Out of luck CSM FF

WARNING THIS EPISODE IS VERY GRAPHIC WITH DESCRIPTION

WARNED YOU!!!

A tight knot twisted in my throat, the card burning in my sweaty hand, and my body shook with an odd, almost electric energy. Hot, then cold, the sensations colliding in waves—over and over again—each one more powerful than the last. Being hypnotized, losing myself in it, felt like a drug, far better than the terrifying reality of what was actually happening. I should've known. I should've packed extra clothing, anything to keep me from feeling so exposed. But the moment was already slipping away, and my dignity? It was being suffocated, slipping through my fingers. Maybe—just maybe—I had grown a couple of inches taller in this chaos, but honestly, who was I kidding? Never mind.

My head slammed back into reality, like gravity finally remembered me. I bolted toward the bathroom stall, knowing that in moments like this, the only thing that could ease the pressure was some time alone to collect myself. I felt drunk, not from alcohol, but from something deeper—something raw that was almost euphoric. But even in the haze of that fleeting joy, a cold, gnawing emptiness lingered. I knew she liked me. That truth settled in my chest like a heavy stone. But even with that knowledge, I wasn't ready to let anything happen.

I've always been scared of change, of what it might demand from me. I'm the kind of guy who says he could get a woman to jump over him, to be forced into a kiss. But I'm nowhere near that yet. Not even close. Irresistible? It's a cruel way to describe the aching loneliness that crushes you until you finally find the courage to cross that line. But who am I kidding? I'm just a coward—too terrified to even tell her how desperately I want her, how much I need her.

The first time I ever came to Japan was an emotional rollercoaster. Not being familiar with the culture and dealing with an existential crisis felt as familiar as a Monday morning. Waking up and applying for jobs felt like torture, the same routine over and over from the moment I arrived. Being an only child, the idea of moving halfway around the world hit my parents hard, and I couldn't ignore how lonely it made me feel. But honestly, I just wanted to leave home, to do something different, to feel like I was finally doing something good for myself.

The day I started my first job was the 7th of April, a day that felt both like a beginning and an overwhelming weight. At that time, my Japanese was shaky at best—just enough to scrape by, enough to survive but never to truly connect. I began at the same convenience store I had walked into countless times before, but now it felt different. It wasn't just a place I bought snacks; it was a cage I was now locked in, day after day. Working part-time was supposed to be a way to start fresh, but it exposed the raw reality of life in this sprawling city. I watched people—locals, strangers—struggle to speak about what mattered to them, to voice the things that brought them joy. And all around me, I felt the suffocating weight of a thousand invisible rules.

It felt like the city was alive, but only because it was constantly being watched—watched by invisible eyes that ensured every movement fit the mold, every word kept its place. The rules of public safety were everywhere, woven into the streets, the walls, even the air we breathed. And it wasn't just about keeping people safe—it was about keeping us all in line, under control.

Walking through the city, it was impossible to forget that every single person was just a hair's breadth away from being swept up in the next "incident," the next attack, the next "Death" lurking around the corner. But instead of freedom, the city wrapped itself tighter and tighter in its own rules, its own structure, as if to say, "Stay quiet. Stay still. Do what you're told." Anything out of line, and you'd be watched, flagged, reported. People didn't talk openly anymore. They didn't dare to say what they really felt or wanted. It was like living in a world of cages, each person locked into their own little prison of safety—only, you never knew when that prison was going to collapse. I hated how everything felt like a game of survival, a constant balancing act between doing what you were told and trying to keep your own humanity. The city pretended to care about safety, but it was just a façade, a way to keep us all silent and docile. And me? I was just trying to find a way to breathe in the middle of it all, to escape the suffocating pressure of a system that thought it could keep us safe by keeping us small.

I wasn't just learning a job; I was learning how far away I was from truly being a part of this place.

Once, I heard about a kid who used to wander into the store where I worked. He always had this light in his eyes, this curious energy, like the world hadn't yet shown him its teeth. And then one day, I heard he'd died—struck by a drunk driver. They said it wasn't just the driver, though. They said the devil was involved. That story stayed with me. Not just because it was tragic, but because it made me wonder: are devils even real, or are they just people—people with broken teachings, people who care so little for life that they might as well be devils?

