Digimon Fan Fiction ❯ Frantic ❯ Chapter 2
[ T - Teen: Not suitable for readers under 13 ]
By: Kizzo 
Anime/Manga: Digimon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Thriller / Suspense / Romance / Psychological | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.24.2009 | Updated On: 01.24.2009 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.2K | Visits: 273 | Status: Work In Progress
Anime/Manga: Digimon Fan Fiction | Genre(s): Thriller / Suspense / Romance / Psychological | Type: Other | Uploaded On: 01.24.2009 | Updated On: 01.24.2009 | Pages: 4 | Words: 3.2K | Visits: 273 | Status: Work In Progress
Frantic
-Kizzo
Chapter Two
It was either the wretchedly annoying beeps of the alarm clock, or the blindingly painful
headache that roused Sora awake. She turned her head, squinted past the intruding
sunlight to stare reproachfully at the wailing clock on the bedside table. 9:30 a.m. She
bolted upright, big mistake as the fist pounding her brain quickly turned into a jack
hammer. She groaned, cradling her head in one hand as she reached and switched the
alarm clock off with the other. How could she have slept so late? She always set her
alarm to 6:45, hadn't she?
She suddenly felt nauseous and hurled herself to the bathroom where she leaned
against the sink waiting for whatever contents were left in her stomach to come shooting
out her mouth. But nothing came. Either there was not enough digested material to
puke out, or the wave of nausea was a false alarm. She brought her head up and
glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, a big orange mass on top of
her head. Her friends used to joke that her head looked like it was on fire when she
woke up, but it wasn't a joke Sora thought as she stared at her image. It was the truth.
Her fire extinguisher would be the hair mousse she used to tame the inferno.
The throbbing in her head continued as she reached for her toothbrush. Aspirin. She
would take an aspirin after she had breakfast. But the thought of food made her gag.
She scoured her mouth clean, stripped out of the running clothes she had fallen asleep
in and stepped in the shower. The warm water felt good, easing the jack hammer in her
brain to a nice, gentle, regular hammer beating against her head softly. It matched the
rhythm of her heart Sora realized, feeling the metronomic pulses of pain ripple through
her skull. She reached for her shampoo and glanced at the bottle. Her brand? She
popped open the top and sniffed. It didn't smell like the sunflowers and chamomile she
remembered shampooing with. No, this smelled like citrus. Tangerines? How
appropriate, she thought grimly. Now she could smell like what she looked like. An
orange. She eyed the bottle skeptically, but the water was running cold so she had no
other choice. She squeezed a dollop of the orange junk and lathered it into her hair.
Rinsing it out before too much of the mocking scent could infuse into her locks, Sora
reached for a towel and turned the faucet off.
She changed into a brown tweed skirt that danced around her knees, a matching short
blazer with a sky blue blouse underneath. She rummaged through her closet, debating
between shoes and decided to be sensible as she slipped on a pair of chocolate colored
flats. Her watch told her it was past 10 o' clock. She would be late opening the gallery
today, but with the her migraine picking up pace, she didn't really care. Rummaging
through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, Sora sighed when she couldn't find any
aspirin. There were no pain relievers of any kind in the cabinet. Only some ointment, a
few band-aids and a spare toothbrush. Frustrated, she trotted downstairs, grabbed her
purse and left the house, double-checking the lock as she shut the front door. Walking
briskly down Kentucky Avenue, Sora felt jumpy and tense the whole way to the public
bus stop. It was oddly warmer outside than she remembered, and soon broke into a
sweat as she reached the bus stop. She slid on a pair of sunglasses as she observed
her fellow riders. A man with two kids on his lap, a businesswoman talking fast on her
cell phone, an older woman knitting what looked like a sweater, no one threatening, no
one harmful. Why would she make an observation like that? She rode the bus a
hundred times. She had a car of her own, but rarely drove it since the bus was so much
more efficient than wasting gas in mid-morning traffic.
The blue and yellow bus approached shortly, coming to a full stop to let its new
passengers on board. Sora sat in an aisle seat, setting her purse down by the window
seat to prevent anyone from sitting next to her. She didn't know why, but the thought of
close proximity to another person made her feel woozy. Was she becoming
claustrophobic? "Mind if I have that seat?" A young man asked, smiling broadly.
