As she walked towards him, the glimmer of something to her right caught her attention, and she turned her head.
A mahogany-framed painting loomed on the wall above the roof of the bed.
That hadn't been there before; she was sure of it.
She gaped. It was an up-close illustration of a cluster of bright yellow daffodils on long green stalks, planted in a picturesque garden. It would have been rather simplistic, even realistic, if not for the barbed thorns marking the stems. The razor-sharp ends were jarring against the effulgent lemony glow of the petals above them, and she took a step closer, noting the human hand cupping the earth at the bottom of the painting.
It was faint, but the soiled fingers were streaked with what looked like both crimson and brown, and she wondered if she was imagining the discolouration.
Do you always persist in caring for things that make you bleed?
"I didn't know daffodils had thorns," Kyoko said. She didn't know why, but she was thinking of the kitten years ago, its miniature claws sinking into her hand.
She wondered if it was still alive.
"They don't." He spoke beside her in the darkness, making her jump at how close he was. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking; he sounded as mild as always. "This is a form of creative licence."
"Did you get this on tour?"
Kuon stepped into the moonlight to study the painting, the ivory gleam making his smooth alabaster skin look airy; celestial, as if he was an unworldly being.
He looked beautiful.
"Yes," was all he said. She knew he liked paintings; it was one of the few things he posted on his Instagram. She knew he especially liked things that were preserved and immortalised for him to observe and interpret to his liking: books, pictures, paintings.
Kyoko couldn't help herself; she had to ask.
"Is this because of your song?" she said.
Kuon turned his head to look at her then, those bottomless dark eyes calm and unfathomable.
"I read up on daffodils," she went on, feeling her heart thud against her ribs. "They signify new beginnings. Rebirth. I thought that was interesting."
"They do," he said.
"I don't remember you posting this on your social media. Why not?"
"This is just for me," he said quietly. "And I suppose, for you."
Her pulse skipped. Was this what he had wanted to show her?
"Why wasn't this the cover for your song? If it's made because of that song—"
"It isn't," he answered. "The song is just another medium of expression, like the painting."
Kyoko processed his words. "So if they're both mediums," she mulled, "then what's the source?"
Kuon said nothing, just looked at her with his molten dark gaze.
Kyoko inhaled, wondering why her heart was beating so ridiculously fast.
"Kuon," she said, searching for something to say. Inadvertently she remembered Kimiko. She'd made a promise to the other girl, but as she opened her mouth, a strange pressure inundated her airways. "There's, um, something I need to speak to you about. Well, not now, but after the party maybe, or tomorrow, when everything's settled down."
Why was she putting it off? God, she was being such a coward. In her defence, she'd never so much as broached the topic of his love life with him before, and she felt rattled at the mere thought of going there.
He raised a brow. "Do I at least get a hint now on what it's about?"
Kyoko smiled, shaking her head. She moved past him, past the parted chiffon drapes, and opened the grand bay windows leading to the balcony. The night breeze floated in, fluttering the chiffon drapes, and she sat on the window seat, patting the space beside her to prompt him to sit too.
He obeyed, padding towards her and seating himself gracefully next to her.
"Your father would have been so proud of you today," Kyoko said.
He didn't move, didn't speak, but she knew he was surprised. Kuu was one of the few people Kuon had well and truly loved, and because she respected that, she didn't bring Kuu up often.
"And I'm not talking about your success—though of course he would have been so proud of that," she continued. "But I think more than anything, he would have been proud of you because you're happy."
There was silence, but again, she could sense Kuon's mute surprise.
"When you were a child, your father was so worried you couldn't be happy," she murmured. "Your happiness was the most important thing to him. More than mine, more than his—your happiness mattered." In retrospect now, Kyoko suspected that had Kuu known how much Kuon had hated his marrying Kyoko, he would have called off their wedding. "And you are happier now, aren't you, Kuon?"
He gazed at her unblinkingly.
"I am," he said quietly.
Kyoko wondered if he was aware just how much joy his confirmation gave her.