The news is no different. They glorify the public safety crews as saviors, these so-called protectors of Japan. Heroes, they call them. But in my book, they're just well-funded fuckers in uniforms, patting themselves on the back while the rest of us scrape by. I've never seen one in real life, and I doubt I ever will. They don't exist, not in the way we're told to believe.

I've been here a long time—too long, maybe. Long enough to forget how many years it's been. Norm doesn't know who I really am. He only sees the mask, and that's just fine by me. I wear it to work, to survive. The fox mask has become something of a legend, but I can't let anyone connect it to me. Being a famous voice actor might've meant something once, but now? It's just a weight I'd rather no one knew I carried.

Amelia, though... she's next door, on the left. Not that I get much peace with that old bitch living to the right of my apartment. Every goddamn morning, her TV's blasting so loud it feels like she's trying to narrate my life.

Amelia's different. I don't think she knows the whole truth—not really—but there was this one time that made me pause. She'd stopped by unannounced, something about borrowing sugar or whatever excuse she cooked up that day. I'd forgotten to stash the fox mask, and she saw it lying on the counter. Her eyes lit up as she pointed at it. "Is that... the mask? The one the famous voice actor uses?" she asked, her voice brimming with curiosity.

For a second, my breath caught. But I didn't flinch. Instead, I gave her a shrug and a small laugh. "What, this? Nah, it's just a recreation I made. Pretty good, right?"

She smiled, picking it up to examine it, and for a moment, I thought she'd see through me. But she didn't. "Yeah, it's spot on," she said, placing it back carefully.

I watched her leave, acting like it was no big deal, but ever since then, I've been a little more careful. I don't think she suspects me. At least, not yet. But that moment—her holding the mask—it lingers in the back of my mind.

Sitting in the stall was more of the same. The empty restroom felt hollow, the kind of silence that pressed against your chest. I finally dragged myself to the mirror, adjusting the sleek, flexible mask on my face as I leaned over the sink. It wasn't the usual fox mask—the one people whispered about. This one was subtler, matte black with faint hints of blue tracing the eyes. A party variation. Easier to move in, easier to blend in. Yet, even with its smaller presence, it felt heavier somehow. I splashed cold water on my face, careful not to let any drip beneath the mask. The lights flickered above, casting shadows that danced across the room. When the water suddenly stopped, I let out a bitter laugh, breaking the silence.

"Fuck this establishment," I muttered, grabbing the corner of my suit to dry my damp hands and face.

But the mask didn't feel like a shield tonight. It felt fragile, thin, like anyone looking hard enough could see right through it. My stomach churned again, but it wasn't the food or drinks. It was that gnawing nervousness, clawing its way up my chest and settling in my throat.

What the hell was I even doing here?

The laughter and muffled conversations from the party outside filtered through the restroom door, distant but unrelenting. I should've been out there, mingling like everyone else, but the second I stepped into the crowd, I felt it: the weight of too many eyes, of too many possibilities. I gripped the edge of the sink tightly, my reflection staring back at me. The mask framed my tired eyes, the subtle blue accents giving the illusion of calm confidence. But behind it, my pulse was racing. What if someone recognized me? What if this mask wasn't enough? The fear tightened its grip on my chest.

I should've stayed home. Should've ignored the invitation. Instead, I'd thought I could slip in and out unnoticed, play the part, and leave without a second thought. But the closer I got to the crowd, the more suffocated I felt. I clenched my fists, forcing a steady breath. Regret sat heavy in my chest, blending with the tension that had been there all night. The party, the people, the mask—it was all too much.

All I wanted now was to leave, to bury myself in the quiet safety of my apartment, where the only person I had to fool was myself. Walking through the hallways, packed tight with people, felt like wading through an endless sea of bodies. The space was too small, too crammed, and the air thick with the mix of perfume and sweat. Every step I took felt like it was against the current, the walls closing in as the crowd pushed forward, each person a living obstacle in the way.

It was suffocating. I had to maneuver, slip through gaps with the kind of agility only practice could give. I could feel the sweat pooling at the back of my neck, the heat rising from the press of bodies around me. The hallway seemed to shrink with every step I took, and every inch felt like I was running out of space. I wasn't panicking—yet. But the constant bumping, the unrelenting squeeze of people, made it hard to breathe.