Confidently.
"No!" Sora snapped, surprising both herself and the man. He scowled and muttered
something under his breath as he stalked past. What the heck was wrong with her?
When the bus came to her stop at the intersection of Main and Fourth Sora dashed out,
heaving in a lungful of air like she was a druggie and oxygen was her cocaine. Her
stomach churned, but food was still too risky to test out so she opted for coffee from a
nearby cafe. She sipped the hot drink, feeling its warmth sink all the way down to her
toes. She walked down Fourth Street and felt her feet stop infront of a newsstand. She
found herself staring at the morning headlines. Was there something she needed to
know? The back of her mind screamed yes, so she bought not only the first paper she
saw, but one copy of every major news journal. The New York Times, USA Today, The
Wall Street Journal, they were all there, stacked in her arms as she continued walking
toward her gallery. She felt ridiculous, but the compulsion to buy the papers was too
strong to resist. She balanced her coffee cup on top of the heaping stack of newspapers
as she felt for her key ring in her pocket. She pulled out her keys and juggled through
them with her fingers, wondering why on earth she had so many. A voice called out her
name. She turned her head to find a pair of young women ambling toward her. One of
them had bubble-gum pink hair, the other's was a heliotrope purple.
"Need some help there Sor?" The pink one asked. Her hair wasn't the only thing pink.
Everything from her shoes to the patent-leather belt that cinched her small waist was
some shade of rose. Her voice was bubbly and hi-pitched, her taupe eyes shining
almost as brightly as her perfect smile. Mimi, this was Mimi Tachikawa and her business
partner Yolei Inoue. The two young ladies who owned the clothing store adjacent to her
gallery. Sora mentally kicked herself. She knew that, so why did she just remind
herself?
"What's with all the papers?" Yolei grinned, as she took the coffee off the stack in case it
spilled over. "Or are they one of your weird new art pieces?
Sora's eyes darted between the two women, still trying to figure out why they appeared
so foreign when she had known them for years. As perky and excited as they could be,
Yolei and Mimi were two of her closest friends. She smiled at Yolei's tease,
remembering the odd collection or artwork she displayed in her gallery. "Could you give
me a hand?"
"Absolutely," Mimi took the keys from Sora and unlocked the doors. "You're a little late
today aren't you Sor?"
"I accidentally overslept," Sora admitted, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.
"It happens," Mimi waved a carefree hand in the air. "But then again it's no surprise.
Heck, I'd take the day off if I'd just come back from Jamaica!"
"Japan, Mimi," Yolei corrected rolling her eyes. "She went to Japan. Is that why you
bought all these papers? To catch up on the times." She asked, turning to Sora.
"Two whole months," Mimi's eyes widened. "That's a lot of time to catch up on. We'll fill
you in, don't worry! But you go first!"
Sora stared dumfounded, her eyes going out of focus as Mimi soon morphed into a
pink, amoebic blob. She blinked. "What did you say?"
"How was Japan?" Mimi asked in the tone a five-year old might use when begging for
candy.
"What?" Sora turned to Yolei.
"Ja-pan," Yolei broke the country into its appropriate syllables. "Your trip. Gosh Sora
you were gone for over a month! Why aren't you spilling your beans?"
"I don't have any beans! I didn't go anywhere," Sora frowned.
"Really? But you must have, where have you been for the past two months then?" Mimi
asked.
"Yeah, your gallery has been gathering dust!"
Sora stepped away and placed a hand on the edge of a table to steady herself. "I've
been here... right here."
Yolei walked to a nearby display case and swiped a finger over the top. A spot of gray
dust on the pad of her finger. "Sora, you never leave your pieces covered in dust. The
gallery's been closed. You were definitely not here."
"Are you feeling all right?" Mimi asked.
Sora shook her head softly, more in disbelief than in answer to Mimi's question. Her
knees began to shiver. She gripped the edge of the table harder, her knuckles turning
white. Then she suddenly heard a distant ringing. A telephone?
"It's ours," Mimi said to Yolei as they both gave Sora one last worried look. "Why don't
you go home, take the day off?"
