Hello there, people of the Net. Here is - as quoted from the title - a retelling of Misaki's story.
I know, I know. The description sounds so arrogant and everything. I just don't know what to say... It's asdfghjkl. So yeah, I apologize for the really ASDFGHJKL sounding description.
The reason I'm writing another story while also writing another story (Against All Laws) is because I've been suffering from a lot of writer's block lately, so I decided with two stories, I can just switch between the two whenever I'm stuck with one.
Lame.. I know...
Well, anyway, enjoy!
"When I saw you I fell in love, and you smiled because you knew."
-Shakespeare, Hamlet. Act 2 – scene 2.
For my whole life, I've never been happy before. I mean, sure, I've laughed and I've smiled a lot of times, but I've never really felt happy before. It's always been midway-happy, and not the whole thing. There's always this missing piece, this gap inside me whenever I thought I felt happy.
And I'm sure that what I just said wouldn't make sense to some of you, and I can understand why – really, I do. But for the rest of you who do actually understand what I meant, the rest of what I'm going to say will be much easier for you than for those who don't.
At the age of ten – or however old I was back then – my father left my family and me. I'd always assumed that he'd abandoned us because he wanted no more of the stress of our escalating debt – well, at least that was what Mum had said when I asked her – but I found the story a bit… I don't know… rather off? Farfetched? The thing is, from the ten years that I'd been with him, he didn't seem like the kind of guy to leave a family of three alone and completely in the dark of what they should do to survive. But who was I to say that he wasn't just acting in front of me? After all, I was only ten, was I not?
After he'd left, Mum cried for what seemed like a whole millennia of dreadfulness. My sister, who was only eight – if I'd really been ten when he left – at the time, and I were completely oblivious of what really had happened – that our own father had left our side – and we could only watch Mum as she continued to bawl her eyes out on her bed, a crumpled letter clutched in her hands. I, knowing that Suzuna shouldn't be watching all that, would drag her to the living room to watch cartoons.
The truth is, I sort of knew that Dad had left us. Only I'd naively thought that he would be out for only a few days – for work, perhaps. And the only reason I didn't want to tell Mum or Suzuna that I knew was because I didn't want them to worry. Suzuna was already stressing out with her second-grade homework, and Mum… I believe I do not need to explain why I didn't tell Mum that I knew.
As time flew, the knowledge of him coming back slowly diminished into a ball, then a small spark, then a dot, before completely vanishing to thin air. I slowly accepted that he wasn't coming back – not for a few days, not for a few years. Never. He wasn't coming back.
Secretly, I was devastated. I was disappointed, and in the same time mad. Furious. It had never occurred to me that he would be out for the next seven years of my life – of all our lives – leaving us to care for ourselves.
And if I would be really honest to myself, I would say that I was hurt. My ability to trust had been seriously damaged, and it would take a long time before it could ever be repaired again – if ever. You know what they say: Trust is like paper. Once it's crumpled, it would never be perfect again.
So by the time I'd reached the age of seventeen – seven years without the presence of the supposedly most important man in a daughter's life – I'd earned myself a part-time job in a place I would never bring my friends over – it is simply too embarrassing to ever do so – and the role of the very first female Student Council President in my school. Oh, and also the nickname 'Demon Pres from Hell'. They were all reflections of how I acted and behaved, with the exception of my part-time job.
I was made out of steel. I rarely showed my emotions – except for anger – and I was stronger than most of the male students in school, even the seniors. Having spent most of my time studying, I'd become a social pariah with only two close friends. My looks, what I wore and make-up were the last of my priorities, studying and earning money being the first two. My family needed me more than my social reputation.
But I do need to admit that, sometimes, I would find myself staring at the window of a fancy boutique, imagining myself in the fancy dress and shirts in display and on mannequins behind the wall of glass. I would stare at myself in the mirror in my room, thinking about what hairstyle would suit best, and what I could do to moisturize the skin on my knees and elbows, since moisturizing creams and lotions would just be a waste of our family's hard-earned money.
And I would stare at a group of girls and boys, laughing and punching each other's shoulders, thinking if I would ever experience such moment in my life. I would love to shop for cute notebooks and shoes together with my friends, and perhaps hang around in Starbucks or something after, chit-chatting and laughing and tasting each others' Chocolate Cream Chips and Vanilla Frappuccinos.
I kept all that to myself, though. I didn't want people to think that I cared about all those stuff.
And so one day, I was going through my usual routine in school – patrolling the hallways, scolding the students who broke at least one of the school regulations, helping girls who got bullied by the boys who broke the school regulations, etc. – when I heard cries down the hall.
It wasn't unusual for me to be a witness to a girl's heart being broken by some jerk, but I wasn't in a very good mood that day, and so when I saw Usui Takumi – the school's alleged 'prince' – talking to one of his countless fans, with her sobbing and sniffling, I yelled at him as I watched the girl run away from us both.
I guess I should've been nicer and wait until she was gone to scold Usui, because there was nothing more mortifying than being rejected by your idol with the school's President as witness, right? Though I could be wrong; I never confessed to a guy before.
Later that day, I was ending a shift at work at around 9 p.m., taking out trash and whatnot. My heart hammered as I dragged the trash can out into the street through the back door, scared to my life that someone from school would see me there, in my work uniform. It would be really embarrassing – and not to mention disturbing and… complicated – if someone was to see me right there, right at that moment. I could already imagine what they would say –
"What a surprise. If it isn't the Pres…"
That voice hadn't been from my mind.
I whirled around, my heart threatening to break a rib or two before exploding in my chest, and found myself face-to-face with the person I would least love to see me there.
I nearly blacked out.
So... How did I do?