I've got a meticulous routine for moments like this, though. Calisthenics, endurance, explosive power—yeah, or as I like to call it: Leg day, core day, and arm day. Fancy terms don't hurt either. I weaved through the crowd like I was born for it. My body moving on instinct, finding the gaps, the pockets of space just wide enough to let me slip through. It wasn't perfect, but it was the only way to survive this kind of chaos.

Passing by, I caught a glimpse of none other than Kelly.

And for my luck, she saw me too.

"I was starting to think you left home early, pretty boy," she said with that smug grin she loved to wear. Fucking Kelly. She had a way of pissing me off without even trying, but of course, I had to play nice. Polite to a woman and all that. "You don't look bad yourself, long tongue," I shot back. The way she laughed at that—loud and a little too free—made it impossible not to feel like she'd just made this whole room a little more comfortable for herself.

"I like the way you think I have a long tongue," she teased, leaning in a little too close.

Shit, the tables had flipped.

"I meant you talk a lot. And a bitch, at times." It slipped out before I could stop it, but who was I kidding? She is always a bitch. Her grin widened, and there was a glint in her eyes. "Mhm~ you think I'm a bitch? How sweet of you, darling~"

What the hell was wrong with her? "Kelly, are you drunk?" I asked, trying to back off.

But no. Apparently not. She grabbed my hips, pulling me a little too close, and before I could even think, she planted a kiss on my neck. The heat from her lips burned, and my mind raced, trying to find a way out.

"What? You want me to be?" she purred, her breath heavy with that mix of alcohol and flirtation. Great. I'm stuck. "No, and get off me, please." I tried to push her away, but my words fell on deaf ears. She was already leaning in closer, eyes half-lidded, lips painted red and smeared in places like she couldn't even bother to care.

Before I knew it, I was forced into a kiss with her. "MMHH!!" The muffled sound wasn't the kind of kiss I wanted, and sure as hell wasn't the kind I'd been expecting. For my luck, Norm saw it all. I could feel his disapproving stare boring into me from across the room, like his judgment was punching through my skin.

As soon as she let go, I shoved her away with everything I had. But Kelly wasn't having it. She closed the distance between us almost immediately. "Kelly, what the fuck?! I'm not some sex toy or your fuck buddy!" I snarled, my frustration boiling over, but all she did was grin wider. "Aww, don't tell me you don't like girls~" she teased, her words slow and heavy with alcohol, like she was daring me to disagree. I hated how she made my stomach churn. Yeah, I'd just been kissed by a woman who was my type, the kind I normally would've been into, but not like this. Not her. Not this situation.

Then, my eyes caught the counter. The half-empty glass of wine. The whiskey bottle. She was fucking trashed. "This isn't right, and you're drunk!" I snapped again, but it was like she didn't hear me. Her glassy eyes were focused on me with an intensity that made my skin crawl. "Aww~ you just like the smutch," she purred, leaning in once again.

I wanted to run. I wanted to break free, but she was already too close, pressing in like she owned me.

Before I could stop it, she kissed me—slow, deep, and too fucking long.

Her lips slid against mine, warm, soft, and wet. It was so goddamn sensual, too sensual, like she was savoring the moment while I was stuck here, paralyzed, unable to pull away. Her tongue slipped past my lips, coaxing mine open, and for a second, I almost forgot who I was. Almost. But I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. Her hands were on me, forcing me deeper, pulling me into it, and I was suffocating under her touch. The kiss lasted too long, a slow, drawn-out invasion that made my body tense up, every part of me screaming to get away.

And then, just as I thought it couldn't get worse, she jerked away. But it wasn't over.

Yeah... 

Before I even had time to process it, her stomach gave way and she vomited straight into my mouth. The warm, putrid flood hit me hard, the acrid taste flooding my senses before I could react. The vile liquid spilled over my tongue, down my throat, forcing me to swallow some of it before I could even spit it out. I wanted to gag, wanted to scream, but all I could do was stand there, frozen, as her sick coated my mouth and chin. It wasn't just humiliating—it was fucking violating. Every inch of my skin burned as I fought not to throw up.

The worst part? I couldn't even get away. She had me pinned, her hands on my face, like she had the power to control everything, and I was just... stuck.

I wasn't proud of anything about this moment.