Sora shook he ahead more vigorously this time. "I'm fine," she lied.
"Are you sure?" Yolei asked.
"Yes," She somehow managed a smile, reaching for her coffee. "I just need some
caffeine."
The two woman nodded and returned the smile as they left. The moment the door to the
gallery closed Sora slammed the coffee cup down, unable to choke down any more of
the bitter drink. Two months. She'd been gone for two months? How could that be? And
to Japan of all places, it wasn't like her to just pack up her things and leave the country
like that, or was it? She racked her brain trying to remember what on earth had
happened in the past month, and why she'd need to go to Japan. She looked around
her gallery and the answer came. Art. The current pieces in her gallery were all
Japanese. She remembered acquiring the works of art and assembling through the
room in support for her new theme. She must have been planning to go to Japan to
bring back a piece for the collection, so why hadn't she gone? She'd certainly remember
a big trip to Japan, so that must mean she never really went. She paced the area
behind the cash register, begging her mind to cooperate. She was sweating again. God,
why was it so hot? She threw off her blazer and tossed over a chair and resumed her
pacing.The only thing she could recall was dusting off the gallery as she always did,
polishing the glass on the display cases and closing up the shop. But that wasn't all.
Someone, she couldn't picture who, had made a purchase. She'd sold the red silk
kimono, the one she didn't really want to give away. She remembered that!
Feeling reborn Sora hastily unlocked the register and filtered through the sales receipts
until she came across the one she needed. The customer had paid with a check for the
kimono, and in the top right-hand corner of the small record was the date of purchase.
February 5th. Hands shaking, she lunged for the newspapers, turning them towards her
as she compared the dates. Her heart immediately sank. She glanced at the receipt
then back down to the front page. April 8th. The dates were off by two months. April?
No wonder it was so warm. It was spring now. She felt her head spin, the pain still
throbbing in her brain. She couldn't breathe. She needed air, not this filthy, dust-ridden
crap floating around her. She stepped out the back door, where a narrow alley jutted
behind the line of stores along Fourth Street, including hers. A stray cat froze and
meowed at her before continued its scavenging trail for food along the edge of the
street. She leaned her back and head against the brick wall of her building, taking in
deep, slow breaths. Relax, easy, find your happy place... Sora repeated her mantra
over and over until the weight that sagged her shoulders down lifted and the air around
her cooled the skin on her arms, legs and face. She closed her eyes, listening to the
sounds of traffic from the street, that cat's meow as it dug its paw underneath the
dumpster and pulled something out. She heard the familiar, piercing sound of Mimi's
laughter from the adjacent building, footsteps walking along the cemented sidewalks.
But her eyes flew open when she felt movement stir around her. She looked up and
down the alley but there was no one there. It must be coming from inside the gallery,
she told herself. She leaned against the cool, grainy brick, listening and feeling the
motions of footsteps pace through her gallery. The sensations grew in magnitude as
she realized whoever was inside was coming closer to the back of the room, closer to
her. It might be Mimi or Yolei coming to check on her, but these sounds and footsteps
felt heavy. A man's footsteps. Bracing herself, Sora flattened herself against the wall,
eyeing the door out of the corner of her eye, waiting.
"Sora?" A voice called out as a big hand pushed back the door. It was a familiar voice,
but the recognition came too late as Sora had already pounced and shoved the man's
form against the wall, locking his hands behind his back as she pushed her weight into
him. "Dammit! 's me! Tai Kamiya, from last night!" He grunted, his speech slightly
slurred since his cheek was pressed against the brick wall.
Immediately, Sora loosened her hold and took a step back, breathing heavily. How had
she done that? Pinning a full grown man against a wall and locking his arms, she reeled
over her actions. When he turned around, her eyes flew up to meet his. Wide and
blinking fast.
"Jesus," Tai rubbed his jaw as he straightened his jacket. The suit he wore was a dark
slate gray, and now thanks to her, dusted with red and brown brick debris. He brushed
himself off before meeting her gaze. "You expecting someone?"
"Sorry," Sora blurted out. "I-I didn't mean to!"
"Sure felt like it," Tai muttered as he rolled his head back.
