Non Ducor, Duco 〈 Mikayuu 〉

❌4- Lighten Up❌

"No turning back now, Mikaela." Cynthia pointed out as the elevator moved downwards, the lights changing from floor to floor.
"I know." I muttered, rolling up the sleeves to my dress shirt. Hope it doesn't get dirty.

Probably will.

Cynthia cheerily talked to me the entire time of useless things, like what she saw when she accidentally got into some couple's camera, which was a very scarring thing to listen to. The fact that she was describing the content didn't help. Needless to say- I ran out of the complex as fast as I possibly could once the metal doors slid open.

Sand blew into my face occasionally, wind pushing my hair into my face when it did. I running on the pavement, located across the street from my coffee shop by this point. The sun had just finally risen from it's hiding spot beyond the horizon when I glanced over to the waves moving with swift movements. I didn't look for the sun, of course. The color of the sky was sufficient enough to tell. A car honked further to the city, the hum of so many automobiles in one area beginning to increase in rate. I was rather surprised by the mass of people gathered at the beach so early on this Friday morning. Cheers and conversation abuzz. I kept an eye out for the tall building nearly covered in every space with windows, slanting upwards in one direction until it reached a small point to the top. It poked into view closer to the city. Far away, now that I thought about it. As my pace began to accelerate with the knowledge that I will be late if I don't run faster. And that wouldn't go well with my boss. There was a grunt, followed by several long sighs, before a voice- possibly the first- called out, causing me to turn my attention purely to spite my curiosity.
"Oh- shit- watch out!"
A very hard force pressed against my face a second later, vision temporarily going black. Pain shuddered throughout me, centered at my face.

You would think one of the world's most wanted could have dodged a volleyball, right?

Guess again.

Whoever managed to hurl it in my direction managed to hit hard enough to make me stumble, ball falling into my hands as I hunched over, pressing my pain stricken face to the weapon that harmed me. "Oh god- I'm so sorry. Are you alright?" A voice asked with clear levels of concern. I glanced over at first, seeing the black and green swim trunks. Lifting up my head I followed up. He had enough muscles to show he was strong, but not too much to say he worked out at a gym. Headphones probably worth more than my life around his neck, no wire winding down his torso to the pocket where I assumed a phone was located due to the rectangular shape in the pocket. I met his gaze, noticing the outstretched hand he had towards me. His emerald eyes were showing the expression his tone matched, but something flickered in them. I didn't take his hand, placing the volleyball in it instead as I straightened up.
"I'm fine. Don't think anything's broken." I shook my head. "You should lighten up on the force you apply to serving, though. If it managed to make me stumble, you can knock anyone else out." I advised, giving a small smile to ease his nerves. I was rather shocked by how well it worked.
"Thank you. But is there anything I can do to help make up for it?" He asked, running a hand through his onyx hair.

A number of things. I thought, but shook my head. "No, it's fine. You didn't do it on purpose. Have a good day." I said, walking away briskly. I heard chatter and a 'good job, idiot' thrown into it. They were his friends, maybe? I wasn't exactly sure on the subject. Oh shit, I have a job to get to, I suddenly remembered, sprinting through people and down the street.

"That guy on the beach was pretty hot, don't you think?" Cynthia asked.
"Like I know." I said, tapping my pen on my desk as I wrote my schedule for the day. "Besides, he basically pulled an accidental street fighter move on me. I don't think I Would find that attractive."
Sad part- he was attractive. Of course I knew the chances of meeting him were slim to nothing. The thought of even befriending him seemed preposterous to me. Okay, time to go to the damned jewelry shoot.

Do men even wear jewelry? Well I mean they could, but do they? There's bound to be some. It can't be shark tooth necklaces and shit, it has to be actual jewelry typically targeted to women. Because I ended up wearing some that day and in my opinion- rocked it. Okay, enough of my rather narcissistic commentary. I was currently spinning in my chair, Cynthia attempting to guess how many spins until I had to force myself to stop. The answer was forty two and a half.

Staring through my back wall- mostly made out of windows, I watched the town as the sun began to set. "Sometimes I wish I could stop working. Just for a night, Y'know?" I sighed, standing up.
"Yeah. I don't know if they would permit it, though." Cynthia said with a sympathetic tone. Turning off my light, I left my office.

Did I ever mention that other people's lives interest me? It makes me aware that I am not the only person out there, that everyone has little quirks to make them unique. In the elevator I heard someone insult their friend for eating curly fries with Siracha,  the one being targeted telling her she had no taste as retaliation. As I intensively listened to their conversation, I had wondered about my own life. It was far too average than I had originally hoped, no excitement coming from my job. At first I was going to be a full-time model, but my boss had declined the offer on the accounts of 'not trusting their damned policies', I had heard him angrily mutter. Glad to see he cared about me even slightly, despite the fact he had my income with his. My life would have been far more interesting that way, although I wouldn't have my coffee shop. So I remained content with my own, finding the lack of exciting content within the night, although most of it was very.. Grotesque. Yeah, that's a good word for it. But hey, if you don't get caught, why stop?
I mean I probably could, but I like the money.

God, If my mom looked down at me and saw the things I've done, would she still be proud to say I'm his son? Of the lives I've ended just to live on? I've always wondered that. Because she told me one thing, as if she had predicted my father's death.

"Do what you must to survive. I will never be disappointed in what you become."

I left out the second part, where she mentioned being totally fine if I ended up a prostitute or stripper. My mom deserved mother of the year. As I dwelled in my sorrow and contemplation over my frozen meal of unfulfilled childhood dreams, more of her words of wisdom came to me.

"You need to lighten up, angel. If something's making you sad, fight against it. That's usually what I do. And considering how badass of a kid you are, you're set for life so long as you fight."

Huh. So I needed to lighten up.

And kick some ass.

Yeah, I can do that.