Miki
I stirred from sleep, warm and cocooned in the comforter. On my stomach, arms wrapped around the pillow, I stretched my legs across the silky sheets. For a split second it felt like the best rest I’d had in a long time. I almost smiled.
Then it hit me. Last night.
Ginji standing over me in the dark. His hand ripping the covers away. His weight crushing, pinning me. The way I fought to stop the unimaginable.
My stomach turned. The sheets that had felt soft a moment ago now clung damp to my skin. I wanted to crawl out of them, out of this bed, out of this house.
I jolted upright, the covers pooling in my lap. My eyes darted around the unfamiliar room—the sleek furniture, the faint trace of sandalwood, the mess from my late-night feast. Not my bed. Not my home. I was in some strange man’s house, on a strange island off the coast of Japan, with my best friend missing.
And Ginji had been here. In this bed. On top of me. The memory of his fingers between my legs, his breath, his voice whispering for me to stop fighting.
Be ready at nine sharp, he’d told me. I despise tardiness.
My gaze snapped to the clock. Eight fifteen.
I bolted into the shower, scrubbing fast, water pelting away the last of my grogginess. When I came out, steam curling behind me, I opened the closet and stared. Rows of clothes, all in my size. Thoughtful, if I ignored the truth of who they came from.
I pulled out a cropped jacket and silk camisole, pairing them with tailored trousers and ankle boots. Then came the details: a slim leather belt, silver hoops, a bracelet that caught the light just right. I blow-dried my hair, parted it cleanly, dabbed on gloss, misted perfume.
I felt numb, just moving through the motions of getting dressed. I prayed Akiko wasn’t going through the same.
By the time I checked the mirror, I looked less like someone stranded on a strange island and more like I was headed to a rooftop party in Shibuya.
A knock rattled the door.
I didn’t have to open it. Ginji let himself in, smiling like nothing had happened. My best bet was to play along, get him to trust me, lower his guard, then strike somehow.
“Gee, it’s a good thing I wasn’t still in the shower,” I said with a bubbly smile.
“On the contrary,” he said, “that would’ve been the best thing.”
He crossed the room, took my hand, and spun me. My skin crawled at his touch, but I held the smile, forcing myself to stay composed as his eyes swept over my outfit like I was already his.
“You look wonderful.”
“I’m glad you approve,” I said flatly.
Ginji wore a white suit with the top three buttons undone, a fedora tipped low, hair neatly combed, eyeliner laid on thick. And as much as I hated to admit it, his cologne smelled irritatingly good.
He hurried me out of the room and down the curved stairwell. The living room had already been restored to its former grandeur, every piece of furniture neatly back in place. We stepped out the front door, where a golf cart waited. Ginji helped me into the passenger seat, then slid behind the wheel. His hand brushed mine again. I forced myself not to flinch.
I glanced at him. He was smiling as he whistled the same song he’d performed the night before.
“Why so happy this morning?” I asked.
“Nokoribi is here. What’s not to be excited about?”
“That’s right. I forgot.”
Not really. Not after last night.
“You won’t forget it again. Nobody does. Once you experience it, you can’t unforget it.”
“What does that mean?” I crinkled my brow.
“You’ll see.”