"Are you all right?" She quickly rushed to his side brushing the remaining dust off his
suit.
Her hands were everywhere. On his chest, his back, and just before they could go lower
to sweep his pants he caught her wrists and brought her upright. "Whoa. I'm fine."
Sora's eyes were still wide, her mouth open, trying to find words. "What... what are you
doing here?" her voice was shaky, her eyes darted checking the alley around them.
"Just wanted to thank you again for helping me out last night," Tai said, watching her
suspiciously. "Remind me to never again ask you for a favor in the future though."
"I'm really, really sorry," Sora said, almost pleading. "I don't know what came over me."
"Let's go inside." Tai held the door open for her as she stepped back into the gallery. He
was struck by how small, almost fragile she was. She looked so innocent, like a lost
child what with those huge, shining eyes. She had amazing eyes. But experience
reminded him that looks could be deceiving and most of them were. Take exhibit A here
for example, Tai thought as he kept an eye on Sora as he followed her inside. A petite,
young and beautiful art collector with the speed and strength of a jet fighter plane.
Lethal combination and a recipe for disaster. "Have you eaten anything?"
The question jarred her. She turned to face him. "No."
"That explains why you look like you're about to keel over and pass out any minute," He
said as he pulled up a chair and motioned for her to sit. "You're white as a sheet. It's my
job to look like that, I'm the one who was assaulted."
"I said I was sorry," Sora frowned slightly. "It's just that, there's been... robberies going
around and some of the pieces I own are very expensive and I just thought maybe-"
"I was the bad guy?" Tai filled in. She nodded, hoping he couldn't see through her lie,
but figured he must have since the look of skepticism was still etched onto his face.
Thankfully, he didn't question her about it. "It's okay, I guess I'm just not used to asking
a woman out while I'm pinned against a brick wall getting my ass kicked."
"I didn't kick-"
"Save me the humiliation," Tai cut in, holding a hand up. A slow smirk spread across his
lips. "So?"
"So what?"
"Will you let me take you to dinner tonight?"
"Oh." Sora swallowed. Thinking about food was nauseating enough, let alone talking
about it. "Sorry, I can't tonight. I'm busy."
Tai caught the lie but didn't push it, just like with the last one. A woman was allowed to
have secrets. Up to a point, that is. "I understand, maybe another time then." He kept
the suave grin on his face as he made his way to the main door but stopped short when
two cops entered the gallery.
-Kizzo
Chapter Two
It was either the wretchedly annoying beeps of the alarm clock, or the blindingly painful
headache that roused Sora awake. She turned her head, squinted past the intruding
sunlight to stare reproachfully at the wailing clock on the bedside table. 9:30 a.m. She
bolted upright, big mistake as the fist pounding her brain quickly turned into a jack
hammer. She groaned, cradling her head in one hand as she reached and switched the
alarm clock off with the other. How could she have slept so late? She always set her
alarm to 6:45, hadn't she?
She suddenly felt nauseous and hurled herself to the bathroom where she leaned
against the sink waiting for whatever contents were left in her stomach to come shooting
out her mouth. But nothing came. Either there was not enough digested material to
puke out, or the wave of nausea was a false alarm. She brought her head up and
glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess, a big orange mass on top of
her head. Her friends used to joke that her head looked like it was on fire when she
woke up, but it wasn't a joke Sora thought as she stared at her image. It was the truth.
Her fire extinguisher would be the hair mousse she used to tame the inferno.
The throbbing in her head continued as she reached for her toothbrush. Aspirin. She
would take an aspirin after she had breakfast. But the thought of food made her gag.
She scoured her mouth clean, stripped out of the running clothes she had fallen asleep
in and stepped in the shower. The warm water felt good, easing the jack hammer in her
brain to a nice, gentle, regular hammer beating against her head softly. It matched the
rhythm of her heart Sora realized, feeling the metronomic pulses of pain ripple through
her skull. She reached for her shampoo and glanced at the bottle. Her brand? She
popped open the top and sniffed. It didn't smell like the sunflowers and chamomile she
remembered shampooing with. No, this smelled like citrus. Tangerines? How
appropriate, she thought grimly. Now she could smell like what she looked like. An
orange. She eyed the bottle skeptically, but the water was running cold so she had no
other choice. She squeezed a dollop of the orange junk and lathered it into her hair.
