The Host Clubs Rose (A OHSHC Love Story)

Chapter 1: gone with the wind

Dictionaries and encyclopedias define music as "an artistic form of auditory communication incorporating instrumental or vocal tones in a structured and continuous manner." It is also defined as "any pleasing and harmonious sound" and "the sounds produced by singers or musical instruments.”

Since I was a little girl I’ve been fascinated by the history of music. Music to me was magic, the way that it could bring people together.

I believe that somewhere out there, I have a family that loves music just as much as I do.

I used to think that I was born an orphan, alone.

That my real mother and father abandoned me because they didn’t love me.

The only thing that kept me going was music…

Not long after a woman adopted me. She was very pretty with black wavy hair, green eyes, and really pale skin.

She named me Heather Rose Mary Capulet (yes I have the same last name as Juliet from Romeo and Juliet… bite me) I have reddish blonde hair that hangs in ringlets (only on good hair days) and my eyes are as blue as a clear sky. You would think that everything would be fine, right? Wrong.

“Honey, what is a little girl doing here?” my new father barked eyeing me as mother held me in her arms. She scrunched her eye brows ready for a fight “this is our new daughter” she stated happily “her name is Heath-“

“That’s nonsense!” he exploded interrupting her “we’ve got two perfectly fine boys; we don’t need a filthy commoner girl running around!”

My mother called for a servant to take me into another room so they could talk in private. But that didn’t help, I’m surprised people in Canada couldn’t hear them two yelling in the huge over-sized living room. The servant holding me will soon become my best friend over the short eight years that I will be spending in this huge fancy house.

Yes, the agreement was arranged that on my eighth birthday I would be taken to my grandmother (who is a commoner… irony right?) she lived alone in a house in Japan and could barely walk more than a few feet without her knee’s hurting.

But that never stopped grandma, but we’ll come back to her a little later.

Let’s fast forward to my eighth birthday (that was held on a private jet taking me to my doom) were I sat alone staring out at the clouds that passed us. Mother had presents for me and I had nibbled on a slice of cake but, nothing could fill the empty gap I felt in my chest. I felt as if I was being abandoned all over again.

“Heather… sweetie” mother slowly moved closer holding out a huge box “open one present… please. I promise you will like this one”

I looked up expressionless trying to hold in all the hurt that I could bare to hold in. I placed my hands out letting her hand it to me. I let out all my anger as I tore the wrapping paper to shreds. It was a fine country guitar that I couldn’t even get my eight year old arm over all the way. I studied the front noticing in sharpie she had written ‘Arabella’. And on the back she wrote:

As long as the roses bloom

As long as the cherry blossom trees grow

As long as spring comes after winter

The music will always play.

And two star-crossed lovers

Will be together forever.