Author: Jordanna Morgan (email@example.com)
Archive Rights: Please request the author’s consent.
Characters: Jimmy (Conan).
Summary: Jimmy stares at the phone and searches for courage.
Disclaimer: “Detective Conan/Case Closed” belongs to Gosho Aoyama.
Notes: Simply another random musing on the dilemmas of Jimmy’s life.
It was a sunny afternoon, and I was sitting on a park bench, staring hard at the cellphone that lay next to me.
The phone was not Conan’s. It was Jimmy’s.
I probably should have picked a much less visible place to call Rachel, considering it would involve the use of my voice changer. Maybe I was subconsciously hoping the Junior Detective League would run by, and drag me into some misadventure—giving me an excuse to put off this task until tomorrow. Because I had already been sitting there for half an hour, trying to work up the will.
What Rachel hoped for every day was the one thing I most dreaded.
It killed me a little inside each time. The usually-brief outbursts of anger at my “absence” were bad enough; but they were far from the worst of what came across the line. The worst was that little quiver in her voice when she cried, and the inevitable plea of When are you coming home… and after we’d gone in the typical circles of her demands and my excuses, the sound of the bravely accepting smile she forced until it broke.
I wanted so desperately to tell her that I was home: right beside her all this time, closer than I’d ever been before. I wanted to tell her that I was watching over her, that I would protect her. I wanted…
I wanted to wake up from this whole impossible mess, and be myself again—for her.
Very slowly, I reached for the phone. With a numb feeling in my too-small fingers, I picked it up… and slid it into a pocket of my backpack.
It was one of those days when, if I made the call, I knew I couldn’t trust myself not to say too much.
Tomorrow I would call Rachel, just to reassure her that Jimmy Kudo hadn’t forgotten her. Tomorrow I would fumble for lies about where I was and what I had been doing. Tomorrow I would force myself to face up to her hurt and reproach—made all the sharper by the fact that I knew I deserved it.
…Or tomorrow I would sit with the phone heavy in my hands for another half-hour, only to decide on tomorrow once again.
I ran away so much more often than even Rachel knew.
© 2015 Jordanna Morgan