BLACK CHERRY / Mask
Title: Mask
Fandom: BLACK CHERRY
Genre: Drama, angst
Table: One
Prompt: 024. Happy
Word Count: 1239
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: This may be heading down the novella route after all. A sequel of sorts to this.
Mask
(024. Happy)
There was something about constant bursts of light that calmed her, hypnotized her. Brought her to a place where she could tune out the world around her. The photographers who coaxed her, the stylists who fixed her... all of them faded away whenever she was in a photo shoot.
Haruki’s first stint since her hospitalization a month ago was to be on next month’s cover for a top high-fashion magazine. Whether that was the editors’ choice or her manager’s suggestion was beyond her, but work was work, and she needed to keep herself busy and distracted.
Today was like any other shoot. Standard white wall, a sheer white camisole, a puffy, black chiffon skirt, black tights, and high-heeled boots. Cliche, haute couture poses and a dazed face. A walk in the park.
It took a little over an hour for the shoot to wrap up, but Haruki remained on set for an interview with the editor. She sat by the dresser, politely refusing a retouch from a stylist. Her phone vibrated, her chest tightening at the text.
Can I see you today?
“Miss Shinjo?”
Haruki did not reply, plastering a smile on her face before rising to meet the editor behind her.
“It’s good to see you again. Ozawa from Layla Magazine, if you don’t remember.” The woman extended a hand. “I must say, you look fantastic!”
Haruki obliged a laugh before sitting down with her. “Thank you.”
“It’s been about two months since the public last heard from you-recovery aside, of course. How are you feeling?”
Haruki exhaled through her nose. “Better. We’ve been pretty busy.”
“Of course. Anyone in your shoes would collapse from the exhaustion too. Will we be hearing anything new from Devil Cherry soon?”
“We’ve been working on a new single. Maybe we’ll have something out by fall.”
“Can’t wait to hear it!” Ozawa beamed, her expression quickly sobering. “So Miss Shinjo, you may or may not be aware of the rumors regarding your recent hospitalization. Some are being skeptical regarding the reason for your confinement, even going as far as insinuating a possible suicide attempt. What are your thoughts on this?”
Ozawa pressed record on her phone. Behind the editor, her manager appeared standing from a distance, watching her keenly. He gave her a single nod.
“That’s crazy.” Haruki feigned a laugh of disbelief. “But I guess that would make for a more interesting story.”
“Where do you think the suicide attempt speculation is coming from?”
Even in the chance that someone from the hospital tipped off the press, Matsu’s connections would make sure to kill the story before it could run. Clearly it had still gotten out somehow, but word-of-mouth gossip would never be able to spread the same way.
The black nail polish was smooth against Haruki’s fingertips when she played with them. “I think they go hand in hand. Sex, drugs, rock and roll, right? Suicide would fit right along with it.”
“And does it bother you that some people would consider you suicidal?”
Haruki looked at her manager again. No, it doesn’t. And I don’t need your help or your sympathy.
Matsu’s lips contorted to a grim frown.
“I don’t want anyone to worry,” she answered. “I have many things to be thankful for. I would never do something like that.”
Her words rang hollow to her own ears, but she put up a modest smile, a smile that told Ozawa she remained unaffected despite such allegations. The editor gave her a nod of understanding in return.
Haruki glanced at Matsu once more. Happy now?
He gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes. Well done.
The rest of the interview seemed to stretch on forever, and by the time Haruki was able to retreat to the dressing room she was exhausted. Her quota of talking bullshit was already met for today, and the prospect of sleeping off the rest of the day couldn’t be any more inviting. Nowadays sleep was her only solace; hours of being in a dark, dreamless void were the perfect escape. The pills had been appealing that way.
There was a knock at the door. Haruki ignored it until it creaked open, and she cursed inwardly for forgetting to lock it.
“Leave me alone” died unspoken on her lips at the sight of Kei by the door. He’d poked a head in, tentative, and her silence was all it took for him to step inside.
In the six weeks she hadn’t seen him he almost felt like a stranger, but the longer he stood there while they eyed each other through the mirror, the familiarity began to seep in, and then longing and the pain returned to her like a wave. She didn’t believe in hell when she tried to kill herself, but in that moment she prayed to the heavens for all the strength they could give her.