"Happiness can be a very fickle, fleeting thing," she said. Kuu, she thought, had been so fiercely cognisant of that fact after he'd lost Juliena.
"The fact you were able to acquire it… I think Kuu would have been so proud of you, Kuon."
Kyoko held the phone tighter to her ear, almost choking over her sandwich during lunch break. "Come again?"
"There's a performance coming up next week," Tsumugi repeated. Tsumugi was the receptionist at Takarada's Dance Academy. She'd called Kyoko's cell a few days after their first meeting, saying she'd pressed Takarada to give her Kyoko's number, and she hoped Kyoko wouldn't mind.
Kyoko hadn't minded at all. It meant she'd gotten one more connection to help her understand Kuon a little bit more.
"So this dance performance takes place at our academy by the end of every year," Tsumugi explained. It had already been five months since Kyoko had sewn those holes shut on Kuon's old bag, and the end of December drew close. "Kuon has performed every year ever since he first joined the academy. This year, well… He didn't want to perform, but we managed to persuade him in the end."
"Oh." Kyoko didn't know what to say about that.
"His parents have always attended his performance every year," Tsumugi said gently. "Every dancer's family attends. After Juliena passed, Kuu attended the two performances for the two years before he passed. This year will be the first year neither of them will be able to attend."
This year would be the first year nobody would come, was what Tsumugi was saying. All of Kuon's fellow dancers would have their families watching the performance except him. He had few remaining relatives, including a distant cousin of Juliena's who lived overseas in Bath, England, and his grandparents were dead.
Kyoko finally understood Tsumugi's intention.
"I don't think he wants me there," Kyoko said softly. "He would hate me for invading his sanctuary."
"It's up to you," Tsumugi replied solemnly. "I won't force you to do anything. But you should know… Back when he performed in previous years, when he had his parents in the audience watching him dance, that was his sanctuary. Now… "
Now, Kyoko realised, it was just a reminder that his parents were no longer there. She imagined what it was like having your family see you every year, only to know that they weren't coming anymore—that no one was going to come—while all the other families of your friends sat in the audience watching you.
No, those families weren't watching Kuon; they were watching his friends.
No one cared enough about him intimately, the way family did.
Yet Kyoko didn't blame Tsumugi and Takarada for persuading Kuon to dance. It was important not to deprive him of his routine, of the things he'd done and enjoyed every year, just because his parents were gone.
He needed to continue with the things he loved.
He needed to move on.
"Okay," Kyoko said, to the phone. "I'll go."
There was a sharp intake of breath, but she could practically see Tsumugi beaming.
"I'll save you a seat," she said.
The night Kyoko was supposed to attend, she'd been forced to work overtime because of unexpected issues at the office. By the time she'd managed to leave, she knew that she was late. She had less than an hour before the dance started at eight, and according to Google Maps, her journey would take forty minutes by bus.
Just as the bus had arrived at the designated stop, a storm had broken out, and Kyoko cursed the crazy downpour. She hadn't brought her umbrella out.
It didn't matter. She needed to get there. The performance must have started now. Kuon didn't know she was coming because she'd never told him, but she had wondered if Tsumugi had. Judging by how he hadn't confronted her at home, she surmised the receptionist had been tactful enough not to.
It was weird describing her dynamics with Kuon at home for the past five months. They still never spoke to each other unless they absolutely had to, and Kuon had all his meals either outside of home or in his room. He still refused to touch her breakfast, but she continued to make breakfast for two all the same.
She was fine with that.
As the days bled into months, their silent and cold coexistence had blossomed into a fixed—even almost comfortable—routine. Anything beat the vicious confrontations that had previously broken out between them.
Those confrontations had shaken her to the core.
She ran like a madwoman through the pouring rain in her ballet flats, conscious of the unrelenting icy rainwater dousing her face, her light hair, and her work clothes: a blouse and trousers. It was made worse by her sprint since she was splashing puddles of water all over the hem of her pants.
Kyoko didn't care.
She pushed through the glass doors of the academy, dripping water everywhere, and barely registered Tsumugi's shocked face behind the counter.
"Oh my—" Tsumugi began, but Kyoko cut her off.