I wasn't proud of myself, of her, of any of it. I stood there, humiliated, covered in her disgusting mess, feeling completely powerless in a situation I never should've been in. The taste of bile lingered on my tongue as I slumped against the restroom wall, my chest heaving. My stomach twisted again, and I doubled over, retching into the toilet. The acidic burn scorched my throat, tears streaming down my face as I struggled to breathe. But no matter how much I purged, it wasn't enough to erase her.

Kelly.

Even now, her presence clung to me like a second skin. My tie hung loosely around my neck, damp and crumpled, while my suit—once carefully chosen for the evening—was ruined, smeared with lipstick, sweat, and worse. My hands trembled as I gripped the edge of the toilet, the memories crashing into me like waves, each one more suffocating than the last.

She had cornered me earlier, her eyes gleaming with something dark, something hungry. Her voice was low, teasing, as she leaned in closer. "You've been hiding from me all night," she said, her lips curling into a smirk. "Let's fix that." Before I could respond, she grabbed my tie, yanking me forward with a force that left me stumbling. Her lips crashed into mine, aggressive and unrelenting, her tongue forcing its way into my mouth. I tried to pull back, to push her away, but her grip was ironclad, her hands twisting the fabric of my tie as she pulled me closer. "Don't fight it," she murmured, her breath hot against my skin. She shoved me backward, her hands steering me toward the closet door. The small, dark space creaked open, and before I could react, she pushed me inside, slamming it shut behind us.

My Head....

The air was thick, heavy with the scent of cleaning supplies and damp rags. My back hit the wall with a thud, and the breath rushed out of my lungs. Kelly followed, her body pressing against mine, her hands gripping my shoulders to keep me pinned. Her lips found mine again, rough and insistent, her nails scraping down my chest. I tried to turn my head, but she grabbed my face, forcing me to look at her. Her fingers dug into my jaw as she whispered, "Stay still." Her hands roamed lower, tugging at my tie, pulling at my shirt. She pressed her hips against mine, moving deliberately, her breath hitching as she sought friction. "You've been waiting for this, haven't you?" she said, her voice dripping with confidence.

I shook my head, my voice catching in my throat, but she ignored me. Her nails raked over my collarbone, her grip tightening as she ground against me, her movements growing more fervent.

And then it happened again.

Her body jerked again, before I could react, she gagged. A sour flood surged into my mouth, overwhelming my senses with its rancid taste. I gagged instantly, my stomach twisting as I tried to pull away, but she held me there, her nails digging into my skin. Her lips pressed harder against mine, her tongue forcing its way in, pushing the vile liquid deeper. I choked, my body convulsing as I tried to spit it out, but she didn't relent.

Her hands gripped the back of my neck, her nails scraping against my scalp as she whispered, "Take it. Don't waste it." I tried to turn my head, but she followed, her lips never leaving mine. My stomach heaved, the bitter liquid sliding down my throat as I gagged again, tears streaming down my face. Her hands moved lower, gripping my hips as she pressed harder against me, her breath quickening.

She pulled at my belt, her nails catching on the fabric as she muttered, "You're making this so difficult." I tried to twist away, but she grabbed my wrist, pinning it to the wall above my head. Her other hand gripped my thigh, her nails biting into the fabric of my pants as she forced her weight against me.

"Stop squirming," she hissed, her voice low and commanding. The room spun as my chest heaved, my body trembling under her touch. I could feel her everywhere—her hands, her nails, her breath hot against my neck. Her movements were frantic, her grip unrelenting, as if she was determined to take everything from me. When she finally pulled back, I collapsed against the wall, gasping for air. My stomach twisted violently, and I turned away, retching onto the floor. The acidic burn in my throat was nothing compared to the weight pressing down on my chest, the lingering taste of her still on my tongue.

She stood there, adjusting her dress, her smirk never fading. "You'll remember this," she said, her tone dripping with satisfaction. She left me there, crumpled and shaking, the door swinging shut behind her. Even now, sitting on the restroom floor, I could still feel her—her nails, her lips, her body pressing against mine. I gagged again, the memory too vivid, too raw. My hands gripped the edge of the toilet as I vomited, the bile scorching my throat as tears streamed down my face. No matter how much I tried to purge, the feeling wouldn't leave.

I felt filthy. Used. And no matter how much I wanted to forget, I knew I never would.

The hallway felt colder than it should, even with the buzz of production people rushing past. Their voices were muffled, blending into a dull hum that didn't quite reach me. I felt like a ghost walking among the living, my chest hollowed out, my thoughts twisted in a storm I couldn't control. If I said something about what happened—about her—I'd lose whatever shred of dignity I had left. I knew that. But the weight of silence was suffocating.

