world on my shoulders. I wasn't contented with my life. I don't think I ever will be. Everyday was a living hell for me and it was more than a little too much drama for me to handle. Was it normal for one measly girl to have so many negative emotions pile up inside her like this? I go to bed, thinking to myself why I had such rotten luck.
It wasn't fair.
Heck, life was never fair.
If it was, then problems wouldn't exist and every human being in this world will be able to live happy, normal lives. There are just some people blessed with joy and prosperity, and some were cursed with adversity and misfortune. Unfortunately for me, I got the latter.
Unlike the admirable individuals with the same condition as me, I wasn't as stubborn or as persevering as they were to make my life a little better. I wasn't the type to smile when I know everything is most definitely not alright. Well, I was that kind of person, but I realized that in those twenty-two years of sacrificing my own happiness and fighting for what I believe in, there was no hope for change whatsoever. No matter what I do, all my efforts were futile because there will always be something to shoot me down when I'm high in the sky.
I just wanted to end it all. It was just not worth it.
A chill ran up and down my spine when I heard a manly voice call out behind me. I tried with all my might not to panic, but I accidentally kicked my shoe off the building while I was trying to position myself properly. I groaned, irritated. I snapped to the direction from where the voice had come from and saw a guy standing in front of the rooftop doorway.
He had a stoic expression on his face and he carried a white plastic bag on his right hand. He swayed it gently, not taking his eyes off me. I flinched for a moment when I saw him quirk a brow up, and I almost lost my balance. I instantly removed the other shoe from my foot and kicked it off the building as well when he started looking at me suspiciously. Oh, well, so much for my five hundred dollar stilettos.
"Stay back," I ordered firmly as I tore my eyes away from his.
"I didn't move," he replied cockily.
"Just go away. I'm busy…" I grunted, looking at him again from over my left shoulder. "…here." I felt my whole body shake at the sudden movement.
"I can see that," he said.
I could feel his stare burning down my back, and I tried to redirect my attention to something that would help me calm down. I heard a thump and a rustle shortly after. When I peeked to where he was, I saw his plastic bag already on the ground. Oh, great. He's coming over. I shook my head, ignoring him as he tiptoed my way with a smug look plastered on his face.
"So, nice view up there?" he inquired. I chose to ignore his question. "So, what are you doing?"
I couldn't even believe he had the nerve to ask me that.
"What does it look like I'm doing?" I muttered. The murderous look I was giving off didn't seem to have any effect on him.
"Standing at the edge of the building," he answered nonchalantly.
I sighed and rolled my eyes. "Thanks for pointing out the obvious."
He was purposely distracting me, I could tell. I've seen this particular scene in movies. This is how people are supposed to react when they see somebody on the verge of committing suicide. Ha, what a big waste of time.
He looked at me from head to toe with a bored expression. "You're shaking."
"That's none of your business!" I hissed. He stepped back a little, surprised by my sudden outburst.
He walked closer to me and I didn't let my guard down as I watched him from the corner of my eye. He stood about a meter away from me and glanced down the building casually. I, too, glanced down the building when he did that, and it felt as if my lunch wanted to come out. I hadn't realized how high I was at just a minute ago. I swallowed, trying to regain all the energy and courage I had before.
"It won't be pretty with your blood and organs splattered all over the street," he spoke. "My car's down there, so could you move a little to the right when you jump? I just got it waxed."
My grip tightened on the railing and I could have sworn my hands had already left a dent by how hard I was holding on to it. Is this even real now? "Would you mind?" I said in a failed attempt to sound the least bit inoffensive.
"Just saying," he said, putting his hands up in defense.
I glared at him and he, in return, looked away. I once again peeked at the bottom of the building when no more words had been uttered. The tension was killing me. There was no easy way to die and this was all I could think of—jumping off a twenty-eight story building. It was fast and easy.
Fast and easy.
"What's taking you so long? Aren't you going to jump yet?" he questioned, interrupting my thoughts.
A nerve twitched. I scrunched up my face and groaned in frustration. "Would you leave me alone? Why are you even here?"
"I'm waiting for you to jump, obviously," he replied.
His sarcasm was out of place and it was annoying me to hell. I mustered up the courage to turn away from the railing to face him. "Do you want me to write a dying message, so that you'll be accused of pushing me off the building?" I tried to make my voice sound as terrifying as I could, but again, my threat didn't seem to affect him at all.