"Where is the performance?" she demanded.
Tsumugi pointed to a corridor winding to their right. "There, first door down the hallway. But Kyoko, let's get you dried up first—"
Kyoko didn't listen; she'd already bolted. The performance had already started, and she hated that she was late. For the first time in his life since he'd turned thirteen, Kuon thought no one had come for him, and he must believe what she didn't want him to ever believe: that he was alone.
She kept running until she hit the wooden acoustic doors, and she pushed them open. It opened up into a cavernous auditorium, and she dashed in.
Heads turned in the audience, but she wasn't looking at them—she was looking at the stage.
Amidst the male performers in long-sleeved night blue tunic shirts and tight pants mingling with the females in flowing blue sheer skirts, she placed Kuon instantly.
He always stood out wherever he was because of the taciturn confidence he exuded, the way his gold-haloed presence alone could dominate the room. And he was also positioned at the forefront of the group, which Kyoko knew was intentional since Takarada and Tsumugi had both said he was the best dancer in the academy. Naturally the choreographer would orchestrate the dance with Kuon at the forefront.
But more than that—it was impossible not to miss him as his widening emerald eyes pierced hers. A rolling of heavy thunder rumbled outside the auditorium, shaking her joints and teeth until she threatened to splinter into nothing.
She knew she looked horrible, but with Kuon, she never seemed to look her best. This, though, was a whole new low: she was completely drenched from head to toe, her dripping hair plastered all over her face as if glued, and her work clothes were soaked to the bone. Unconsciously she remembered Kuon 'accidentally' spilling water all over her blouse during their first meeting, and how—later on—he'd splashed orange juice all over her without bothering to disguise it as an accident.
Somehow he always saw Kyoko with her clothes soused and wet—at her lowest.
And somehow she just kept coming back for him.
She smiled diffidently back up at Kuon, not caring that he wouldn't reciprocate the smile. Maybe he was chafed that she was here, intruding upon his sanctuary. But tonight, this wasn't his sanctuary, and she wanted him to know that no matter how much he despised her, he was never alone.
He had her, the woman he despised.
Kyoko sat on a single empty seat along the aisle, on the fourth row. Tsumugi had saved her a good seat. She wasn't too in front, so she wouldn't be too invasive if he couldn't stand her presence. But she wasn't so far away that he couldn't see her either.
She was just within sight so that he knew he wasn't alone.
Kyoko sat, and a woman beside her offered her a couple of tissues, which she accepted with thanks. She wiped her cheeks, watching Kuon dance for the first time.
A melancholic piece of orchestra played in the background, with deep lush strings and a slow, mellifluous melody. The dancers flowed in seamless cadence with the background music, their movements only ramping in intensity when the rhythm picked up. They crouched together on the stage before leaping in unison into the air, throwing their hands freely up.
Then, as each of them landed back on the ground, one knee fell to the floor. They brought both hands up again to cup their faces and arched their backs in an arresting lissome motion, their heads falling back from their cupped hands as the motion undulated sleekly up their torsos to their heads like the crashing of a wave.
Kyoko finally realised then why Kuon stood out. His muscles were so startlingly flexible and supple, like they were made out of pure liquid. He arched his back effortlessly, his golden head falling the furthest away from his hands compared to the other performers in a fluid, emotive gesture made to look helpless. As like the crashing of waves, it ebbed, and the singular motion sent his head dropping forward again. The arch of his back rippled accordingly as the tide cascaded down his slender neck and faded into his torso once more—like his muscles were but manipulated by this liquid wave.
The dancers rose fully to their feet and pirouetted away so that their backs were to the audience. To her amazement, they fell in momentary limbo backwards so that their heads dropped and their upside-down faces were to the audience. The spell didn't last—they used the momentum to plunge sideways, their standing leg pivoting until their other leg swung in an overhead arc to hit the floor on the other side.
They descended in a deliberate crouch, and Kyoko could see Kuon's cat-green eyes gleaming before he swept one long leg out, his palms braced on the floor. He executed a sleek handstand, a knee bent in mid-air, and then he let both legs fall and strike the floor before effortlessly bringing himself into a standing position.
