BLACK CHERRY / Untitled
Title: Untitled
Fandom: BLACK CHERRY
Genre: Drama, angst
Table: One
Prompt: 091. Hospital
Word Count: 2107
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: I always planned for Black Cherry to head down a darker, more serious direction, so we'll see where this one is headed. This may or may not be the beginning of a novella of sorts, or maybe a new direction for the story entirely. We'll see.
Untitled
(091. Hospital)
The fluorescent light was stark and blinding, burning into her eye sockets. An incessant beeping seeped into her ears and reverberated through her pounding head, sharp and high-pitched.
Haruki lifted her left arm, where an IV was lodged on the back of her hand. The heart rate monitor remained beeping beside her, taunting her, and the urge to knock it to the floor grew stronger with each second.
A laugh, low and humorless, escaped from her lips. She coughed, wincing at the burning sensation in her throat.
The door opened. Her cousin Shin stood by the doorway, eyes widening.
“Holy shit, you’re awake,” he exclaimed, rushing to her side. “How are you? Wait, let me call the doctor-”
“No.” She swallowed. God, her throat was on fire. “I just need water.”
He practically stumbled on his way to the pitcher at the other end of the room. He poured her a cup, his hands visibly trembling even from where she lay.
She slowly sat up, already feeling drained upon accepting the cup. She drank greedily, the water going through her like a soothing wave.
“Do you need some more?” he asked. She shook her head, allowing him to put the cup away. He carefully settled on her bedside, pausing, tentative.
“I’m fine,” she said as soon as he opened his mouth. He closed it again, his lips forming into a frown.
“They just pumped out your stomach, Haruki. How can you be fine?”
“Because I’m still here talking to you, and because I said so.”
Shin ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He stared hard at her sheets, his shoulders taut with tension.
“Please tell me you downed a whole bottle of sleeping pills by accident,” he said in a tight voice.
She turned her head to the window, but the curtains were drawn. “Sure.”
He gripped her hand, seizing it despite the IV. The pain was instant, welcoming.
“Why?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He eyed her like she’d lost her mind, which was already the case, most likely.
“Haruki, please,” he whispered, fingers wrapping around hers. “Don’t scare me.”
Her lips stretched to a wry smile. “Don’t worry. Looks like I’m not going anywhere.”
--
“As for entertainment news, Devil Cherry guitarist Haruki Shinjo has been released from the hospital today after being rushed to emergency three days ago. The guitarist was found unconscious with an empty bottle of sleeping pills in her apartment, and while a press release from her label stated the incident as an accidental overdose, many speculate a suicide attempt gone wrong...”
Haruki turned off the television and dropped the remote to the couch. Her living room was littered with numerous bouquets, all colorful, fragrant, and sickening. She headed for the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet to find it clear of all her prescriptions. Her manager was so goddamn good at his job, it was despicable.
Reflected on the sink mirror was a girl with sallow skin, her eyes and cheeks sunken in. Her hair was a black, ratted mess, draping over her chest like a thick curtain. Oh, if only her stylist could see her now. The poor girl would have a heart attack.
The doorbell rang. Haruki turned on the faucet and watched it run. A hot tub sounded nice right now. Drowning had been her second choice, come to think of it.
The doorbell rang again. She turned the hot water knob all the way through and let it run on her skin. It turned pink in seconds, then red, redder.
Someone banged at the door, followed by the constant hammering of her doorbell. Haruki released a sigh and left the bathroom.
She didn’t bother to look into the peephole and swung the door open. Her bandmate Yuichi stood before her, a cellphone in his ear.
“Oh, thank God.” The drummer exhaled, ending the call. “I thought something had happened to you again...”
His voice trailed off at the last word. He looked contrite for a second before eyeing her with a disconcerted frown. “Wow, you really look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
He entered her apartment, traveling an absent hand along the flowers while lifting a paper bag with the other. “I got you your favorite.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“For fruit tart? Nonsense,” he quipped, heading for the kitchen. He grabbed two plates and began rummaging through her cabinets. “Where the hell are your knives?”
Realization dawned on his face as he stared at an open drawer for a considerable while before taking out a butter knife. “Well, I suppose this’ll have to do.”
“Matsu really doesn’t trust me, huh?” she muttered, leaning against the kitchen doorway. “Is that why you’re here? Did he send you over to watch me?”
