justaminuet

The night Misa had been assaulted by a stalker she had locked herself into her apartment, and had huddled herself into a corner of the living room, a kitchen knife held tightly in her hands as she watched the door intensely. The man might have stumbled away before he could attack her, but that didn't mean he couldn't have followed her home. She wondered if she should've gone someplace else, but her apartment was the safest place in the world to her. At least, it had been. The second day after the assault, when she was sure the man wasn't going to come jumping out of the shadows, Misa called her older sister and spilled out each horrifying se

Misa had gotten used to the random phone calls at all times of the day. At first, it had been rather annoying, and she'd yell at him for bothering her in the middle of a photoshoot or interview. His excuse was always the investigation, but she'd still call him a pervert because she knew he just wanted to hear her voice and think lewd things. Naturally, this repeated accusation was always met with the same long silence on the other end of the phone, before a calm Ryuuzaki would reply, "I don't know why you have that impression about me, Misa-san." So frustrating was it at times, that one day she decided to call back and give him a piece of he

If there was one thing Misa would not do, it was cry. She would sit so still as to make the people around her think she had stopped breathing, she would stare straight ahead at nothing, and she would clench her fists so tight that it would leave little crescent shaped cuts in her palms. But she would not cry. Her mother always told her she looked terrible when she cried. And Misa-Misa was always supposed to be pretty and happy. At least, that's what she kept telling herself. As long as Misa held onto that mantra, the hushed voices around her weren't sonoticeable. Not so irritable. She had come home the night before to police sirens and yellow