And then, this time, only Kuon and another boy—he had a swirly tattoo creeping from his collar—proceeded to perform a front aerial flip across the stage. There was a flash of rich antiqued gold as Kuon's head swished, and Kyoko could almost paint the pale feathers of wings on their lithe backs. Gasps fluttered from the audience, followed by fractured peals of applause.
They landed on their feet, then, together with the other dancers, dropped artfully to the floor on their backs. Then came the floorwork, constituting a series of intricate dance moves where they laid their heads and shoulders on the floor and splayed their legs beautifully in mid-air.
Kuon and the other boy that had done the aerial stood out partly for their unrivalled agility, but their styles were a tad different. The other boy's dancing was razor-sharp, bold and swift, while Kuon's was fluid and swan-like, akin to the flow of a river, his transitions breathtakingly seamless.
It was especially mesmerising when Kuon finally ascended back to his feet and did what felt like an endless, effortless pirouette, his lean wiry form spinning in circles, arms curved in an elegant ballerina's pose.
He looked like an angel.
And as the performance drew to an end, Kyoko was among the first to stand and applaud, her eyes meeting Kuon's.
She was sure Juliena and Kuu had been the first, too.
Miss Aki leaned forward.
"And then?" she asked curiously.
Kyoko managed a small smile.
"Well," she said softly. "Like I said, I was only there because I wanted him to know he had someone who would come and watch his performance. That he still has family. That's all. And I'm guessing that was all he needed at the time. I didn't want to overstay my welcome by going to greet him after the performance. So I left right after."
Miss Aki looked intrigued.
"Is that so?" she asked.
"But not before I left some things to Tsumugi to pass Kuon," Kyoko said quietly, "Nothing much. I asked for a Post-it to write him a note."
It hadn't been much, just a simple message that read:
Kuu would be proud of you.
Kyoko had also left him another dark chocolate muffin from her bag, bought from the same bakery she'd gotten for his birthday. It had been enveloped in a plastic packaging, so the muffin itself hadn't gotten wet.
"And that was all," she concluded.
There was a pause.
"Getting drenched by the rain like that," Miss Aki said, "and then going to an air-conditioned auditorium. You must have gotten a cold."
"I did," Kyoko admitted. "The next day, I was so sick I couldn't go to work. I had to apply for sick leave."
For the first time, she couldn't wake up to make breakfast for the both of them, though it wasn't like Kuon had ever eaten his share.
"You know what I saw when I woke up?" Kyoko questioned.
"No," Miss Aki replied. "What did you see?"
Kyoko smiled at the memory.
"There was a glass of water on my nightstand," she said, "and a bottle of Advil."
Eventually, something snapped them back out of their little private bubble. Kyoko had lost track of the time the both of them had spent together sitting on the window seat, gazing out at the argent smattering of stars and moon in the contused night sky.
With Kuon, she never needed to talk, to fill the void up with conversation as she did with other people. So much of their time together as he'd grown up had been branded with silence. Over time, it had stopped being a void altogether.
It simply felt calm.
But then Kyoko suddenly came out of her stupor, shocked at how long they had spent here.
"Kuon," she urged. "We need to get back to the party."
She couldn't believe she had just forgotten about Kijima like that. What in the living hell was wrong with her?
In the moonlight, she saw Kuon stir faintly, and a beat of comfortable silence passed before he nodded.
"Yes. Let's go," he said quietly, and she smiled. He didn't untwine their interlocked hands, just held on tighter as he rose from the seat with her. They left the room, Kyoko blinking at the onslaught of rich buttery lights outside, and she waited as he locked the door behind him.
"I need to find Kijima," she told him, and he nodded again.
"Of course," he acknowledged. "We'll find him together. I'll text Murasame."
He took out his phone from his coat pocket and checked it unhurriedly for a while, Kyoko resisting the urge to look over.
Then Kuon kept his phone, and with his other ringed hand still holding Kyoko's, he tugged gently at her, prompting her to follow him.
