Vocaloid: Re:VERSE [Miku x Luka]

5 | Luka

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The repetitive, dreaded beeping of my alarm sounds, drilling ruthlessly into my skull.

Today marks the day of the dreaded winter dance retail, and I couldn't be any less enthusiastic. Several years ago, dance recitals were my reason to live — I loved taking centre stage, dancing to pretty music and feeling the beat resonate through my entire body as I pranced around with my friends, leaping and turning and loving every moment. But the candle of passion that was once burning brightly has since burnt out, melting away into nothing more than a puddle of wax.

If I told my parents I wanted to quit dance, they'd flip the hell out. Though money isn't exactly a struggle for my family — in fact, far from that — dance classes are expensive, and they'd see me as nothing more than an ungrateful, lazy brat.

I've been born into a world of riches; we have a large house, a nice car. I've always been spoiled with branded clothing, the latest technology, expensive makeup, stuff like that. But over the years, I've come to realise that you can't fill an empty void in your heart with cash — money can't always buy you happiness.

I'm an only child. I have no brothers or sisters, nor do I have a strong relationship with my parents. It can get pretty lonely when it's a rainy day, or when my friends are off doing something.

You can't buy love. You can't buy the feeling of being wanted, needed. You can't sell sadness, nor can you sell loneliness. And that's something I've sadly become accustomed to, over many years of feeling neglected.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

I roll lazily onto my side and reach out, clumsily grabbing my phone and muting the irritating sound, before rolling over once more and burying my face in my fluffy white pillow, a muffled groan escaping my lips as I search unsuccessfully for even the smallest ounce of motivation to get up and face the day.

"I'm so pessimistic," I mutter to myself with a bitter, airy laugh as I force myself out of bed, grabbing a nearby hairbrush and beginning to pull it through my tangly hair. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice my phone screen light up, displaying a new text message from Meiko.

My place?
07:32am

Discarding then hairbrush, I grab the device and quickly type a short response, my fingers gliding expertly over the digital keyboard.

Be there in 20.
07:32am

=====

"I can't believe you're actually doing it." IA looks at me through narrowed cerulean eyes, blonde eyebrows furrowed as she tilts her head. "If this stupid club makes you feel so damn downcast, why don't you just bail the performance and quit for good? What's the point in doing something you don't enjoy?"

I shoot her a death stare through a curtain of pink bangs. "I've told you time and time again why," I respond flatly.

IA shakes her head and rolls her eyes. "Who cares about what your parents think? If your mother wanted to be a dancer growing up, then she should have pursued just that. It's not on you to live her dream."

"I know she's gonna lose her shit if and when I tell her." I avert my gaze, exhaling a deep sigh of frustration. "I just don't know if it's worth the trouble."

"Fuck what she thinks," IA mutters under her breath, just barely loud enough for me to hear.

IA and I have a tough-love bond. We insult each other to no end, we land each other in trouble constantly; but she's like the sister I never had. Hell, if we were actually sisters, the world would be fucked. Though through the insults, she has my back and I have hers.