He raised a brow up at me. "Now, why would you want to do that?"
I glowered at him, looking displeased by his reaction. "Because you won't let me commit suicide in peace," I uttered through my teeth.
"You don't even know who I am. And what are you going to write your dying message with?" he questioned, crossing his arms in front of him.
Oh, snap. I couldn't think of anything to answer him back with. I was too fed up with racking my brain, thinking of something to say to corner his sarcasm, but to my dismay, I failed to do so. I stuck my tongue out at him and crossed my arms in front of my chest for the lack of anything better to say.
"That's a mature response," he breathed. He inserted his hands in his pockets and faced me. "I've got news for you, girly. You don't own this building. You can't tell me to go away just because you're secretly planning to kill yourself here. This is not your territory."
Oh, God. This is not my day.
I ignored his words. I was almost at my breaking point. It was just one jump away and he just had to show up and ruin it all. Why must this guy prolong my agony?
The two of us remained silent. Minutes passed and there I was, still standing at the edge of the building, watching the cars and busses pass by, and the many heads of the people who walked along the streets. It was a breezy afternoon and the sky was clear with threads of clouds sifting through. It was the first time that I was at peace and was given time to think about everything.
A faint but audible sigh unexpectedly sliced through the silence, and I remembered that the guy earlier was still there.
I glanced at him to find that he had found comfort sprawled on the ground, sitting there with his feet stretched and his arms supporting his weight. His eyes were shut tight and his jet black hair swayed playful on his head as he inhaled the light gush of wind in his face. For a moment, I actually thought that he looked quite adorable.
Seeing that he had his eyes closed, I took the opportunity to scrutinize his physical appearance. He was wearing a black coat under a white semi-formal shirt. His tie hung carelessly and loosely around his neck, and the first two buttons of his shirt were undone. He was good-looking, I have to admit, but judging from his rotten attitude, I assumed that he was one of those spoiled rich kids who, I'm guessing, is working in this building.
I had no idea why he was wasting his time here with me. Any other person who saw me would've just dragged me away or left me alone, but he did neither. It's like he wanted me to jump and be the sole witness—that had to be it. It wasn't because he was worried about some girl killing herself, since he was more worried about his stinking car, for crying out loud.
Whatever his reasons were, it was still no use. I had already made up my mind and I was ready for this. I told myself that I was going to do this today. Right here, right now. But I couldn't jump; I couldn't do it—not with him watching me like this. I scowled at him once more, making a face of mockery, knowing that he couldn't see me doing it.
"Stop that," he blurted.
I jumped in shock and snapped my head back front. His eyes shot open, revealing the most stunning glint of crimson-colored eyes that I've ever seen in my life. He craned his neck to face me, a cocky smirk stretching its way across his face. I bit my lip, pretending that I had no idea what he was talking about. He got up from his position, and stood much closer to me than before. Nonetheless, he was being cautious, and he side-stepped away from me, leaving just enough space between us.
He towered over me at about six feet, even though I was standing on an elevated ledge that was seven inches higher from where he was standing.
"So, what caused this?" he inquired, his tone serious.
I looked at him robotically, feeling a bit uneasy. "W-What?"
"This," he answered without looking at me. His eyes remain fixated on the view in front of us.
I had a gut feeling that this question was coming sooner or later, but I knew that it couldn't be that he was interested in my life. He's looking for a reason to contradict my decisions. That must be it.
I had lost all the energy to argue with him further, so I answered him without the slightest bit of sarcasm.
"I just hate the world and the people living in it. I don't belong here. I just want it all to end," I sighed, leaning on the railing.
He mimicked my position and asked, "How come?"
"My life's just one big mess, alright? I don't have to explain something as private as this to you," I answered, my voice slightly faltering. "I just… can't handle it anymore. I'm sick of my life."
He cleared his throat and looked up the sky. "That bad?"
Another moment of silence passed. I wasn't giving any supporting details to my explanation, and I guess he found it hard to ask me about anything else.