She did, going with him as they headed to where the rooftop was, which housed another hot tub like the one downstairs in the garden. The raucous laughter and the splashing of water grew louder once they stepped through the French doors, and Murasame appeared, his swirly ivy tattoos an instant giveaway to his identity, an inebriated woman hanging off his arm. Surrounding them were laughing young people milling about carrying flutes of champagne and cans of beer, jazz music spilling forth from the speakers. In an alcove Kyoko could see a couple kissing and groping each other, but they stopped the moment they caught sight of Kuon.
"Hey," Murasame said, his eyes going over to Kuon's before he looked towards Kyoko. "Your man Kijima is in the washroom. He's been there a while. I hope he's okay."
Kyoko instantly felt worried. "Did he have a lot to drink?"
"Well," Murasame grinned, "he did say he had a stressful day at work, so we piled him plenty of shots. I wouldn't say he's very sober right now."
Kyoko let go of Kuon's hand and pushed forward. "Is he in the toilet on this floor?"
"Yep," Murasame answered, following her, Kuon walking sedately and unhurriedly behind them.
Kyoko hurried to the closed door of the washroom, hidden away in a bend of the wall. She knocked on it gently. "Kijima?"
There was no answer, but she thought she heard something that made her uneasy.
She had heard that sound before.
Murasame brushed past her and tried the doorknob. It opened, and Kyoko realised it wasn't even locked.
He opened the door.
Kyoko felt like something had just punched her stomach. She wanted to throw up and scream at the same time, but all that came out was a mute expulsion of air from her gaping lips.
She felt horrified, humiliated, angry, hurt.
Kijima sat on the toilet, his legs spread, groaning, his head thrown back. His tie was loosened from his collar, and his dress shirt was crumpled. His eyes were glazed with ecstasy.
A topless woman donning only a miniskirt and thigh-high boots knelt between his legs. She was cupping her large breasts, and her cheeks were hollowed, her lids lowered.
Kijima's turgid cock was shoved in between her red lips.
And he was enjoying every second of it.
Judging by all the commotion, Kimiko supposed it had finally taken place. It was about time; she was bored as fuck babysitting Hiou and Kanae, making sure they didn't go to find Kyoko and interfere. It wasn't like they made fun company anyway; the forced, stilted exchange had her wanting to puke. She could tell Kanae was confused by Kimiko's persistence to spend time with them.
Kanae, one of the other people on Kuon's shitlist. Kimiko knew the other woman would be taken care of at some point after Kijima. But whatever. Kimiko didn't have the capacity to care about her right now.
She got up from the chaise lounge as the yelling got louder outside the pool room, and several others appeared as mystified by the ruckus.
"What the hell's going on?" Kanae demanded, sitting upright.
"I'll go check," Kimiko said. She hurried out of the pool room, her heels clicking on the polished floor, and shoved the door open.
The instant she opened the door, she saw two men from Kuon's security dragging a man down the stairs from the third floor. He wore a creased dress shirt which had tucked out of his trousers, and his short dark hair was a mess, his cheeks ruddy with intoxication.
"Hey, ssstop—leave me alone—" The man was slurring and shouting at the same time, but he was helpless against both burly guards.
"Oh God," Hiou said behind Kimiko. She hadn't realised he had followed them. "Who is he?"
"Looks like a complete loser," Kanae snorted. As she spoke, one security guard slung the drunken man over his beefy shoulders in a fireman's carry and swiftly descended the steps towards the first floor.
A few partygoers had arrived from the third floor, and Kimiko heard them muttering to each other.
"That's Kyoko's boyfriend, right? Ren's stepmom's boyfriend…"
Both Kanae and Hiou stiffened beside Kimiko.
"Wait, that's the famous Kijima?" Kanae gasped. She turned on her heel and approached the partygoers, whose heads jerked up when they saw her. They were all unnaturally gorgeous faces representing luxury brands like Lancome and Bulgari, yet Kimiko had never seen them more intimidated by a mere high school teacher.
"Sorry, could you tell me what happened?" Kanae prompted.
One of the models, a pretty redhead in a bralette and denim shorts, sighed.
