Author Note: Please review! Updates will be slightly irregular, but I promise it will at least be once every two weeks that update. Most likely more often, but that's the most I can say for sure.
Title: Awkward Silence
Summary: Riko wasn't exactly a social person. She preferred the company of her books over the company of people. Yet as she gets strung into a Host Club, she mourns over the loss of her peace and quiet.
Rated: T for abuse and other sensitive topics as well as future suggestive scenes
Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim Ouran High School Host Club.
I rest my head on my desk. Well, I say rest, but I am pretty sure that a majority of people would call it pounding. I could hear the dull thud created from my forehead hitting the desk. My laptop screen is the only source of light in my room, it shines brightly, which only adds to my headache. I am relentless and stubborn, however. I am not going to let a 'minor' headache and sleep deprivation keep me from finishing this chapter of my novel- a chapter that is due by the end of the week. It is going to be the third novel in my series- the first two are already published.
I just had a… different way of getting over my writer's block. My Blocking Routine as I call it usually consisted of cutting it close to the deadline, an endless supply of noodles and coffee, hitting my head on the desk, be in complete silence and getting away from my family… Pressure helps me work. Writing makes me hungry and the coffee keeps me awake. Hitting my head on the desk seems to help- for what reason I'm not sure. Silence, oh blissful silence, is what I live on since I don't get as often as I like. The last step, however, I failed- I could still hear my mom's yelling as she entered my house.
Yes. My house. My mom, or as I call her Ursula after the sea witch in Little Mermaid, is the one I got stuck with when she and Dad separated. I suppose she is better than a father who wants nothing to do with me, but she's only slightly better. There is a reason I call her Ursula after all. We don't get along that well. She hates my writing, my books, everything, and I suspect she just hates me in general- the feeling is mutual. Because there is no way we would be able to live in the same mansion without biting each other head's off, she got a small little two story home built dead smack next to the mansion as an addition. An addition in which I live in by myself.
I actually like my little home. It has a few rooms, a full kitchen, three bedrooms (two small, one large) and two bathrooms. My favorite part is the balcony that is attached to my bedroom- the glass double doors are covered by thick black curtains to block out any light. It is silent- no maids, no butlers, and more importantly, no mother- for the most part.
I don't say anything as she screams my name. Maybe if I ignore her, she'll go away… Sometimes that actually works, but sometimes I have to hide in my closet to avoid her. I could hear her footsteps coming up the stairs. As her screaming gets louder, I wince and desperately look for a place to hide. The closet is full- I stuffed a lot of junk in it last week when I 'cleaned' my room. Under my desk is full too- too much trash… I spot a pile of clothes off in the corner. Maybe I could hide there.
As I'm about to dart for the clothes, my bedroom door opens and in steps my mother. She flips on a light switch, forcing me to see her and I blink a bit- blinded by the sudden light. Like usual, she is wearing too much makeup and I gag on the smell of perfume. Her pink attire is practically blinding- I can see it through my black bags. She scowls at me,
"Are you writing again?"
She says the word writing as if it's the foulest thing on the Earth. To her, it is. She doesn't see how I can make money from writing and I admit that I don't make much and not nearly as much compared to my mother, who is a successful, powerful business woman. She is feared by many. They cower from her. Who wouldn't with that honeyed voice of hers- that voice that sounds nice, but has that underlining tone of hateful bitterness that hints at her ugly personality.
I push my glasses up a bit nervously as I bite on my lip.
"What did I tell you about writing?"
"To stop," I say, looking down.
If it was anyone other than my mother, maybe I would have enough courage to defend my writing, my passion, my life. However my mother's specialty included making even a strong wrestler feel like a little girl. She is intimidating, to say the least. She makes me feel like the worm she must think of me as.
She nods at me,
"Exactly, so why do you continue it?"
I have no reply for her. She just sighs and sits down on my bed. She pats down on the spot next to her. The gesture seems almost motherly until I realize that it's mother. She is more of a snake- a vicious viper- than an actual mother. I gulp slightly and take a seat.
"Dear," she says, the honey thick in her voice, "Don't you think that you should stop with this silly, rebellious phase? Actually dress like a girl, stop with this ridiculous writing, learn the family business, and make me proud… You do want to make me proud, right?"
My finger twirled around the edge of my baggy sweater. Mother hates that I dress in guy clothing sometimes (though she hates my name even more since not only is it slightly more masculine but Father choose it). Sometimes I go as far as properly binding my chest with a good binder (binder not ace bandages because if you use ace bandages to bind your chest it will cause a lot of damage because it's made to restrict not bind- binders, however, are more like an undershirt that presses boobs to the chest in a way that flats them). It isn't that I don't like girl clothes. My closet is full of them- somewhere anyway. There is just some days that I prefer my more baggy, comfortable clothing. Mother had a way of making it seem like I don't deserve to be comfortable. The way she speaks, however, makes me want to nod, to say yes. Gulping, I try to stay strong. I want nothing more than to say no, that I don't have to make her feel proud- I am not obligated to do so. But I just shake my head yes, unable to say anything.
She smiles, but it doesn't reach her eyes.
"Good… Now, I have something to tell you."
I look over to her, a bit curious. Last time she said something like that my cat died. I don't have any pets aside from Bubbles and Cuddles, both of whom is safe in their cages in the corner of my room. Their eyes are staring at me from across the room- Cuddles is probably mad that we woke her up. Mother seems oblivious to the eyes watching us as she continues.
"Now, your therapist contacted me…"
I gulp again, nervous about what might have been said between them.
"She says that you don't have any friends," Mother purred, "So, I'm going to make you a deal."
"A deal," I ask furrowing my brows.
"You join a club and make some friends so that your therapist isn't hounding me and I won't bother you for a week."
A whole week without her? A whole week of being on my own without worrying about her coming in like this? A week by myself? I briefly think it over, weighing the pros and cons, but honestly the pros of it outweighs the cons by a lot. Sounds like a good deal to me. I accept her deal and she leaves, content with my answer. Some part of me feels like I just sold my soul to the Devil, causing me to shiver.
Now I just have to find a club to get the sea witch away. I could always quit after the week of silence was over.