It's just human nature to ask how someone is doing, to ask if they're alright, to ask what's wrong with them. Most people don't exactly do it because they care about you; they do it because it gives them this inexplicable feeling of satisfaction to appear as if they do care, when in actuality, they don't. Everybody has their own problems to deal with, so why should I have to burden somebody else with mine? I don't need anybody to pretend that they care about me.
This guy… his expression was blank and callous. Why is he here? Was he looking for some sort of distraction or something? I could ask him that, but I'm sure I won't get a decent answer.
My mind wasn't in the proper state anymore. I have always believed that I've gone crazy a long time ago; I'm going to jump off a building, for Pete's sake.
The atmosphere started feeling dead when the breeze had stopped blowing. I should do it now while he's not looking…
"Don't you have any plans for the future?" he asked, turning to me, elbow propped on the railing and his temple resting on his fist.
I was taken aback by that question.
Did I even think about such a thing?
…Do I even have one?
"No," I simply answered as I avoided his stare. There was no reason for me to talk about my shattered hopes and dreams with this stranger.
I heard a rustling sound, and he took out a Coca Cola can from his plastic bag. He popped it open and that usual 'pshzz' sound came out. I glanced at his direction with a disgruntled look on my face, as he chugged the can down, sighing ever so loudly after.
"What?" he asked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
I rolled my eyes and sighed, "Nothing."
The clock was ticking. I should have jumped by now, but here I am, glued to my spot and talking to a guy who was obviously trying to distract me with silly little antics. It was working and I didn't know why, but I let it slide—for now, at least. It wouldn't hurt to have a little company before I died, so talking to him for a while longer wouldn't be so bad.
"Just so you know, I'm still going through with it," I spoke, making the most of my remaining time. "Nothing you say will stop me, so just give up, okay? You should just leave now. Please."
"How old are you?" He ignored my pleading.
"Twenty-two," I answered. If he wants to keep this up, then fine. Let's just see how it goes. "You?"
"Twenty-four." He crushed the can in his hand, making a crackling sound. He played with it for a little while, making all sorts of dents on every side of the can. "You married?" he asked, not tearing his gaze away from it.
"N-No," I hesitantly replied. Where did that come from?
"I haven't had a love life ever since I was born." I looked at him contemptuously. "Why are we talking about this?"
He furrowed his eyebrows, but his attention was still focused on the can on his hand. "Don't you want to get married?"
"What girl doesn't want to get married?" I sighed. It seemed pretty weird for him to be talking about marriage, but I went with it. Like any other girl, I've always fantasized about my dream wedding when I was young; the church bells, the white dress, the flowers, the songs, the guests, the groom, the happily ever after, all of it. All girls wanted that—well, not all, but most do. "Unfortunately, marriage is not happening for me," I added.
"Do you want to marry me?" he asked monotonously.
I choked on my saliva, and he patted my back gently. "What—the—heck?" I said, coughing between the words. I swatted his hand away, and he shook his wrist before inserting it in his pocket.
"You want to get married, right? Do you want to marry me?" His tone was still serious, yet playful at the same time. Was that even possible? I tried to make out where this was all coming from, but I couldn't tell if he was joking at all. This conversation was getting weirder by the second.
I shook my head in disbelief. "Let's… pretend to be sane here for a minute. Okay, you asked me if I want to marry you. Hello, I'm about to jump off a building. Why would you propose to me at a time like this?"
"Because I've got nothing better to do and I hate the world as much as you do," he simply answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He pursed his lips and exhaled loudly. "So…?"
So? So, what? Did he seriously think I'd give him an answer? I hardly know this guy. In fact, I don't know him at all.
"If you marry me, we can talk crap about the world together. Then, you wouldn't feel so alone," he added, "and neither would I."
I turned to him and stared directly at his crimson eyes, trying to figure out the reason for that question. His eyes remained unmoving. They didn't give anything away no matter how hard I checked. At the corner of his lips, however, I could vaguely see a smirk struggling its way across his face.
Then, it came to me.
I jerked my head to the side and laughed. I'll be dying anyway, so guess I should play along.
"Sure, whatever," I giggled as I tested his pride.
In that instant, he chuckled silently and brought the deformed can he was holding, right up to my face. He swiftly snapped the metal tab off before swinging his arm back and throwing the can full force across the rooftop of the building in front of us. He turned to me once more and dangled the piece of metal between his two fingers.
"What's that?" I asked.
