Lurking Desire | Rindou Haitani | Ran Haitani

9|rotten

Your mother, oblivious to the undercurrents of malice, beamed at you. "That's wonderful, sweetheart!" she exclaimed, "When do we get to meet him?"

The question was like a punch in the gut. You had played this game for so long, keeping your pain hidden beneath a veneer of normalcy, but the weight of your lie pressed down on you like a lead blanket. You took a deep breath, the room spinning around you as you searched for a way out of the mess you had just created. "Soon," you said, the word feeling like a shackle around your neck. "Very soon."

As dinner wound to a close, you excused yourself, claiming a sudden headache. The relief was palpable as you stepped out into the cool night air, the lights of the city a stark contrast to the darkness in your soul. Your phone buzzed in your pocket, a reminder of the world that had moved on without you. You needed to get away, to find some semblance of control in the chaos that was your life. Without thinking, you hailed a taxi, the neon lights of the city reflecting in the wet streets as you sped towards the one place you knew you could find solace, if only for a few hours: the club.

The thumping bass and the press of bodies greeted you as you entered the dimly lit club. The air was thick with the scent of alcohol and sweat, a cacophony of laughter and music that washed over you like a wave of despair. You found a table in the corner, as far from the dance floor as possible, and ordered a bottle of water. But as the minutes ticked by, the memories grew louder, the pain more intense. Your hand trembled as you reached for the bottle of vodka the waiter had brought, the liquid fire burning down your throat as you chased the pain away with each gulp.

Before you knew it, the bottles had piled up, five of them surrounding your lonely figure like a fortress of regret. You hated the taste, hated the way it made you feel, but you craved the oblivion it promised. The room spun around you, the lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of color. You had become the very thing you despised, a girl lost in a haze of alcohol, trying to numb the pain of a reality too cruel to face.

And then, as if the universe had decided you hadn't suffered enough, the boy approached you. His hair was a shock of pink, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the nightclub, and his eyes were the color of the ocean on a clear day-soothing, yet somehow eerie in the strobing lights. The scar on his mouth was shaped like a diamond, a macabre twist to his otherwise angelic features. It was a twisted mirror image of Rindou, and your heart skipped a beat as he leaned in, his voice a whisper in your ear. "Dance with me?"

In your current state of mind, you couldn't bring yourself to disagree. After all, what more could go wrong? Your life had already been torn apart by the Haitani brothers, and here you were, drowning your sorrows in a sea of expensive vodka and pulsing lights. So you nodded, rising unsteadily from your chair and following the boy to the dance floor. His movements were fluid, a stark contrast to the rigid control Rindou had over your body, and for a moment, you felt free-until his hands found your hips and pulled you closer, his scar a constant reminder of the horrors you had faced.

The music was a deafening roar, a cacophony of beats that pounded in your head, matching the erratic rhythm of your heart. The lights flashed like strobes, painting the room in alternating hues of blue and pink. You closed your eyes, trying to lose yourself in the rhythm, trying to ignore the fact that you were dancing with a stranger in a club where anything could happen. The warmth of the boy's body was almost comforting, a stark contrast to the coldness you felt whenever Rindou's name entered your thoughts.

Suddenly, the music stopped, and the lights went out. Screams echoed through the darkness, piercing the silence like shards of glass. The sound of shattering glass followed, and you felt the boy's grip on you tighten. Panic gripped you, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps as the lights flickered back on, revealing a chaotic scene of overturned tables and fleeing patrons. You opened your eyes to see the boy holding you close, his eyes darting around the room, a wild, feral look in them that sent chills down your spine.

And then, the unmistakable sound of gunfire filled the air, a staccato rhythm that sent the remaining dancers into a frenzy. The boy, your supposed savior, pulled you behind the bar, his hand shaking as he held a gun of his own. "Stay down," he whispered, his voice strained. "This isn't your fight." You nodded, too stunned to speak, your heart hammering in your chest like a drum.

The shooter's eyes found the pink-haired boy, a snarl twisting his lips as he called out, "Sanzu Haruchiyo! You think you can just fuck me over and walk away?" The gun in the boy's hand was trembling, a bead of sweat trickling down his face as he stared back at the shooter with a sadistic face. You realized, with a sinking feeling, that he was the one they were after.

"Who's Sanzu Haruchiyo?" You whispered, your voice shaking, but the boy ignored you, his eyes never leaving the shooter.