Rinsing it out before too much of the mocking scent could infuse into her locks, Sora
reached for a towel and turned the faucet off.
She changed into a brown tweed skirt that danced around her knees, a matching short
blazer with a sky blue blouse underneath. She rummaged through her closet, debating
between shoes and decided to be sensible as she slipped on a pair of chocolate colored
flats. Her watch told her it was past 10 o' clock. She would be late opening the gallery
today, but with the her migraine picking up pace, she didn't really care. Rummaging
through the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, Sora sighed when she couldn't find any
aspirin. There were no pain relievers of any kind in the cabinet. Only some ointment, a
few band-aids and a spare toothbrush. Frustrated, she trotted downstairs, grabbed her
purse and left the house, double-checking the lock as she shut the front door. Walking
briskly down Kentucky Avenue, Sora felt jumpy and tense the whole way to the public
bus stop. It was oddly warmer outside than she remembered, and soon broke into a
sweat as she reached the bus stop. She slid on a pair of sunglasses as she observed
her fellow riders. A man with two kids on his lap, a businesswoman talking fast on her
cell phone, an older woman knitting what looked like a sweater, no one threatening, no
one harmful. Why would she make an observation like that? She rode the bus a
hundred times. She had a car of her own, but rarely drove it since the bus was so much
more efficient than wasting gas in mid-morning traffic.
The blue and yellow bus approached shortly, coming to a full stop to let its new
passengers on board. Sora sat in an aisle seat, setting her purse down by the window
seat to prevent anyone from sitting next to her. She didn't know why, but the thought of
close proximity to another person made her feel woozy. Was she becoming
claustrophobic? "Mind if I have that seat?" A young man asked, smiling broadly.
Confidently.
"No!" Sora snapped, surprising both herself and the man. He scowled and muttered
something under his breath as he stalked past. What the heck was wrong with her?
When the bus came to her stop at the intersection of Main and Fourth Sora dashed out,
heaving in a lungful of air like she was a druggie and oxygen was her cocaine. Her
stomach churned, but food was still too risky to test out so she opted for coffee from a
nearby cafe. She sipped the hot drink, feeling its warmth sink all the way down to her
toes. She walked down Fourth Street and felt her feet stop infront of a newsstand. She
found herself staring at the morning headlines. Was there something she needed to
know? The back of her mind screamed yes, so she bought not only the first paper she
saw, but one copy of every major news journal. The New York Times, USA Today, The
Wall Street Journal, they were all there, stacked in her arms as she continued walking
toward her gallery. She felt ridiculous, but the compulsion to buy the papers was too
strong to resist. She balanced her coffee cup on top of the heaping stack of newspapers
as she felt for her key ring in her pocket. She pulled out her keys and juggled through
them with her fingers, wondering why on earth she had so many. A voice called out her
name. She turned her head to find a pair of young women ambling toward her. One of
them had bubble-gum pink hair, the other's was a heliotrope purple.
"Need some help there Sor?" The pink one asked. Her hair wasn't the only thing pink.
Everything from her shoes to the patent-leather belt that cinched her small waist was
some shade of rose. Her voice was bubbly and hi-pitched, her taupe eyes shining
almost as brightly as her perfect smile. Mimi, this was Mimi Tachikawa and her business
partner Yolei Inoue. The two young ladies who owned the clothing store adjacent to her
gallery. Sora mentally kicked herself. She knew that, so why did she just remind
herself?
"What's with all the papers?" Yolei grinned, as she took the coffee off the stack in case it
spilled over. "Or are they one of your weird new art pieces?
Sora's eyes darted between the two women, still trying to figure out why they appeared
so foreign when she had known them for years. As perky and excited as they could be,
Yolei and Mimi were two of her closest friends. She smiled at Yolei's tease,
remembering the odd collection or artwork she displayed in her gallery. "Could you give
me a hand?"
"Absolutely," Mimi took the keys from Sora and unlocked the doors. "You're a little late
today aren't you Sor?"
