3rd Down: Shiver

Hitomi prodded her uneaten breakfast with a fork and nearly barfed. The whole plate looked disgusting—from the half-burnt hash-browns to the mocking smile the bacon made below the over-cooked sunny-side-up eggs. Its greasy scent was enough to slump her in her seat, forcing the teen to cover her nose when she spared a look across the small kitchen table.

'Oka-sama still hasn't gotten any better at cooking since we lost Jiro-san,' she thought. 'But you'd think she'd be somewhat decent after five years. And veer away from Americanized foods…'

Then again, odds were high that the thin-haired woman worked hard on her own meal and half-assed her daughter's. 'Could be why hers isn't black. Or glistening with salt.'

"Despite everything, I do my best to unsure our future." The woman ahead spoke as coldly as her listless expression, inhaling a slow, exaggerated breath that accentuated her sunken cheeks. She paused before continuing, yet kept her painted eyes on the pancakes she cut. "Why must you continuously seek to destroy me?"

Destroy?

Whatever.

Hitomi slid her hand sideways so it hid her snide smile. She knew better than to mention her mother's 'condition', as the woman called it. Private hairdressers and masseuses were no longer within budget, but such never stopped Inaba Nori from being treated like a queen. She spent a majority of her small income on spa treatments, clothes, and make-up, so as not to look the part of a commoner.

Sometimes, she'd even claim her life wasn't her own—that she was being tested within the confining two-story apartment and soon would return to her mansion and 'real' family. She was delusional, for sure. And self-righteous. Regardless, no one brought up this fact to Nori's face. Never do that, especially when alcohol is involved.

Like now.

"Isn't it a little early for sake?" questioned Hitomi, gaze set on a tall bottle's flared rim.

"In this life, it's never too early," the mother countered. She swigged her drink like a military man then slammed it on the tabletop with puckered lips. "Now answer me. Sakura's school is prestigious, coveted. Yet you spit in my face over my generosity."

"As if; you only enrolled me so you wouldn't have to see me all week," the tan teen muttered.

Tone even, the dark-haired woman set her knife down. "It's a minor trade-off for your future. Sakura's even has a dance course."

"Ballet isn't the same as Jazz. Besides, the school's focus is on feminine etiquette. How will that help my future?"

"Those skills would help plenty, were you to focus on them instead of your silly dance numbers."

"It's been one dance I've been trying to perfect. Just one."

"One or ten; it doesn't matter. You have an opportunity for an elegant title, a chance to dazzle with your"—the woman paused, dark eyes focused on Hitomi's chin—"charm."

"That's your dream, not mine," the teen hissed. Please; Nori looked like a horse and she was judging her daughter's face? Where'd she think Hitomi inherited her jaw?

"We could return to our rightful place as Inaba benefactors if you followed my plan."

"Inaba Industries is now property of Seiji and Ran Cooperation. We won't ever get it back, Oka-sama."

"I'm not talking about conquering it."

Hitomi blinked, unsure about the smirk her mother sent.

"I've kept my relationships up-to-date, and not without reason."

'Because a friend for the sake of a friend would be pointless,' thought Hitomi while rolling her eyes.

"Show disrespect again, girl; I dare you."

The teen froze in her seat, peering through her large round glasses. Nori's smirk had been replaced by a frown, her perfect hand tensed around the sake bottle. Hitomi refused to succumb to a shiver, however; the woman wasn't quite ready to sacrifice her alcohol and swigged it instead.

"Ran-san and Momoe-san meet with me when they can," she added in a thin tone. "While Seiji-san is still happily married, he has no heirs. And Ran-san's husband has recently passed away."

"Is that a good thing?"

The woman chucked at her daughter's faint glare. "A lot of pressure is now resting on Ichiro-kun."

"Etsu-san's brother…"

"He's over ten years your senior, but I hear he likes young woman."

"What?" Hitomi slid her seat back in surprise, eyes wide as her mother tasted sake again. "You're kidding, right?"

"Hook him, and we'll never have to work another day in our lives."

"Did you honestly send me to Sakura's so I could—could pimp myself out to some thirty-year-old man?"

"I sent you to become a lady that could function in high-society. It's where we belong, Hitomi."

"No." Hitomi pushed back her purple hair with both hands. "It's where you want to be. I can't believe you'd…No. Forget it; I won't sell myself like some prostitute."

"Be realistic." Nori brought the bottle closer so its top was buried between her large breasts and her fingers gripped its base as if it would run away. "Dancing won't support you. You aren't even good at it. It's just a stupid little idea planted in your mind from a show you were never meant to see."

"Mako-chan saved her own money to take me to that show," Hitomi spat without forethought. "Isn't it sad when a maid cares more for a child than their own parent does?"

A sudden pain shot across the teen's face—fierce enough that she fell out of her chair. She landed on the wood floor, elbow first, then rolled onto her back with a hiss as her mouth filled with a metallic taste. Licking her lips confirmed that it was cut deeply at the side from having bit it and clicks of her mother's high-heels motivated her into a seated position.

