Doll (MikaYuu)

♦02♦ - Façade

With my heart aching with such might, I hung up the phone, a broken sound of excruciating pain emitting from what was left of my being. The pain and dolor infected me everywhere than just my heart. I was in physical pain, having to collapse back on my bed to prevent myself from landing on the floor. My cries were so loud that I had to cover my own ears as the buzzes resembled the agony trying to knock on the door that was me. Tears ran down my face and neck, rinsing me in a sorrowful shower.

I felt like I would never stop.

I covered my mouth with my trembling hand, trying to get myself to be silenced. My heart hurt far too much. This was a wound so treacherous that not even time would mend.

In fact, time was purposely dragging by, so I could suffer each and every agonizing second of pain.

I shakily laid my face into my pillow as if to hide myself from the pain that was still taunting me. Eventually, I couldn't help but fall weak to my grief.

My mother, the only woman in my life who I cared about.

My face was soused with tears, my pillow deluged in a warm dampness. I wept for such a time that I had forgot to breathe and my lungs had to remind me of this with a sore ache.

She wouldn't want me to cry.

I suppressed my breathing for about twenty seconds, weakly lifting my face from my pillow. Tears obscured my vision, and everything was a mere blur. My mind was a numb blur, my heart a numb blur.

Everything felt so gone, so strong that it felt like I was never going to feel emotion again. Like I was going to be emotionally paralyzed for the rest of my days.

Nearly twenty minutes had passed, and I was still numb. I placed the pillow aside of me and wiped my eyes, taking deep breaths. I still held my shirtsleeves to my eyes, waiting until all my tears soaked up before I dared to see again.

The buzzer went off requesting my door, and that's when I made a serious effort to cleanse my face.

"One moment," I shakily said, clearing my throat harshly. I staggered over to my vanity mirror, making sure no evidence of tears were left.

My eyes were still red, but I could play that off with a million excuses. I still had an awful case of inhaling sharply, steadying it with breathing techniques. I was not allowed to cry here; if I did, it had to be undetected and never spoken of.

"Alright," I announced when my voice had steadied. "You may come in."

My aunt had sauntered in, robed in one of her expensive black dresses and inimitable jewelry, her golden hair tied harshly in a high ponytail. She gave me a tight, forced smile, walking over to me and embraced me.

I did not like her. She was a manipulative whore, and she defiled me. She used me to fulfill her own needs and let the money get to her head. She didn't care about family, that's why I was the only one grieving over my ill mother.

"Hello, my Mikaela," she softly said, gently rubbing my back reassuringly. "I've heard the news."

My heart broke all over again. I did not like her at all, but I needed comfort, my heart not being able to mend alone. I buried my face in her dress, holding her arms weakly. I tried not to cry, but tears slipped out of my tightly shut eyes, again.

"Viníce," I sobbed as she petted me. "My mom has fallen ill again."

I heard her make a false noise of sympathy, even for her own sister, then she lifted my head off of her dress. "I know... No cries, sweetie. You'll ruin our fabrics. Be strong," she whispered the last part, swiping her thumb under my puffy eyes. "Wouldn't she want you to?"

I abhorred her, but she had a point. I softly nodded, breaking my gaze and shunning a glance with her. I feared this woman like she were Death in disguise. She brought out the hideousness in herself around me, yet decided to show pity now because I was grieving. She made small effort today, and I could give her that. Even despite when she tipped my chin up and made me look into her menacing blue eyes, much like mine, although I did not want to. She dug her fingernails into my skin and held my throat as she kissed me, but I felt no emotion behind it. I was wounded too dearly. I stared at her as she plagued me, expressionless, yet hurt could be read in my eyes.

Hurt was the only emotion I could feel that was letting me know I was still alive.

When she nicked me with her fingernail, I had to kiss her back, allowing her to kiss me with tongue. My whole life revolved around the French nature, like kisses. French was in my called name. I was nowhere ethnically French, but I was raised with it. She let go of my face and stared at me shamefully.

"Mikaela, I am telling you not to cry. You look weak. You even kiss weak. Do not show your face in front of the cameras like this," she continued to seize my face and applied more foundation to my puffy face, exploding it under my eyes.

"Viníce, I am grieving," I reminded her with a broken voice as I held steady while she dabbed me in the façade chemicals. That's what I called makeup when it was applied to me when I felt emotion. It reinforced my bred nature to never show true sentiment.

"We all grieve. We all hide it. Were you not raised to do the same?"

She let go of my face and waited for me to reply. I looked down with shame. "My mother raised me to believe that it is okay to grieve, we all need to, but make sure that when I get back up, all of it is gone."

After a nervous moment, I looked back up at her as she was silent. She crossed her arms, then flicked my forehead roughly. I flinched, facing her with oblivion and agony.

"Your mother will be fine. Be quiet. Harvid is coming to pick you up soon for your fitting." She grimaced at me with the least bit of pity in her eyes before she left my room and shut my door.

I felt alone, feeling my mind and heart sink into a pit of that dark feeling again. It was a feeling like being in the dead of the woods at night; it could be peaceful, but very frightening and lonesome. I sat alone, I existed alone - I was me; alone. There was no hand to reach out for help, and if there was, I could not take it.

That was Mika's part! Hope you enjoyed. Note:

Jeunesse: means "youth" in French. When Mika is addressed as Jeunesse Shindo, they are calling him this because he is a Jeunesse model, or a younger, respected model. His name in this story is still Mikaela/Mika :) Sorry if that caused some confusion.