"I accidentally overslept," Sora admitted, feeling heat rise in her cheeks.
"It happens," Mimi waved a carefree hand in the air. "But then again it's no surprise.
Heck, I'd take the day off if I'd just come back from Jamaica!"
"Japan, Mimi," Yolei corrected rolling her eyes. "She went to Japan. Is that why you
bought all these papers? To catch up on the times." She asked, turning to Sora.
"Two whole months," Mimi's eyes widened. "That's a lot of time to catch up on. We'll fill
you in, don't worry! But you go first!"
Sora stared dumfounded, her eyes going out of focus as Mimi soon morphed into a
pink, amoebic blob. She blinked. "What did you say?"
"How was Japan?" Mimi asked in the tone a five-year old might use when begging for
candy.
"What?" Sora turned to Yolei.
"Ja-pan," Yolei broke the country into its appropriate syllables. "Your trip. Gosh Sora
you were gone for over a month! Why aren't you spilling your beans?"
"I don't have any beans! I didn't go anywhere," Sora frowned.
"Really? But you must have, where have you been for the past two months then?" Mimi
asked.
"Yeah, your gallery has been gathering dust!"
Sora stepped away and placed a hand on the edge of a table to steady herself. "I've
been here... right here."
Yolei walked to a nearby display case and swiped a finger over the top. A spot of gray
dust on the pad of her finger. "Sora, you never leave your pieces covered in dust. The
gallery's been closed. You were definitely not here."
"Are you feeling all right?" Mimi asked.
Sora shook her head softly, more in disbelief than in answer to Mimi's question. Her
knees began to shiver. She gripped the edge of the table harder, her knuckles turning
white. Then she suddenly heard a distant ringing. A telephone?
"It's ours," Mimi said to Yolei as they both gave Sora one last worried look. "Why don't
you go home, take the day off?"
Sora shook he ahead more vigorously this time. "I'm fine," she lied.
"Are you sure?" Yolei asked.
"Yes," She somehow managed a smile, reaching for her coffee. "I just need some
caffeine."
The two woman nodded and returned the smile as they left. The moment the door to the
gallery closed Sora slammed the coffee cup down, unable to choke down any more of
the bitter drink. Two months. She'd been gone for two months? How could that be? And
to Japan of all places, it wasn't like her to just pack up her things and leave the country
like that, or was it? She racked her brain trying to remember what on earth had
happened in the past month, and why she'd need to go to Japan. She looked around
her gallery and the answer came. Art. The current pieces in her gallery were all
Japanese. She remembered acquiring the works of art and assembling through the
room in support for her new theme. She must have been planning to go to Japan to
bring back a piece for the collection, so why hadn't she gone? She'd certainly remember
a big trip to Japan, so that must mean she never really went. She paced the area
behind the cash register, begging her mind to cooperate. She was sweating again. God,
why was it so hot? She threw off her blazer and tossed over a chair and resumed her
pacing.The only thing she could recall was dusting off the gallery as she always did,
polishing the glass on the display cases and closing up the shop. But that wasn't all.
Someone, she couldn't picture who, had made a purchase. She'd sold the red silk
kimono, the one she didn't really want to give away. She remembered that!
Feeling reborn Sora hastily unlocked the register and filtered through the sales receipts
until she came across the one she needed. The customer had paid with a check for the
kimono, and in the top right-hand corner of the small record was the date of purchase.
February 5th. Hands shaking, she lunged for the newspapers, turning them towards her
as she compared the dates. Her heart immediately sank. She glanced at the receipt
then back down to the front page. April 8th. The dates were off by two months. April?
No wonder it was so warm. It was spring now. She felt her head spin, the pain still
throbbing in her brain. She couldn't breathe. She needed air, not this filthy, dust-ridden
crap floating around her. She stepped out the back door, where a narrow alley jutted
behind the line of stores along Fourth Street, including hers. A stray cat froze and
meowed at her before continued its scavenging trail for food along the edge of the
street. She leaned her back and head against the brick wall of her building, taking in
deep, slow breaths. Relax, easy, find your happy place... Sora repeated her mantra
over and over until the weight that sagged her shoulders down lifted and the air around
her cooled the skin on her arms, legs and face. She closed her eyes, listening to the
sounds of traffic from the street, that cat's meow as it dug its paw underneath the
dumpster and pulled something out. She heard the familiar, piercing sound of Mimi's
laughter from the adjacent building, footsteps walking along the cemented sidewalks.