"I cared for my child," the aged woman hissed. Her heel rose to Hitomi's thigh, pinning the teen where she sat by pressing downwards.

"Right," Hitomi shot back before spitting out blood, "I forget: I was just the mistake you kept because it made you look good to other rich families."

"A son and a daughter. What could be more complete? Then you ruined everything!"

The heel dug deeper, bruising the already tender flesh, and Hitomi shoved her mother's leg with a growl. Nori caught her balance by the time her daughter rolled beyond the empty sake bottle that had hit her earlier. Although the teen couldn't stand yet, she rose to one leg by aid of a chair.

"Haven't I been punished enough?" she cried. "I was five!"

The woman sneered, rounding the kitchen table her daughter skirted about. "You were also perfectly aware of right from wrong. You knew to sit still."

"Maybe that would've been a problem if I knew Daisuke would uphold his promise for once!"

Not the wisest choice of words. Then again, Hitomi rarely chose wise words when it came to her mother.

The sneer darkened into a glower that made the woman look outright psychotic below the florescent lighting, and the shiver the teen had been keeping at bay caved her achy legs. Her chair support slid outwards from the radical shift, so she fell back, her gaze following Nori's pointed heels as they neared.

"You guys were always making promises you never kept," Hitomi said when one heel found her gut.

"Now you're blaming me?" The heel deepened until it burned. "I'm the victim! I loved my baby and my beloved husband, and you killed them!"

"No"—the teen's eyes narrowed—"Otou-sama's heart failed because you weren't strong enough to heal it."

Again, not the wisest words and they cost Hitomi a cut across her cheek. She jerked aside in time to prevent her mother's second heel from damaging her eye, yet wasn't fast enough to stop another attack or catch her glasses.

"Your failure poisoned his body for six long years," Nori whispered in a cold tone. "And ever since then, I've been paying for it. My family, my company, my status—I lost it all. Now you sabotage my last chance at a decent life?"

Hitomi fumbled for support as she scooted along the wood floor, far from the woman's feet. Her shoulder blades met a wall all too soon and her blurry gaze lifted towards the approaching figure. Of course, it would be a time like this where fear reminded her why she wore glasses in the first place.

"What are you talking about?" the teen asked, forcing away memories of abuse from her eleventh birthday.

"Your attendance at Sakura School was the last card I could play. How am I to explain to Momoe-chan and Ran-chan how you got yourself expelled?"

"Expelled?" Hitomi whispered the word, yet it felt wrong. When had that happened?

"Student assault, unruly behavior, screaming, shameful grades. They dismissed the problems for two years, but this was their final stand. And I warned you"—the woman's voice lowered near a demonic level—"Oh, I warned you what would happen should you not control yourself."

"If this is about last night, that was just a nightmare." Which she apparently was still living.

"This is about every night. You have no idea of the misery and dishonor I endure living in this dump."

No; Hitomi couldn't handle the misplaced entitlement any longer. Her teeth ground with a snarl and rather than avoid the heel Nori sent her way, she captured the woman's ankle, twisting it. "You act like you built Inaba Industries from the ground up, when all you really did was marry into it!"

Nori screamed like a banshee—not a good sign. Guess it was time to leave.

Tossing her mother's foot sideways, Hitomi scrambled to her feet. But no sooner did she step towards the blurred kitchen doorway, did a sudden force catch her by the strap of her tank top. It whirled her until she met Nori's wild eyes and left her unbalanced when the woman's backslap shoved her over the side-turned chair.

A popping noise could be heard when the teen's shoulder slammed against the wooden floor. Immediately, her right arm throbbed with pain and she gripped it while curling into a ball for protection from the woman storming closer. More sharp pains followed. They assaulted Hitomi's whole form, repeating over and over in a familiar pattern that spoke volumes of Nori's blind anger.

"I had everything before you were born!" the mother screamed, voice cracking. She kneeled before her daughter then roughly pulled her head up by gripping her thick hair. "There was a small chance for you to redeem yourself before you left this world. Why wouldn't you take it?"

"I've tried redeeming myself," Hitomi snapped. "Neither you nor Otou-sama listened. But someone else did."

"Who? That snide, little gutter rat, Hiruma? Didn't I forbid you from seeing him years ago?"

"Yeah, well"—the teen flashed a grim smile at her mother's hose-face and tainted breath—"considering I won't be here long, I figured what the hell."

"Disgraceful brat!"

Nori slammed Hitomi's face down so hard that the teen couldn't breathe because of the burn. So, hissing, she retaliated by swinging her head backwards in hopes that she'd break the woman's long nose. She didn't turn around until she found sure footing a meter or so away. At that point, her whole lower face was warm with blood.

God, did it hurt. Unfortunately, she had no time for clean up; Nori glared her way, an equal amount of red dripping off her pointed chin.

'Oh, shit.'