Norm's hand on my shoulder jolted me out of my spiral. His grip was firm, almost too firm, and his expression was like a slap in the face. He pulled me aside, his eyes blazing with disbelief. "What the fuck was that?" His voice cut through the noise around us like a blade. "Hiko, what the hell were you thinking?!"

I opened my mouth, but no words came. They caught in my throat, suffocated by the weight of what I couldn't explain.

"I saw it," Norm pressed on, his tone sharper now. "I saw what happened with Kelly. After everything you've said about her—all the shit you talked—and now this? Seeing you making out with her…" He shook his head, his voice breaking with frustration. "I don't even know who you are anymore." His words sank into me like stones, each one dragging me deeper into the cold abyss of my thoughts. I wanted to speak, to scream, to say it wasn't what it looked like—but instead, I drifted away from him, his voice fading as my mind spiraled inward.

I was back in that moment, feeling her touch, the way her curves pressed against me. My body had moved, but my soul had screamed to stop. It wasn't desire. It wasn't choice. It was something darker, something forced, and now it was a stain I couldn't wash away. The guilt was unbearable, like acid eating through my chest, but the disgust—at myself, at what I'd become—was worse. How could I face anyone now? How could I face myself? Norm kept talking, his voice laced with anger and disappointment, but I couldn't focus on the words anymore. My own thoughts were louder, crueler, cutting deeper than anything he could say.

I had become a stranger in my own skin.

A shiver ran through me as the thought cut deeper, jolting me back to the present. I snapped out of my trance just as Norm's voice bit through my fog.

"Are you even listening?" His words hit me like a whip. I turned to him, my shoulders sagging, feeling like a dog with its tail between its legs. The weight of my shame pressed harder, a cold reminder of how far I'd fallen.

Norm's frustration hadn't let up; his face was tight with anger, his hands clenched at his sides. "You know what pisses me off the most?" he snapped. "I had to keep Yaki away from this mess. Yaki, Hiko! You have any idea how much I've had to juggle because of your crap?"

The mention of her name hit me like a punch to the gut. I didn't know if it was guilt or regret that made my throat tighten, but it burned all the same. Norm's frustration wasn't just simmering—it was boiling over, spilling out with each word.

"Just—don't fuck it up the rest of the night, okay?" He practically growled the words, his tone sharp, but beneath it, there was something that almost sounded like pleading. In Norm-speak, it meant I should sit down and stay out of everyone's way.

And maybe he was right. Maybe that was all I was good for tonight.

The idea of telling him—of unloading the truth, every dark, twisted detail—flashed through my mind, but the courage to speak wouldn't come. It stayed buried under the same suffocating weight I'd been carrying since it happened. So much for being a man. So much for all that talk of strength, control, confidence. It took one moment, one horrible, violating moment, and I was undone. And now, the one person who was supposed to have my back was here to make sure I felt every inch of that failure. I swallowed hard, bitterness rising in my throat. Maybe this was her cruel way of confessing love—or control—or whatever sick thing had driven her to do what she did. But now, all I could feel was the cold hollowness she'd left behind.

Norm sighed, his anger not gone, but simmering down to something more restrained. "Just… get your head straight," he muttered before walking off, leaving me alone with my thoughts. Thoughts I wished I could silence. 

Sitting in a shadowed corner of the party, far from the noise and flashing lights, I found myself spiraling again. Was this all some twisted form of love bombing? The thought crept in, cold and unwelcome, and I tried to shake it off. But as my luck would have it, my day was about to get worse. When I opened my eyes, Kelly was there. She leaned against the wall with a smirk that made my stomach turn. Her voice slithered into my ears, dripping with mockery. "You really can't keep yourself away from me, can you?"

She wasn't just here by chance. I could feel it now—the way her eyes glinted, sharp and knowing. She'd heard what Norm said earlier. She knew how raw I was, how close I was to breaking. And she was enjoying it. I could have stopped her. I should have. But my body felt like lead, my mind too exhausted, too burnt out to fight. Before I could muster the strength to push her away, her hands slithered under my shirt like tendrils of smoke, slow and invasive. Her touch was cold, and it sent a shiver down my spine—not from desire, but from the sheer wrongness of it.