But her eyes flew open when she felt movement stir around her. She looked up and
down the alley but there was no one there. It must be coming from inside the gallery,
she told herself. She leaned against the cool, grainy brick, listening and feeling the
motions of footsteps pace through her gallery. The sensations grew in magnitude as
she realized whoever was inside was coming closer to the back of the room, closer to
her. It might be Mimi or Yolei coming to check on her, but these sounds and footsteps
felt heavy. A man's footsteps. Bracing herself, Sora flattened herself against the wall,
eyeing the door out of the corner of her eye, waiting.
"Sora?" A voice called out as a big hand pushed back the door. It was a familiar voice,
but the recognition came too late as Sora had already pounced and shoved the man's
form against the wall, locking his hands behind his back as she pushed her weight into
him. "Dammit! 's me! Tai Kamiya, from last night!" He grunted, his speech slightly
slurred since his cheek was pressed against the brick wall.
Immediately, Sora loosened her hold and took a step back, breathing heavily. How had
she done that? Pinning a full grown man against a wall and locking his arms, she reeled
over her actions. When he turned around, her eyes flew up to meet his. Wide and
blinking fast.
"Jesus," Tai rubbed his jaw as he straightened his jacket. The suit he wore was a dark
slate gray, and now thanks to her, dusted with red and brown brick debris. He brushed
himself off before meeting her gaze. "You expecting someone?"
"Sorry," Sora blurted out. "I-I didn't mean to!"
"Sure felt like it," Tai muttered as he rolled his head back.
"Are you all right?" She quickly rushed to his side brushing the remaining dust off his
suit.
Her hands were everywhere. On his chest, his back, and just before they could go lower
to sweep his pants he caught her wrists and brought her upright. "Whoa. I'm fine."
Sora's eyes were still wide, her mouth open, trying to find words. "What... what are you
doing here?" her voice was shaky, her eyes darted checking the alley around them.
"Just wanted to thank you again for helping me out last night," Tai said, watching her
suspiciously. "Remind me to never again ask you for a favor in the future though."
"I'm really, really sorry," Sora said, almost pleading. "I don't know what came over me."
"Let's go inside." Tai held the door open for her as she stepped back into the gallery. He
was struck by how small, almost fragile she was. She looked so innocent, like a lost
child what with those huge, shining eyes. She had amazing eyes. But experience
reminded him that looks could be deceiving and most of them were. Take exhibit A here
for example, Tai thought as he kept an eye on Sora as he followed her inside. A petite,
young and beautiful art collector with the speed and strength of a jet fighter plane.
Lethal combination and a recipe for disaster. "Have you eaten anything?"
The question jarred her. She turned to face him. "No."
"That explains why you look like you're about to keel over and pass out any minute," He
said as he pulled up a chair and motioned for her to sit. "You're white as a sheet. It's my
job to look like that, I'm the one who was assaulted."
"I said I was sorry," Sora frowned slightly. "It's just that, there's been... robberies going
around and some of the pieces I own are very expensive and I just thought maybe-"
"I was the bad guy?" Tai filled in. She nodded, hoping he couldn't see through her lie,
but figured he must have since the look of skepticism was still etched onto his face.
Thankfully, he didn't question her about it. "It's okay, I guess I'm just not used to asking
a woman out while I'm pinned against a brick wall getting my ass kicked."
"I didn't kick-"
"Save me the humiliation," Tai cut in, holding a hand up. A slow smirk spread across his
lips. "So?"
"So what?"
"Will you let me take you to dinner tonight?"
"Oh." Sora swallowed. Thinking about food was nauseating enough, let alone talking
about it. "Sorry, I can't tonight. I'm busy."
Tai caught the lie but didn't push it, just like with the last one. A woman was allowed to
have secrets. Up to a point, that is. "I understand, maybe another time then." He kept
the suave grin on his face as he made his way to the main door but stopped short when
two cops entered the gallery.