"I mean, it's just disgusting and pathetic, you know?" she said. "That guy's a nobody, and his only ticket to this party was that he was with Ren's stepmom, and he gets some bitch to suck him off here? Who does he think he is?"
Kanae rocked back on her heels, stunned. Hiou's jaw looked close to hitting the floor.
"What the f…" Kanae muttered aloud. "God…"
And then more people descended the stairs from the third floor, and everyone looked up. Just like that, a pregnant hush befell the second floor, the buzz and chatter grinding to a standstill, all the partygoers' breaths catching, including Kimiko's.
Until today, Kimiko remained amazed by the effect Kuon had on people. He walked down the stairs with his arm around Kyoko, the pair flanked by Murasame and Rick. More of the partygoers from upstairs tailed them down the steps, some of them dripping wet and with towels draped over their bathing suits. Kimiko had to swallow back the rise of jealousy she always felt when she saw Kuon and Kyoko together.
Even though Kyoko was just his stepmother, she was the only woman—or person—in the entire world that Kuon seemed to love and uphold with such high regard. And Kimiko had long suspected that their relationship was never as simple as between a stepmother and stepson.
"Kyoko!" Kanae hurried forward, only to be fended off by Rick, who held out an arm warningly. "Excuse me, I'm her best friend!"
"I'm sorry, Kanae," Kuon said calmly, turning his raven head to address the woman. "But I'd like to bring Kyoko home now. She's been through quite an ordeal."
And Kyoko did look dazed and stricken; she seemed barely aware of her surroundings. Kimiko felt a stab of pity for her.
"She should come with me, then," Kanae snapped. "She can come to my place. Like I said, I'm her best friend—"
"And I'm her family," Kuon responded, unfazed. "I'm sure you'll understand that."
Kanae's fists balled, but she couldn't find the words to retaliate.
Kuon didn't even give Kanae a backwards glance. His arm still around Kyoko, he gently guided her further down the steps, but not before the bottomless black holes that were his eyes met Kimiko's briefly.
She tore her gaze off his, grasping his loaded glance, and scurried up the stairs to the third floor. In a few seconds she had reached the deserted landing and she looked around. Almost everyone had left with Kuon.
Almost.
The hooker lay on a wooden steamer chair on the rooftop, smoking a cigarette. She was bare-torsoed, her discarded camisole laid out across her belly with her breasts splayed out for anyone to see, her leg propped up despite how short her miniskirt was.
Kimiko walked towards her, and the hooker smirked when she saw the other woman.
Without a word, Kimiko reached into her purse and tossed a few bills of money onto her naked breasts.
"He was a loser," the hooker scoffed, blowing out toxic grey plumes of smoke. "He was seconds from coming. I had to slow it down or show's over for you lot."
Kimiko laid herself onto a second wooden steamer chair beside the hooker's. "Yeah, whatever. It's over now. Your job's done."
The other woman glanced over at her.
"What I want to know is," she said, "is what you benefit from this."
Kimiko said nothing.
She didn't benefit from it, obviously. The person who had orchestrated this was not her.
She was just the middleman.
And she had no choice but to play her part.
In her life, there was no boy she'd ever met quite like Kuon. He aroused and frightened her so much. The rules in their group were simple: Kuon was a generous friend, gracing them with a plethora of gifts in his perfect little universe, but they had to remember not to cross the line.
And with Kuon, there was always a line. You could have the time of your life with him, and he'd take out his shiny platinum card and pay for everything you ever wanted, all except for that invisible, nebulous line strung somewhere in between.
Once crossed, you would pay, and he wanted it with interest.
Kimiko approaching Kyoko earlier had been the only thing she'd ever dared to do out of rebellion against Kuon. But now that she'd done it, she was already freaking inwardly at her audacity and desperation.
The repercussions were not something she wanted to think about.
For as Kuon transformed your life into a paradise of luxury, indulgence and fame, he could turn it to hell too.
She remembered that night. It had been another party, at another celebrity's home. She'd been flirting with some drunk guy in a stupid attempt to make Kuon jealous. Thinking back she'd laughed at her own foolishness.