Her fingers traced up to my throat, her grip light but deliberate. I froze, my breath catching as her presence grew heavier, suffocating. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel the acidic burn of her lips pressing against mine, the taste of bitterness searing into my heart.

It wasn't passion—it was poison.

I wanted to scream, to push her away, to yell at her to stop, but my lips refused to move. My voice was gone, swallowed up by her suffocating aura. The deeper she pressed, the more it felt like she wasn't a person at all, but something darker. Her presence twisted the air around us, the party noise fading into an eerie silence. Her smile widened, unnatural now, like a predator savoring its prey. The weight of her hands on me felt heavier, more sinister, as if she wasn't just touching me—she was consuming me, piece by piece.

"Why fight it?" she whispered, her voice no longer playful but laced with something deeper, something that crawled under my skin. "You've already let me in." Her fingers traced up to my throat again, this time brushing against the edge of the mask I wore. A carefully crafted shield I'd relied on for so long. She tugged at it lightly, her movements calculated and deliberate.

"Oh, what's this?" she murmured, her tone mocking, though her eyes burned with something sharper, hungrier. The mask shifted under her touch, and I froze completely, my breath catching in my chest. Even as her lips brushed mine again, burning like acid, her hands worked with unsettling precision, adjusting the mask as though testing its strength. I could feel it strain, the delicate material creaking, threatening to crack under the pressure. My breath hitched, but I couldn't stop her.

With her other hand, she reached for my tie, wrapping her fingers around it and pulling it tight like a leash. My body lurched forward, forced closer to her as she smirked. "There," she cooed, her voice dripping with mock affection.

"That's better. You're so much cuter when you're obedient." Her grip on the tie tightened, the fabric biting into my neck. My pulse pounded against the pressure as she tugged, her actions methodical yet cruel. I felt more like a dog than a man, leashed and pulled into submission.

Even as I closed my eyes, trying to block her out, her bitter, acid-like lips dug deeper into my heart, corroding every defense I had left. I wanted to rip the mask away myself, to scream, but my body betrayed me, paralyzed in her grip. The mask cracked slightly under her touch, the sound faint but deafening in my mind. I gasped, the fractures spreading like spiderwebs. She didn't stop. She didn't falter. If anything, the sound seemed to spur her on.

"Look at you," she whispered, her voice velvet and venom. "Breaking so easily. It's almost too much fun."

Her fingers traced the jagged edges of the crack, her smile widening into something darker, something monstrous. The party around us might as well have disappeared. The air between us was thick, suffocating, as if her presence alone was draining the room of life. She leaned in close, her breath brushing against my ear. "You're mine now," she murmured, her voice so soft it was almost a purr, but laced with an undeniable malice.

"You were always mine. You just didn't know it yet." Her hands tightened on the tie, and I gasped, the fabric biting cruelly into my skin. My chest heaved, panic rising as I felt the mask falter further, its cracks growing wider, threatening to shatter entirely. I wasn't just losing control—I was being unraveled, piece by piece, and she was reveling in it. I tried to think of Norm, tried to cling to the thought of him pulling me out of this.

Norm, please. Please help me. I can't do this. This is too much.

But Kelly—or whatever she was—only laughed, low and menacing, as if she could hear the plea in my mind. Her hands tugged sharply on the tie, forcing my head up to meet her gaze. "You're not going anywhere," she said, her smile curling into a grin that was all teeth. "Not until I've had my fun."

Getting thrown against the wall sent a shock through my body, the impact leaving my mind reeling. The sharp click of the door locking echoed like a death knell, cutting off any fleeting hope of escape. I struggled to my feet, leaning heavily against the wall, my legs trembling beneath me. My mind screamed at me to run, but my body wouldn't obey. She was on me again, her movements swift and merciless. Her cold hands slid beneath my clothes, their icy grip sending shivers through my skin. My breath hitched sharply, betraying my helplessness. Every touch of hers felt invasive, stripping away more of the person I thought I was.

Her hands lingered, cold as death itself, and I felt my resistance falter. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe fighting was pointless. The room seemed to close in on me, suffocating in its silence, save for the sound of my ragged breathing. Her laughter broke through the fog in my mind, light and girlish, but wrong in every possible way. It carried a mocking edge that scraped against my nerves, but I was too exhausted, too hollowed out to respond.