“Of course not,” he said, not meeting her eyes. He began slicing through the pastry at an agonizingly slow pace.
“Go ahead. Ask me why I did it.”
Yuichi gingerly placed a slice on the plate and pushed it towards her. “A part of me hoped this was all some misunderstanding too.”
“But you know better,” she drawled.
The butter knife dropped to his plate in a loud clatter. “I can’t believe you tried to cheat your way out of this, Haruki.”
She slowly walked towards him, the sight of his forming tears not lost on her even as he blinked them away. “If it’s any consolation, I would’ve missed you too, you know.”
A strangled laugh escaped his lips. “Damn right you would’ve.”
She picked up a fork and impaled a raspberry with it. “Here’s to my good health then.”
“To a long life, Haruki,” he murmured, raising his plate to a toast.
--
Haruki never liked smoking.
She hated the smell of smoke, the foul dryness, the ashy bitterness that lingered in her mouth afterwards. There was a part of her that thought a little less of a woman who smoked; it was crass and un-ladylike to her for some reason, though that was probably just her conventional upbringing talking.
But on rare occasion when she was feeling just as foul or bitter (an ironically growing occurrence), she lit a stick or two. To her it was a symbol of defiance to her body and her personal beliefs, a celebration for each bad decision she’d made in life. She took a deep drag, allowing the heady menthol to coat her nostrils and lungs. She tapped the ashes to the asphalt, letting it scatter to the wind.
“Here you go, cafe mocha, no whip.” Matsu placed a paper cup before her, dropping two sugar packets next to it. He undid a button off his suit before settling on the seat in front of her.
Haruki mentally counted the number of cars that passed by before he finally spoke up. It took six.
“You’ve been ignoring calls. The guys are worried.”
She put out her second cigarette on the ashtray. “Just spit it out, Matsu.”
Even without looking at him, she could feel his worried gaze bearing down on her through her sunglasses. He slowly leaned forward, hands clasping his paper cup. His wedding band glinted in the sun, and she wondered how his wife was coping with the stress.
“We were thinking of putting everything on hold. You can take as much time off as you need.”
She removed the lid of her paper cup and took a sip of her coffee. “No, I need to keep myself busy. Besides, didn’t our beloved friends at PR say it was all an accident? A hiatus will only make everyone more suspicious.”
“Of course we’ve considered that, but your personal well-being is more important.”
She snorted. “You realize I tried to kill myself on a day-off. Imagine the numerous reattempts I could make with an extended vacation.”
Matsu shifted uneasily in his seat. “We’ve been recommended some doctors...”
Haruki fell back to her chair with a hollow laugh. “Fantastic. And the rest of the guys don’t have enough balls to join you in this little intervention?”
A grim line formed on his lips. “It’s not like that, Haruki.”
“You’re starting to make me really wish I was dead right now. A bit counterproductive, don’t you think?”
“You need to take a step back from all of this,” he said, lips thinning. “At the very least, have someone else to talk to.”
“Oh, but who else can understand me better than the source of my own depression?” she sang in a mocking tone. Matsu’s fingers wrapped more firmly around his drink.
Haruki closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. She really was becoming quite a piece of work. When she finally died for good, she wouldn’t be surprised if nobody came to her funeral.
“The music is all I have left,” she muttered. “Please don’t take that away from me too.”
Her manager exhaled a long sigh. Whether out of relief or resignation, she would never know.
“Of course, Haruki.” He put up a wan smile. “Anything to make you feel better.”
--
The lobby was dim and deserted when she arrived, but at three in the morning, it was only to be expected.
Haruki listened to the sound of her heels bouncing down the hallways, a steady, calming rhythm as she clutched the strap of her sling bag more firmly on her shoulder. She made her way downstairs to the basement recording room, pushing the glass doors open and freezing at the sight of a man by the mixing board.
Ryo turned around in his seat, his back going rigid. “Haruki.”
She ignored the impulse to leave and stood her ground. “Hey.”
His dark brown gaze searched her face for a long time, asking the same unspoken questions she refused to answer. Instead she focused on his dark, mussed hair and five o’clock shadow, remembering how both soft and rough they’d always felt against her fingertips. Her chest tightened with longing and guilt, and she promptly pushed away all memories of it as she headed for the couches at the other end of the room.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, tossing her sling bag to the sofa.