And not just because Kuon could not have cared less.
Next thing she'd known, she'd been inside one of the rooms making out with the guy. It was a room in the furthest corner on the top floor of the Spanish house, where they'd both been aware no one would come since the owner of the home—another singer like Kuon and his good friend—had been giving everyone a private performance in the main lounge downstairs.
Kimiko, uneasy at how things had escalated as his hands started meandering, had told the guy to stop. She'd said she didn't want to go this far.
The guy, an Instagram model (though it wasn't like he had been that popular), had told her to shut up. He shoved her down on the bed, and she'd tried to scream, but he'd clamped his hand over her mouth.
By now, she'd dearly regretted her decision to start anything with this asshole. He was far stronger than her, and she knew that at this rate, she was going to be raped, especially as he thrust his slimy hand under the hem of her short dress, his breath blowing over her cheeks and reeking of alcohol.
And as she lay pinned to the bed, hysteria bubbling inside her, she saw the door open soundlessly, and Kuon had stood there, in the doorway, his gloved hands tucked in the pockets of his wool-blend topcoat.
Save me! was what she had pleaded with her teary eyes under the man now mauling at her panties, but Kuon just stood there, his elegant raven head cocked, amused and vaguely intrigued like he was watching a scene in a TV show.
Then his obsidian eyes drifted to something beside her, and she turned her head to follow his gaze.
There was a paperweight beside a stack of music sheets on the nightstand.
Kimiko understood at once. She didn't think—the man was slobbering all over her neck and trying to hump his cock against her, and she wanted to retch—as she seized the paperweight before slamming it hard onto the man's head. His skull felt like paper, she thought.
The reaction was instant. The man collapsed atop her like a rag doll.
What followed next was a brief deluge of dizzying relief, and then—
A fresh blast of nausea: hot, cold, and pungent with acid. Through the shaft of cold fluorescent light from the open door, she could see something dark and wet seeping from the man's head.
Something scarlet.
No no no—
She couldn't have killed someone. He wasn't dead. He wasn't.
Kimiko had shoved the man with all her strength, sending him rolling sideways on the bed. By now, Kuon was gone, and she wanted to scream in a panic when she realised he'd left.
He'd abandoned her to deal with the aftermath alone.
But then again, he'd never been with her from the beginning, had he? She'd done everything herself, had slammed the paperweight herself. He hadn't even told her verbally to do it.
Kimiko had gone on autopilot. She'd grabbed a Kleenex from the tissue box on the nightstand and wiped the paperweight frantically to clear her fingerprints. Then she'd left the paperweight on the nightstand but kept the Kleenex. A second later, she'd sprinted out of the room, smoothing her dress down as she did so.
The party was still going on like nothing had happened.
But everything had changed.
The man had not died, but he'd suffered permanent brain damage. His memory was fragmented, his cognitive function impaired.
He hadn't been that famous to warrant much furor from the public, and the singer that had owned the residence he'd been injured in had wanted it hushed because of the negative publicity he'd brought.
But it was a case that had yet to be closed. And the model's family continued pressing the investigation even up till now.
And Kimiko continued living in fear. She'd checked online; the sentence for assault with such grievous consequences was up to twenty years in prison. And she didn't even have proof he had been trying to rape her: everyone at the party had seen her making the first move on the model.
She would never forget when she'd seen Kuon again a few days after the party. They'd been in this very villa, Kuon sipping chamomile tea on the divan sofa and surrounded by the other backup dancers and a producer, song sheets on the coffee table. He'd looked relaxed and tranquil, his ringed thumb curled around the handle of his mug.
Kimiko had sat next to him, and he'd glanced at her. She'd sidled closer to him, wanting to be near him after her traumatising encounter that night, and right before she laid her hand on his arm, he'd spoken, mildly but matter-of-factly.
"Don't annoy me, Kimiko."
She'd frozen.
It had been a warning not to cross that invisible line that led to his personal space, but it also let on something:
He knew.
And if he so wanted, he could blow her life into smithereens.
:tbc: