Japan - 3 years and 5 months ago-ish

Ri POV

"Stupid, fucking teachers. I can't believe that they made 19 students clean the entire fucking school on their own. Fucking hell, my back kills." I groan to myself, rubbing my aching back and cramped stomach as I walk down the dark winter streets of Somewhere in Japan. The sun has set, the radiance of the day long ago faded to the inky depths of twilight, and darkness has crept over the tiny town in which I live, signalling for the streetlights to bring light. They are starting to glow, although their rays make no difference. They're all broken, and the dim orange glimmer they emit is swallowed up immediately by the obsidian pool of the night. I am walking alone along the empty, cobbled roads, in temperatures of 2°. The path is littered in puddles of water that have collected between the stones, and in the dips in the abandoned streets of the old side of town. I kick a loose rock into a puddle, watching the tiny ripples spreading out through the shallow pool as I walk by.

As I walk past the tiny brick clock tower, in what used to be the town square before the town was built up to modern standards, I glance up at the little round face embedded in the stone. For many years, the townspeople have believed that the clock is broken. The only reason it's still there, is because of town history. Not that anyone cares about what used to happen in this dilapidated village. Anyway, I know for a fact that the timepiece still works; it's just a little behind time, that's all. Whatever the clock reads, minus 3 hours and 21 minutes, and that's the correct time. Right now it says 11:53.

The reason I am returning home from school at 8:32, is that the school fair is tomorrow, and the school is filthy. So the teachers asked students to volunteer to stay behind after school to help clean up. Of course, no-one wants to stay in school after hours on a Friday night, so no-one offered to help. So the teachers took a different route. They emailed all the parents to ask if the kids could stay behind for a 'little while' (they actually said it would only take 30 minutes) and help, and 19 replied that yes, they could. Unfortunately, my own mother was one of those 19 parents. No, don't get me wrong, I love my mother. But sometimes she can be a bit... Well, motherish. She believes that I spend too much time up in my room alone, and that I need to get out more (which is complete BS). So me and 18 other unfortunate students were forced to stay behind and clean the ENTIRE school. Two relatively large, two story buildings, and one FUCKING HUGE three story monstrosity. Pity us.

Usually, I am quite a happy-go-lucky kind of person, who is the biggest klutz in the whole world, with the most fucked up and insane mind of all the human beings on planet earth. However, I don't put up with shit. Especially not during that one week where my stomach just won't stop being a fuck.
So I'm in a very bad mood now, incase you hadn't guessed.

I raise my head, pushing my shoulder-length platinum hair away from my neck, my pale skin shimmering brightly in the icy starlight. My large greyish-blue orbs reflect the waning silver moon, and a sigh escapes my lips. One of my small hands reaches up to my neck, brushing against the black choker that was a gift from my great-grandmother on her deathbed. She had died 5 years ago, at the age of 68, in a freak accident involving washing machines, heart attacks, a bunny mask and knives. It had literally killed my mom, who was closer to being great-grandma's child than my grandmother's child.

I stay with my hand against my neck for a few seconds, bringing up happy memories of my 8 years while she was alive, before shaking out my head, and continuing on my way down the dark streets. Mom will be worried if I'm not home soon. She worries way too much. At least, she does when she's not completely intoxicated. Drinking is a family habit of my mom's side, and her problem definitely got worse after great-grandma's death. I pray that I won't inherit that trait from her. I'd rather be like my dad's side when it comes to that particular subject. Perhaps I should call her… nah, no point. It is most likely that she's had several drinks by this time, and I'm only five minutes away from home anyway.

My arm begins to ache, and I switch my bag to my other shoulder, pulling out my phone. Unravelling the wire, I shove my black headphones over my ears, and scroll through my playlist, not really paying attention to my surroundings. There's not really a lot to see when everything outside of the 2 meter bubble around you is a wall of impenetrable darkness. I barely notice when I come into the modern half of town, as the only noticeable difference is the fact that the streetlamps work, and the road is tarmac not cobblestone.

Walking along the concrete pavement, my head lost in a sound cloud that ranges from High School Musical to BTS, I don't really notice when I start crossing the road. My head briefly flicks up, checking that the abnormally large road is clear, before jolting back down, and I continue to sing softly under my breath, when something sharply tugs at my spine, some invisible force, making me turn to stone in the middle of the street. I look up. My body freezes over, I can't move. It's like someone broke my spine, paralysing me.

Speeding towards me, that was definitely not there when I began to cross, I'm certain of it, is a sleek black car...

I'VE BEEN HIT! Haha, no. It pulls to a halt, literally an inch away from me. Frozen in place, my eyes are wide in fear at the thought of what could have been my instant death.