“I should be the one asking you that question,” he said, his eyebrows meeting. “How have you been?”
“Fine,” she automatically replied, collapsing to a chair and crossing her legs. “Are you working on something new? I’m feeling a little creative tonight.”
His swiveling chair creaked when he faced the mixing board again. “Not really. Just been messing around. Tom said we should try incorporating some EDM. I just laughed in his face.”
Her lips moved up, and for a second it felt strange to smile again after days. She eyed his back for a long time, comfortable and thankful for the silence that resumed. Yes, there were good intentions behind everyone’s worries, but Ryo’s habit of ignoring the elephant in the room had always been one of the things she liked about him the most. People demanded truth and openness all the time, but with him, she could just let everything be.
“EDM, huh?” she mused, standing up to approach him. “Might not be a bad idea, actually.”
He stared up at her. “You’re joking, right?”
She smirked with a shrug.
He lowered his gaze to the many buttons and switches before them. A mask she knew only too well fell over his face, an expression she’d come to dread seeing.
“Haruki.” His face was a careful blank now. “I need to know if I was somehow a part of all this.”
Remorse twisted through her insides like a dagger, and it was all she could do not to reach out to him, to make him see that she needed him in a way he could never fully accept. He really deserved someone far better, someone who wouldn’t use him just to fill a never-ending void. Even then she would never admit that out loud. It would be a weakness she couldn’t afford to show anyone else again.
“No,” she whispered, clenching her hands to her sides. “Of course not.”
He looked up at her again, understanding more than she would’ve wanted him to. His eyes implored her to say the words, to make something tangible out of whatever it was they had between them, but her lips remained sealed. Until how long would he keep waiting before he gave up on her too?
Ryo faced the mixing board once more, allowing them both a brief pause before idly drumming his fingers. “So, what do you feel like working on tonight?”
Ignore. Pretend. Rinse and repeat.
“Anything,” she said. “Let’s just see wherever the wind takes us.”
Fandom: BLACK CHERRY
Genre: Drama, angst
Table: One
Prompt: 091. Hospital
Word Count: 2107
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: I always planned for Black Cherry to head down a darker, more serious direction, so we'll see where this one is headed. This may or may not be the beginning of a novella of sorts, or maybe a new direction for the story entirely. We'll see.
Untitled
(091. Hospital)
The fluorescent light was stark and blinding, burning into her eye sockets. An incessant beeping seeped into her ears and reverberated through her pounding head, sharp and high-pitched.
Haruki lifted her left arm, where an IV was lodged on the back of her hand. The heart rate monitor remained beeping beside her, taunting her, and the urge to knock it to the floor grew stronger with each second.
A laugh, low and humorless, escaped from her lips. She coughed, wincing at the burning sensation in her throat.
The door opened. Her cousin Shin stood by the doorway, eyes widening.
“Holy shit, you’re awake,” he exclaimed, rushing to her side. “How are you? Wait, let me call the doctor-”
“No.” She swallowed. God, her throat was on fire. “I just need water.”
He practically stumbled on his way to the pitcher at the other end of the room. He poured her a cup, his hands visibly trembling even from where she lay.
She slowly sat up, already feeling drained upon accepting the cup. She drank greedily, the water going through her like a soothing wave.
“Do you need some more?” he asked. She shook her head, allowing him to put the cup away. He carefully settled on her bedside, pausing, tentative.
“I’m fine,” she said as soon as he opened his mouth. He closed it again, his lips forming into a frown.
“They just pumped out your stomach, Haruki. How can you be fine?”
“Because I’m still here talking to you, and because I said so.”
Shin ran a hand through his hair in frustration. He stared hard at her sheets, his shoulders taut with tension.
“Please tell me you downed a whole bottle of sleeping pills by accident,” he said in a tight voice.
She turned her head to the window, but the curtains were drawn. “Sure.”
He gripped her hand, seizing it despite the IV. The pain was instant, welcoming.
“Why?”
“I couldn’t sleep.”
He eyed her like she’d lost her mind, which was already the case, most likely.
“Haruki, please,” he whispered, fingers wrapping around hers. “Don’t scare me.”
