Page 272 of Faking the Goal

"Ken-chan, what's inside?"

"Trouble." He shifts the box away from me, already moving as though he intends to take it somewhere I can't follow. "Trust me. You don't want to see this."

But that isn't how fear works. The moment he tells me I shouldn't look, my mind starts filling the space with things that could be even worse, and I know I'll never be able to breathe properly again unless I see it for myself.

I step in front of him and put my hands against the box. "I need to know."

"No, you don't."

"Yes, I do."

His eyes hold mine for a long moment, and I can see the argument taking place behind them. He wants to protect me from whatever he saw, but he must also know I won't let this go. Eventually, his grip loosens, though his expression makes it clear he hates every second of it.

I pull one of the cardboard flaps back and look inside.

For a moment, my brain refuses to make sense of what I'm seeing. There's a patch of soft white fur at the bottom of the box, stained so deeply with red that parts of it have turned almost black. Then I notice the tiny paws, the unnatural angle of its body, and the truth hits me with such force that my stomach lurches.

It's a kitten.

A small white kitten that looks as though it couldn't have been more than a few weeks old, lying completely still in a pool of dried and fresh blood. Whoever killed it hadn't done so quickly or mercifully. Even though I can't bring myself to look closely, I see enough to understand that it suffered, and the thought of someone deliberately hurting something so small and defenseless makes bile rise into my throat.

A card has been placed on top of its body, and the message is written in uneven red letters that smear across the paper. Some of the words are darker than others, and when I realize the red probably isn't ink, every drop of blood drains from my face.

I told you to break up with him, and you didn't fucking listen. Instead, you moved in with that asshole who thinks he can just take what's mine. You think hiding in that big fucking house is going to keep me from getting to you? You're wrong. Nothing can keep me away from you. Nothing.

You're mine. You always have been.

So I'll say it again, little kitten. Leave him, or you'll end up exactly like this one.

Because I would rather destroy you than let another man have you.

The room begins to spin, and just before my vision gives out, a memory tears through the darkness.

A little girl, no older than five or six, kneels on the ground, sobbing so hard that her entire body shakes as she cradles a dead cat in her arms. Its fur is stained red, and her tiny hands are covered in blood.

I think it's me, but I don't know where the memory came from.

I can't see where I am or remember what happened to the cat. I don't know who killed it or why I'm the one holding it. The memory is blurred at the edges, distorted by time, but the grief and terror inside it feel so real that, for one disorienting second, I'm no longer standing in the hockey house. I'm that little girl again, clutching something lifeless against my chest and crying as though my heart has been torn apart.

Then the memory disappears, swallowed by the roaring in my ears as Kentaro reaches for me and the world falls away.

*****

The television is playing somewhere on the other side of the wall, loud enough that I can hear people laughing even though nothing about this room feels funny.

I sit on the edge of the narrow bed with my bare feet hanging above the floor, twisting the hem of my nightgown around my fingers until the fabric pulls tight against my palms. I'm trying not to cry. I know what happens when I cry too loudly, and I know what happens if anyone hears me.

He is over me, his breathing too loud.

"Little kitten, my good little kitten." he whispers, his mouth too close to my ear. My stomach twists at the name.

The weak yellow light from the lamp leaves part of his face in shadow, but I don't need to see him clearly to know the expression he's wearing. He always looks at me the same way when we're alone, with that strange softness in his eyes that frightens me more than anger ever could.

His fingers move on my skin and fear crawls beneath my skin like snakes, winding slowly around my ribs and sliding down my arms until my fingers feel numb. I want to scream so bad my teeth ache with it, but I can't make a sound.

"Don't cry, little kitten," he says. "You know I'm only doing this because I care about you and this is how I show it..."

I look past him toward the door, wishing I could run through it, but my legs won't move. They're shaking too badly, and everything inside me feels cold and loose, as though my bones have disappeared and there's nothing left holding me together.