“I’ve been worried. You haven’t returned any of my calls.”
I waited for you in the hospital, but you never came home. She dropped her gaze to the surface of the dresser. “How was New York?”
He closed the distance between them in seconds. His leather jacket brushed against her bare arms, his scent and warmth taunting her senses with a dangerous reminder.
“They’re lying, right? You can’t have possibly tried to kill yourself.”
His voice was so soft and careful, it infuriated her. He’d mastered the art of sweet nothings with that voice. Truly empty words they’d been then, and even now her foolish ears strained to hear the sincerity in them.
“Does it matter? I’ve clearly failed,” she countered, struggling to keep her voice even. She wanted to keep her distance, but that would only give him more ammunition. She wouldn’t lose to him again.
Her breath hitched at the gentle hand on her arm.
“Look, if this is about us-”
“There is no us,” she said, more sharply than she liked. It took nearly all of her strength not to yank herself off him and stare him straight in the eye. “I had a lapse in judgment. I’m staying alive, don’t worry.”
His dark grey eyes showed such convincing concern, it was worthy of an Oscar. He slowly released her, and her skin felt cold at once.
“I want things to go back to the way they were,” he murmured.
A bitter laugh escaped her. “Which part? Before or after we fucked?”
Something flashed in his eyes. Anger? Regret? Disgust? It was too quick to tell.
“I never meant to hurt you. Please believe that.”
Haruki deeply inhaled, but the stuffy air did nothing to abate the hammering in her ribcage. She closed her eyes again, finding brief clarity in the darkness.
“It’s all in the past now. Let’s just put it behind us and get back to work like professional grown-ups,” she said, every word draining her until she felt weary to her bones. Yes, more than anything it was the music that mattered the most. For the music she would live on, with or without him.
He took hold of her right hand and gave it a squeeze. “Whatever you want.”
Her lips stretched at the cruel joke. He let go of her once more and left the room.
The door closed behind her. Haruki collapsed to her chair and broke down in tears, stifling her sobs as quietly as she could.
Fandom: BLACK CHERRY
Genre: Drama, angst
Table: One
Prompt: 024. Happy
Word Count: 1239
Rating: PG-13
Author's Notes: This may be heading down the novella route after all. A sequel of sorts to this.
Mask
(024. Happy)
There was something about constant bursts of light that calmed her, hypnotized her. Brought her to a place where she could tune out the world around her. The photographers who coaxed her, the stylists who fixed her... all of them faded away whenever she was in a photo shoot.
Haruki’s first stint since her hospitalization a month ago was to be on next month’s cover for a top high-fashion magazine. Whether that was the editors’ choice or her manager’s suggestion was beyond her, but work was work, and she needed to keep herself busy and distracted.
Today was like any other shoot. Standard white wall, a sheer white camisole, a puffy, black chiffon skirt, black tights, and high-heeled boots. Cliche, haute couture poses and a dazed face. A walk in the park.
It took a little over an hour for the shoot to wrap up, but Haruki remained on set for an interview with the editor. She sat by the dresser, politely refusing a retouch from a stylist. Her phone vibrated, her chest tightening at the text.
Can I see you today?
“Miss Shinjo?”
Haruki did not reply, plastering a smile on her face before rising to meet the editor behind her.
“It’s good to see you again. Ozawa from Layla Magazine, if you don’t remember.” The woman extended a hand. “I must say, you look fantastic!”
Haruki obliged a laugh before sitting down with her. “Thank you.”
“It’s been about two months since the public last heard from you-recovery aside, of course. How are you feeling?”
Haruki exhaled through her nose. “Better. We’ve been pretty busy.”
“Of course. Anyone in your shoes would collapse from the exhaustion too. Will we be hearing anything new from Devil Cherry soon?”
“We’ve been working on a new single. Maybe we’ll have something out by fall.”
“Can’t wait to hear it!” Ozawa beamed, her expression quickly sobering. “So Miss Shinjo, you may or may not be aware of the rumors regarding your recent hospitalization. Some are being skeptical regarding the reason for your confinement, even going as far as insinuating a possible suicide attempt. What are your thoughts on this?”
Ozawa pressed record on her phone. Behind the editor, her manager appeared standing from a distance, watching her keenly. He gave her a single nod.
“That’s crazy.” Haruki feigned a laugh of disbelief. “But I guess that would make for a more interesting story.”
“Where do you think the suicide attempt speculation is coming from?”
Even in the chance that someone from the hospital tipped off the press, Matsu’s connections would make sure to kill the story before it could run. Clearly it had still gotten out somehow, but word-of-mouth gossip would never be able to spread the same way.
The black nail polish was smooth against Haruki’s fingertips when she played with them. “I think they go hand in hand. Sex, drugs, rock and roll, right? Suicide would fit right along with it.”
“And does it bother you that some people would consider you suicidal?”
Haruki looked at her manager again. No, it doesn’t. And I don’t need your help or your sympathy.
Matsu’s lips contorted to a grim frown.
“I don’t want anyone to worry,” she answered. “I have many things to be thankful for. I would never do something like that.”
Her words rang hollow to her own ears, but she put up a modest smile, a smile that told Ozawa she remained unaffected despite such allegations. The editor gave her a nod of understanding in return.
Haruki glanced at Matsu once more. Happy now?
He gave her a smile that did not reach his eyes. Well done.
The rest of the interview seemed to stretch on forever, and by the time Haruki was able to retreat to the dressing room she was exhausted. Her quota of talking bullshit was already met for today, and the prospect of sleeping off the rest of the day couldn’t be any more inviting. Nowadays sleep was her only solace; hours of being in a dark, dreamless void were the perfect escape. The pills had been appealing that way.
There was a knock at the door. Haruki ignored it until it creaked open, and she cursed inwardly for forgetting to lock it.
“Leave me alone” died unspoken on her lips at the sight of Kei by the door. He’d poked a head in, tentative, and her silence was all it took for him to step inside.
In the six weeks she hadn’t seen him he almost felt like a stranger, but the longer he stood there while they eyed each other through the mirror, the familiarity began to seep in, and then longing and the pain returned to her like a wave. She didn’t believe in hell when she tried to kill herself, but in that moment she prayed to the heavens for all the strength they could give her.
“I’ve been worried. You haven’t returned any of my calls.”
I waited for you in the hospital, but you never came home. She dropped her gaze to the surface of the dresser. “How was New York?”
He closed the distance between them in seconds. His leather jacket brushed against her bare arms, his scent and warmth taunting her senses with a dangerous reminder.
“They’re lying, right? You can’t have possibly tried to kill yourself.”
His voice was so soft and careful, it infuriated her. He’d mastered the art of sweet nothings with that voice. Truly empty words they’d been then, and even now her foolish ears strained to hear the sincerity in them.
“Does it matter? I’ve clearly failed,” she countered, struggling to keep her voice even. She wanted to keep her distance, but that would only give him more ammunition. She wouldn’t lose to him again.
Her breath hitched at the gentle hand on her arm.
“Look, if this is about us-”
“There is no us,” she said, more sharply than she liked. It took nearly all of her strength not to yank herself off him and stare him straight in the eye. “I had a lapse in judgment. I’m staying alive, don’t worry.”
His dark grey eyes showed such convincing concern, it was worthy of an Oscar. He slowly released her, and her skin felt cold at once.
“I want things to go back to the way they were,” he murmured.
A bitter laugh escaped her. “Which part? Before or after we fucked?”
Something flashed in his eyes. Anger? Regret? Disgust? It was too quick to tell.
“I never meant to hurt you. Please believe that.”
Haruki deeply inhaled, but the stuffy air did nothing to abate the hammering in her ribcage. She closed her eyes again, finding brief clarity in the darkness.
“It’s all in the past now. Let’s just put it behind us and get back to work like professional grown-ups,” she said, every word draining her until she felt weary to her bones. Yes, more than anything it was the music that mattered the most. For the music she would live on, with or without him.
He took hold of her right hand and gave it a squeeze. “Whatever you want.”
Her lips stretched at the cruel joke. He let go of her once more and left the room.
The door closed behind her. Haruki collapsed to her chair and broke down in tears, stifling her sobs as quietly as she could.