"Tell me, Haki," she whispered, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, "is that really your name? Because a little bird told me something... different." I barely flinched, her words slicing through me like a blade. How did she know? What did she know? But even the questions felt distant, like they belonged to someone else. Before I could process her words, I felt it—a strange, cold sensation on my lips, slipping into my mouth. My body jerked, instinctively recoiling, and the taste of copper spread over my tongue. Blood.

My trembling fingers brushed my lips, and when I pulled them away, they were stained red. My heart pounded as I stared at them, the reality sinking in like lead in my stomach. She smiled at me, wide and gleeful, her crimson-stained lips curling with satisfaction. My blood smeared her mouth, glistening under the dim light. I thought at first it was her lipstick, but no. It was mine.

This wasn't Kelly. Whatever this thing was, it wasn't human.

As her eyes locked with mine, her hand moved again, sliding lower, more intimate, her cold fingers invading spaces they had no right to. My breath caught in my throat, and panic flared anew, but my body was paralyzed. "Don't resist," she cooed, her voice dripping with mockery and malice. "You've already given in, haven't you?" Her grip tightened, and I gasped, the cold seeping into me like a toxin, deeper than just skin. It was as though she was claiming not just my body but every shred of control I had left.

My thoughts scrambled, desperate for a way out, but her presence overwhelmed everything, consuming me inch by inch. The sickening realization dawned: I wasn't just losing. I was hers.

Her laughter rang out again, low and triumphant, as though she could taste my despair. She leaned in close, her lips brushing my ear. "You're mine now," she whispered, her voice a velvet snare. "And there's no one left to save you."

But then, her body jolted unnaturally, her smile faltering. Her head whipped to the side as if hearing something I couldn't, her eyes narrowing into slits. Her grip on me loosened, just enough for me to take in a shaky breath, but it wasn't freedom—it was the calm before the storm.

Her lips twisted into a snarl, and she hissed, "No... not now." She let go of my tie abruptly, and I crumpled to the floor, gasping for air, but the panic hadn't subsided. My chest heaved in desperation, but it wasn't the air I craved. Before I could react, her hand shifted lower, moving with a cruel deliberation. She squeezed, a sharp, painful pressure on a place that should never have been touched like this. The shock of it stole my breath. My body froze, caught between the sharp sting and the sickening sensation of surrender.

I thought I would crumble from the shame, but she didn't care. She just watched me, her gaze predatory and cold, savoring my discomfort. The pressure increased, and I gasped, the sting of it mingling with something darker—something far worse than the physical pain. She leaned down, lips brushing mine, a kiss that was anything but affectionate. It was cold, laced with mockery, and left a bitter taste on my tongue. A kiss meant to remind me of what she controlled, what I had become.

When she pulled away, her smile returned, but it was no longer playful. It was twisted, venomous. "Don't think this is over," she purred, her voice dripping with satisfaction.

But before she disappeared completely, I felt a sudden, sharp tug at the edge of my mask. Her fingers dug into the delicate material, pulling it free just enough for a jagged crack to form. The mask didn't tear completely, but it splintered—exposing a small, vulnerable part of my face. My left eye, wide and alert, and a sliver of my nose were now visible, the rest still hidden behind the fractured mask.

Her gaze locked onto the exposed pieces of me, her eyes gleaming with sick satisfaction. She hovered there for a moment, almost studying me, as if savoring the vulnerability she had just revealed. "That… is a good start," she whispered, her voice low, almost affectionate in a way that made my skin crawl.

Then, with a final, mocking smile, she yanked the mask further just enough to leave that jagged piece in her grip—like a cruel souvenir. She stepped back, her figure dissolving into the mist, but not without one last glance over her shoulder. "Next time…" she said softly, almost tenderly, as if caressing the thought. "There won't be anyone to interrupt."

And then, she was gone.

The door clicked shut, its echo ringing through the now-empty room. I collapsed to the floor, my breath ragged as I reached up to touch the exposed part of my face. The cold air stung where the mask had once shielded me. My left eye burned, the skin on my nose felt raw—everything felt too exposed, too vulnerable.

Her whisper hung in the air, like a lingering curse. "Next time... there won't be anyone to interrupt." I could feel her presence, even though she was gone. And I knew, with creeping dread, that there was no escaping her. No more hiding. Not anymore.

I was used...