He smirked proudly and said, "Your ring."
I raised a brow at him and focused my attention on the silver caught between his forefinger and thumb. "That's a pull-tab."
"No, it's not. It's your engagement ring," he said defiantly.
The playfulness in his expression disappeared, much to my surprise. I tried to say something both sarcastic and undeniably spiteful, but it refused to come out in fear that I might wound his pride. Why do I get the feeling that I'm the only one taking this as a joke?
I refused to give in, nonetheless. I placed a hand to my hip, my other hand held onto the railing, and one of my legs swinging freely off the ledge. "Again, that's a pull-tab," I pressed.
"And I say it's your engagement ring. Do you want it or not?" he taunted. He sounded so grave, but I wasn't going to budge. I scrunched up my face as he wiggled the pull-tab in front of me.
"Do I look like I want it?"
He sighed impatiently and abruptly grabbed my hand, as he struggled to insert the tab into my ring finger. I tried to fight back with as much strength as I had, but he got it on without much difficulty. With a satisfied smirk on his face, he raised my frail hand for both of us to see.
"Looks good," he said proudly.
I snatched my hand back from his grip, which took no effort at all since he let it go freely, and stared at the piece of metal stuck on my finger. It looked absolutely ridiculous how my finger fit right through it, but I didn't take it off. I hate to admit it, but his persistence amused me.
"Do you do this often?" I asked, biting my lower lip to prevent a smile from forming on my lips.
He smoothly slid his hands on either side of his pockets and asked, "Do what?"
"Propose to a complete stranger you've only talked to for thirty minutes?" I said, wiggling my fingers in a hocus-pocus manner.
"No," he answered, checking his shiny silver watch. "And we've been talking for thirty-five minutes now, actually."
I bent my head slightly and smiled a sad smile, not because I thought it was ridiculous how he had been keeping track of the time our conversation was taking, but because I knew this temporary idiocy we were doing wasn't going last.
"This doesn't change my mind, though. I'm still going to do it," I whispered.
After that remark, he started taking off his coat, letting it fall on the ground by his feet. He ran his long fingers through his jet black hair and pulled the tie hanging around his neck off to join the coat on the ground. I gaped at him as he rolled both his white sleeves to his elbows, and I unconsciously grabbed his arm, stopping him from whatever he was doing. He looked at me questioningly and I swung my arm back almost upon contact, like I had touched something hot and it burned my hand.
"Tell me when you're about to jump, okay?" he uttered, finishing off the last fold on his sleeves.
"What are you going to do?" I asked him, puzzled.
He rested his hands on his hips. "I'll jump after you," he simply said.
My jaw dropped. "Are you out of your freakin' mind?"
"You're the one jumping off a twenty-eight story building," he retorted, "and I'm the crazy one?"
I sighed in exasperation. "You don't even know me."
"That is correct." He nodded. "But technically, you and I are engaged now. So, if you jump, I'll jump after you… and we'll both die. Deal with it."
"Are you for real?"
He pointed a finger to himself. "You see me, don't you?"
I think I'm dreaming. What's happening? Why is he talking like this?
I'm pretty sure this was just his way of trying to stop me from jumping, but why am I slowly giving in? I feel like I want to believe him—that he would save me from my depression. Yes, I saw him, but I was finding it hard to deem every single word coming out of his mouth. He was just a stranger who happened to be passing by, not knowing that I was here to kill myself. Now, he's making me change my mind in his own twisted way and I didn't like it.
I didn't like it one bit.
I don't know him, but I want to… cling onto him. I want him… to stop me. This is stupid. Really stupid!
Am I being pranked? God, please, if this is your way of playing tricks on people, now is not a good time to do it. I don't need this drama. I don't want to need someone. I don't want to feel like I'm cared for. Not like this. Just make it stop.
When he noticed that I wasn't answering, he started pacing behind me and my eyes cautiously followed him. He stopped dead on his tracks and looked at me at the corner of his eye, causing me to cringe.
"How many kids do you want?" he asked monotonously.
"Oh, God. Are you playing with me?" I spat, pointing a finger straight at him.
He swatted my hand away and pouted almost convincingly. "You'll marry me then leave me without a child? Don't be self-centered," he huffed.