As I stand, contemplating the insignificance of my life, and how carelessly I had just handled it, one of the back doors open, and this dude steps out. "Oi! Shit head! Watch where you're going, you stupid fuck, we almost hit you! Do you know how much extra work and effort I would have gone through if you had been killed, you worthless hoe?!" he yells angrily at me, interrupting my train of thought with his inferior view. I freeze, my eyes darkening at the insult, desperately trying to shove down the ugly head of female pride (sponsored by the-problems-of-those-who-are-not-pregnant) as it rears up with a 'Bitch, what?!' Then, as if forgetting about his previous statement the my demise would cause a load of trouble for him, he adds a little more onto his wonderful speech. "Now get out of the road, bitch, before we run you down!" Screw this, pride and wrath are my vices. My eyes narrow as I hear his stupid, cocky voice, and my pride instantly steps up to defend my non-existent dignity from his petty insults. "Watch where I'M goin'?!" I shout back, my rage from earlier stirred and multiplied. The nerve of this fucker! Trying to run me down in his fancy, beautiful, clearly expensive car, and then yelling at me like it's my fault! I can practically feel a vein pulsing in my head as I continue with my rant. "Look here, you motherfucking ass, there was no fancy fucking car when I started crossing this shitty road!" My voice grows in anger and volume. Apparently, the fact that a scrawny little 13 year old like me posses a sailor's mouth has shocked his undersized brain to silence. As he begins to function again, anger slowly dawns on his face like the new sunrise. He growls, and storms round to the front of the car.

Alright, so I may not be the smartest little shit on the motherfucking planet, but I can weigh up the odds and tell when I'm in trouble. And currently, Effie can go shove her shit up her ass, because the odds certainly aren't in my favour.

With him standing here in front of me, it's pretty easy to see that I am in deep shit right now. He is several years older than I am, and at least half a foot taller than my 4'10 ass, and I can feel an almost inhuman darkness clinging to him that make my survival instincts kick my brain mercilessly. Panic is released into my bloodstream, partnered with adrenaline as he glares down at me, with a death stare that easily beats my own faltering glare, and grabs hold of the collar on my shirt. He lifts me off the road as easily as if I were a Ri-sized feather. Hell, this is embarrassing. I don't enjoy the feeling of being a motherfucking Ri-sized feather. My feet dangle off the ground, and the strength of this Ri-squashing bastard surprises me, taking away my ability to speak for several seconds. As my mouth is no longer co-operating, all I can do is observe with eyes that desperately try not to reveal my inner fear, although I have a feeling that he can see right through me…

Observations of the Ri-squashing bastard: he has messy red hair, and catlike, acidic green eyes that feel like they are burning their way into my soul. He appears to be the I-don't-give-a-shit type, and is a kind of… clothaphobic? Although he is undeniably beautiful (come on, I'm an emotionally unstable teenage female, it's that time of the month again, and I would have had to be blind not to notice that he's gorgeous), I've decided that I don't like the bastard, but I could be biased from how he tried to RUN ME OVER just a minute ago. Attempting to channel the adrenaline and fear into something useful, I try to rekindle the anger from earlier. "Put me down, you fuck mothering pussy!" I yell in forced bravery, my voice finally returning to me. 'Please let him buy it'... His intimidating stare intensifies, and his grip on my shirt tightens. "Who the fuck do you think your talking, Bitch?! Huh?! Ore-sama will not be disrespected in that way!" My eyes narrow once more, now dark sapphire slits against my pale skin, as my fury flares back to life at the insults, the fight-or-flight instinct making it easier for me to ignore my still-present fear (and common sense), and yell back at the offending party. "Did you just call me a bitch, cookie?!" I snap at him, venom dripping from every syllable, heavy layers of sarcasm suffocating the final word, ignoring the tiny little logical voice in the back of my mind which is screaming 'shut up shut up shut up SHUT UP!' as loud as it can.

Both of us have murderous intent glittering in the swirling maelstrom of raging anger of our eyes, but something still feels off about him… I involuntarily shiver, my unforgotten fear intensifying and overtaking the false bravery and rush of anger as my body picks up invisible waves of the dark aura curling off of his person, that seem to wrap around me, freezing my mind as if it's laced with a paralysing cruelty. Every nerve ending in my body is thrown into an absolute bedlam of confusion, as my core instincts scream at me to get the hell away from this psycho. So I shut down, and let my instincts take over, doing what anyone would do in a situation like this.

My foot lashes out, surprisingly quickly, and his grip loosens considerably. I'm dropped to the floor, my feet buckling as I hit the earth. I stumble backwards, trying to regain the non-existent balance of a full time klutz, my head spinning. Adrenaline kicks in, fully active now I have shut down the shock and panic, and my head is suddenly clear. Leaving the immobilised, doubled-over creep behind me in a cloud of dust, I sprint away from the crime-scene faster than I've ever moved before in my entire life. My Phs Ed teacher would be so proud of me.