Hitomi spun before the woman stood. She raced through kitchen doorway, dead set on reaching the front door she could hardly see. Unfortunately, she lost momentum when her bones shot sharp reminders of their condition. Her ribs, especially, felt a strong dislike for running, and before she reached her destination, stern fingers wrung her bicep.

If there was one place that would be safe, it'd be Hitomi's room. So the teen dodged right instead, towards the narrow stairs leading to the apartment's upper level. Nori's grip loosened just as Hitomi started mounting the stairs; however, it soon found something else to nab: her ankle.

"Let go!" the teen demanded with a snarl.

"You think you can get away with treating me so poorly?" Nori's throaty tone had lost all composure, signifying a break—a very dangerous break. "I'm Inaba Nori. No one treats me like this. No one!"

"I said let—ah!"

Hitomi grunted in surprise as one hard tug forced her flat along the stairs. Their hard surface bruised the contact spots on her shins and elbows, and she chanced a look over her shoulder when she felt herself being pulled downwards.

The action was instantly regretted. Through her hazy vision she made out one disheveled fallen matriarch and an unwelcoming kitchen knife.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

"Damn Monkey!" Yoichi poised his various guns, aiming them at the Devil Bats' receiver. "You'll have to catch better then that if you want to be known as the world's greatest receiver!"

"Hiruma-san," Sena complained meekly, "must we practice now? It's raining and I'm hungry."

What nerve! Brow twitching, the blonde aimed for the brunette next, yelling,

"Shut up, Damn Pipsqueak! A Devil Bat practices, typhoon or heat wave! Now"—he produced a bazooka—"work!"

The little fools complied. They avoided his fiery ammo with screeches then returned to their practice alongside the Ha Brothers and Damn Baldy, despite the downpour. A subtle glare behind the quarterback made him sour while he discarded the weapons. Mamori remained quiet, though, possibly because Kurita headed her way.

"Mamori-san," he about cried over the rainfall, "is this note true?"

Hiruma's pointed ear twitched. His gaze remained focused on the practicing athletes, yet he listened intently to the conversation taking place behind him.

"Oh, you just needed to read the scores," the manager replied in a tender voice.

"I—I did. But the red ink caught my eye as I was folding it. Is your friend okay?"

Subtlety, Yoichi twisted his neck so he could spot Mamori. She smiled, taking the newspaper from Kurita to stuff inside her rain poncho.

"She's fine. It was a small incident, but I wanted to send her something."

"That seems like it would've been scary," the fat lineman continued. "I heard about it on the news this morning, and it took place in Okinawa."

'Okinawa? Why didn't I hear about this?'

Note to self: never disconnect from the news channel, even for one morning.

"Sakura's School is pretty distinguished, even in Tokyo," added Mamori. "My friend enrolled just this semester, so she didn't know the assailant as well as the other girls."

What the fuck were they talking about? Rather than ask about it, Yoichi spun, approached Mamori, and then dug inside her poncho for the newspaper.

"What are you doing, Hiruma-san?" the brunette snapped.

She hit him upside the head and on the leg, but the blows were hardly a concern as the blonde opened the newspaper to the note Kurita had mentioned. 'Young woman suffers psychotic break at Sakura's School. One injured, room devastated, staff baffled. Don't tell me the so-called assailant was…'

"Inaba, Hitomi."

"Eh?" Mamori leaned down for Yoichi's attention. "Do you know the sick girl?"

The quarterback had no reason to explain himself. But Hitomi sure needed to explain to him. His mind started formulating a plan in seconds; however, Sena's damn voice interrupted his thoughts.

"Who said you can stop running, Damn Pipsqueak?" Yoichi bellowed.

Strange enough, the small brunette didn't shake where he stood, even when his upperclassman cocked a gun. "Look," he pointed across the muddy football field.

Someone staggered their way—a frail-looking female who obviously hadn't dressed for the weather. Her head was drooped, her shoulders hunched, but though her face was hidden, Yoichi knew just who she was.

His first instinct ached to yell at Hitomi. What kind of trouble had the Damn Dreamer gotten herself into now? His second instinct listened to reason, though: the last thing he wanted was to lose face in front of the Devil Bats by freaking out over her safety. Yet still, a third part of him wanted to embrace her, which left him frozen with conflict on the sidelines.

The Damn Monkey approached her instead. He touched shoulder, offering support, but she fell to the grass before giving an answer. This awakened the team from their spell of uncertainty; they all rushed forward, with Mamori already calling for help. Yoichi stood behind Sena as Kurita rolled the teen over so she faced up, and, try as he may, he couldn't help shivering at the blood smears painted across her limp form.

A/N: Apparently I had this 98 percent of the way done then forgot about it. Opps. Few more chapters left. Life goes down before it goes up. Prepare.

And for the sake of saying it: yes, Nori IS psychotic. She would definitely make the cut for a crime show like 'Deadliest Women'. Oh, and Inaba IS the last name for Hitomi's family, not Fujita. Took me a bit to remember that I had changed it. LOL