I gritted my teeth and clenched my fists. I understand everything now. He was playing with me. That's all there is to it.
"We'll adopt!" I hissed as I aggressively spun around to face him. Two can play this game.
He shook his head in a discontented way. "Not good enough."
My patience was already at its limit. I didn't know what to think anymore. The feeling of anger, confusion, and irritation were swirling and clouding my senses and ability to think rationally. I breathed heavily, glaring at the person in front of me.
"Fine!" I barked, my voice screeching. "Marriage, twenty kids, a house near the beach, a dog, lovey-dovey stuff, yada-yada… Now can I die?"
When I finished that sentence, I began panting. I saw a smirk crawl up to his lips. He cleared his throat, repressing what I think could be laughter. It didn't take a minute for me to realize what I just said, and strangely enough, I began to find it quite hilarious myself. Soon enough, I started giggling—that giggle turned into laughter until I was laughing to my heart's content, ignoring the weird glances the he was giving me.
I'm finally convinced that I've completely lost my mind.
When I've laughed all that I could, I leaned my back on the metal railing behind me. It was like a heavy weight was casted off my shoulders and all my problems flew away. I don't even remember having any problems anymore at that particular moment. All I knew was that I was laughing like I've never laughed before.
I looked in front and saw Mr. Stranger eyeing me. I didn't know if he was weirded out or just plain amused by my actions, but he didn't seem to care that I was acting like a deranged lunatic. I cleared my throat as I regained my composure. Despite my attempt to look serious, I couldn't help it when a few giggles escaped my lips. I motioned him to say something, probably an answer to my last statement.
He got the message without me having to voice it out.
"As tempting as that sounds, we haven't even gotten to the 'holding hands' stage yet," he said, putting on a straight face to hide his grin. He lifted his arm and offered his hand to me. "So, why don't you just step down from there and take my hand?"
I tilted my head to the side and shook my head in disbelief. I laughed silently, tears welling up in my eyes. I wiped my face, sighing, and did what he instructed. I hopped off the elevated step and slowly walked towards him. I took his outstretched hand willingly and he held my hand tight, pulling me closer.
"Now you can die," he whispered, grinning. "That is… if you still want to."
"You're taking responsibility for this. I should be dead by now," I said, tapping his shoulder lightly as I giggled.
He pursed his lips into a cheeky smile and cleared his throat. He bowed his head for a second then shook my hand gently. "Hi, I'm Natsume Hyuuga."
"Mikan Sakura," I answered with all formality.
He nodded approvingly and I laughed. "It's very nice to meet you… Mrs. Hyuuga."
A month after that, Natsume Hyuuga and I started dating. You could only imagine the fright and shock on my face when he introduced me to his parents. Yeah, just as I suspected, a spoiled rich kid. His father owned a huge company and his mother was a famous fashion designer. And guess what? His dad was the owner of the building I was supposed to jump off from. What a mess that could have been.
Two years later, Natsume popped the big question and we got married for real. No, we didn't have twenty kids, but we did have a very lovely daughter who just turned two years old this year. The three of us lived together in our house near the beach with our dog… and I couldn't be happier.
I was on the verge of jumping off a building and erasing myself from the world, when this person appeared out of nowhere and stopped me from making the biggest mistake of my life.
Because of that, I'll never regret that day when I agreed to marry a stranger who proposed to me with a Coca Cola can pull-tab.
Please don't kill me. I know I should be revising and updating my other stories, but I just couldn't help but write this. The idea and plot came to me the moment I woke up this morning and I began typing away. It took me about four hours in total to finish this, and it's also my first oneshot in Mikan's point of view. I was originally supposed to write this in Natsume's point of view, but I went with Mikan's, since I figured it would make more sense reading from the perspective of the person who was committing suicide.
Just a little note for everybody, this isn't a 'love at first sight' story, since I don't really believe in that saying. Natsume and Mikan got married two years after that incident, so, of course, the whole getting-to-know part took place in that span of time. I would just like to clear that out.
Tell me what you think. If you find any errors, please do tell me. Reviews will definitely make me happy.
VOTE ON THE POLL IN MY PROFILE REGARDING THE "POSSIBLE" SEQUEL.
P.S. - God is there watching over you. Live a good life. You're all beautiful in your own way. :)
- Last edited on June 24, 2011.