Her lips stretched to a wry smile. “Don’t worry. Looks like I’m not going anywhere.”
--
“As for entertainment news, Devil Cherry guitarist Haruki Shinjo has been released from the hospital today after being rushed to emergency three days ago. The guitarist was found unconscious with an empty bottle of sleeping pills in her apartment, and while a press release from her label stated the incident as an accidental overdose, many speculate a suicide attempt gone wrong...”
Haruki turned off the television and dropped the remote to the couch. Her living room was littered with numerous bouquets, all colorful, fragrant, and sickening. She headed for the bathroom, opening the medicine cabinet to find it clear of all her prescriptions. Her manager was so goddamn good at his job, it was despicable.
Reflected on the sink mirror was a girl with sallow skin, her eyes and cheeks sunken in. Her hair was a black, ratted mess, draping over her chest like a thick curtain. Oh, if only her stylist could see her now. The poor girl would have a heart attack.
The doorbell rang. Haruki turned on the faucet and watched it run. A hot tub sounded nice right now. Drowning had been her second choice, come to think of it.
The doorbell rang again. She turned the hot water knob all the way through and let it run on her skin. It turned pink in seconds, then red, redder.
Someone banged at the door, followed by the constant hammering of her doorbell. Haruki released a sigh and left the bathroom.
She didn’t bother to look into the peephole and swung the door open. Her bandmate Yuichi stood before her, a cellphone in his ear.
“Oh, thank God.” The drummer exhaled, ending the call. “I thought something had happened to you again...”
His voice trailed off at the last word. He looked contrite for a second before eyeing her with a disconcerted frown. “Wow, you really look like shit.”
“Thanks.”
He entered her apartment, traveling an absent hand along the flowers while lifting a paper bag with the other. “I got you your favorite.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“For fruit tart? Nonsense,” he quipped, heading for the kitchen. He grabbed two plates and began rummaging through her cabinets. “Where the hell are your knives?”
Realization dawned on his face as he stared at an open drawer for a considerable while before taking out a butter knife. “Well, I suppose this’ll have to do.”
“Matsu really doesn’t trust me, huh?” she muttered, leaning against the kitchen doorway. “Is that why you’re here? Did he send you over to watch me?”
“Of course not,” he said, not meeting her eyes. He began slicing through the pastry at an agonizingly slow pace.
“Go ahead. Ask me why I did it.”
Yuichi gingerly placed a slice on the plate and pushed it towards her. “A part of me hoped this was all some misunderstanding too.”
“But you know better,” she drawled.
The butter knife dropped to his plate in a loud clatter. “I can’t believe you tried to cheat your way out of this, Haruki.”
She slowly walked towards him, the sight of his forming tears not lost on her even as he blinked them away. “If it’s any consolation, I would’ve missed you too, you know.”
A strangled laugh escaped his lips. “Damn right you would’ve.”
She picked up a fork and impaled a raspberry with it. “Here’s to my good health then.”
“To a long life, Haruki,” he murmured, raising his plate to a toast.
--
Haruki never liked smoking.
She hated the smell of smoke, the foul dryness, the ashy bitterness that lingered in her mouth afterwards. There was a part of her that thought a little less of a woman who smoked; it was crass and un-ladylike to her for some reason, though that was probably just her conventional upbringing talking.
But on rare occasion when she was feeling just as foul or bitter (an ironically growing occurrence), she lit a stick or two. To her it was a symbol of defiance to her body and her personal beliefs, a celebration for each bad decision she’d made in life. She took a deep drag, allowing the heady menthol to coat her nostrils and lungs. She tapped the ashes to the asphalt, letting it scatter to the wind.
“Here you go, cafe mocha, no whip.” Matsu placed a paper cup before her, dropping two sugar packets next to it. He undid a button off his suit before settling on the seat in front of her.
Haruki mentally counted the number of cars that passed by before he finally spoke up. It took six.
“You’ve been ignoring calls. The guys are worried.”
She put out her second cigarette on the ashtray. “Just spit it out, Matsu.”
Even without looking at him, she could feel his worried gaze bearing down on her through her sunglasses. He slowly leaned forward, hands clasping his paper cup. His wedding band glinted in the sun, and she wondered how his wife was coping with the stress.
“We were thinking of putting everything on hold. You can take as much time off as you need.”
She removed the lid of her paper cup and took a sip of her coffee. “No, I need to keep myself busy. Besides, didn’t our beloved friends at PR say it was all an accident? A hiatus will only make everyone more suspicious.”
“Of course we’ve considered that, but your personal well-being is more important.”
She snorted. “You realize I tried to kill myself on a day-off. Imagine the numerous reattempts I could make with an extended vacation.”
Matsu shifted uneasily in his seat. “We’ve been recommended some doctors...”
Haruki fell back to her chair with a hollow laugh. “Fantastic. And the rest of the guys don’t have enough balls to join you in this little intervention?”
A grim line formed on his lips. “It’s not like that, Haruki.”
“You’re starting to make me really wish I was dead right now. A bit counterproductive, don’t you think?”
“You need to take a step back from all of this,” he said, lips thinning. “At the very least, have someone else to talk to.”
“Oh, but who else can understand me better than the source of my own depression?” she sang in a mocking tone. Matsu’s fingers wrapped more firmly around his drink.
Haruki closed her eyes, forcing herself to calm down. She really was becoming quite a piece of work. When she finally died for good, she wouldn’t be surprised if nobody came to her funeral.
“The music is all I have left,” she muttered. “Please don’t take that away from me too.”
Her manager exhaled a long sigh. Whether out of relief or resignation, she would never know.
“Of course, Haruki.” He put up a wan smile. “Anything to make you feel better.”
--
The lobby was dim and deserted when she arrived, but at three in the morning, it was only to be expected.
Haruki listened to the sound of her heels bouncing down the hallways, a steady, calming rhythm as she clutched the strap of her sling bag more firmly on her shoulder. She made her way downstairs to the basement recording room, pushing the glass doors open and freezing at the sight of a man by the mixing board.
Ryo turned around in his seat, his back going rigid. “Haruki.”
She ignored the impulse to leave and stood her ground. “Hey.”
His dark brown gaze searched her face for a long time, asking the same unspoken questions she refused to answer. Instead she focused on his dark, mussed hair and five o’clock shadow, remembering how both soft and rough they’d always felt against her fingertips. Her chest tightened with longing and guilt, and she promptly pushed away all memories of it as she headed for the couches at the other end of the room.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, tossing her sling bag to the sofa.
“I should be the one asking you that question,” he said, his eyebrows meeting. “How have you been?”
“Fine,” she automatically replied, collapsing to a chair and crossing her legs. “Are you working on something new? I’m feeling a little creative tonight.”
His swiveling chair creaked when he faced the mixing board again. “Not really. Just been messing around. Tom said we should try incorporating some EDM. I just laughed in his face.”
Her lips moved up, and for a second it felt strange to smile again after days. She eyed his back for a long time, comfortable and thankful for the silence that resumed. Yes, there were good intentions behind everyone’s worries, but Ryo’s habit of ignoring the elephant in the room had always been one of the things she liked about him the most. People demanded truth and openness all the time, but with him, she could just let everything be.
“EDM, huh?” she mused, standing up to approach him. “Might not be a bad idea, actually.”
He stared up at her. “You’re joking, right?”
She smirked with a shrug.
He lowered his gaze to the many buttons and switches before them. A mask she knew only too well fell over his face, an expression she’d come to dread seeing.
“Haruki.” His face was a careful blank now. “I need to know if I was somehow a part of all this.”
Remorse twisted through her insides like a dagger, and it was all she could do not to reach out to him, to make him see that she needed him in a way he could never fully accept. He really deserved someone far better, someone who wouldn’t use him just to fill a never-ending void. Even then she would never admit that out loud. It would be a weakness she couldn’t afford to show anyone else again.
“No,” she whispered, clenching her hands to her sides. “Of course not.”
He looked up at her again, understanding more than she would’ve wanted him to. His eyes implored her to say the words, to make something tangible out of whatever it was they had between them, but her lips remained sealed. Until how long would he keep waiting before he gave up on her too?
Ryo faced the mixing board once more, allowing them both a brief pause before idly drumming his fingers. “So, what do you feel like working on tonight?”
Ignore. Pretend. Rinse and repeat.
“Anything,” she said. “Let’s just see wherever the wind takes us.”