FALSE

Chapter 4

The thought of losing Papa filled me with unspeakable dread as if his absence would snuff out the very essence of my existence. Desperate to keep him close, I resolved to do whatever it took, my young mind fixating on obedience as the last bastion against his departure. This resolve led me to acquiesce to his most unsettling request: to have sex with Mio under his watchful eye.

It was repugnant, a feeling I had never associated with Mio, who was nothing more than a friend in my eyes. I loathed every moment of it - the way she moaned, squirmed, even panted. Every touch felt like a desecration, her skin under my hands not the warm texture of a friend, but a repulsive surface I was compelled to endure.

Yet, as we did in the bed, Mio's expression transformed into a smile of exertion, like a runner at the end of a marathon, gasping for breath yet flushed with the thrill of completion. My actions weren't to satisfy her lust; they were a performance for Papa.

His gaze, unblinking and evaluative behind the camera lens, felt like a judge presiding over my fate. My worth, it seemed, hung precariously on his approval. As he filmed, his lips played a sly smirk, reminiscent of the sinister villains from horror films that haunted my dreams. This chilling aspect of him, however, was often overshadowed by the evident joy that radiated from him - a disturbing juxtaposition that only served to amplify the complexity of my feelings towards him.

What began as a singular, jarring episode soon evolved into a recurring ordeal. Each visit to Papa's office transformed into a haunting echo of the last, a pattern of encounters I was compelled to endure. With Mio as an unwitting participant in this twisted charade, I found myself trapped in a cycle that left me feeling increasingly unmoored.

After each session, a wave of sickness would engulf me. It was as though the very gravity that anchored me to the world had been unceremoniously stripped away, leaving me dizzy, disoriented, and adrift in a sea of nausea. The intensity of this feeling was overwhelming, a visceral reaction that seemed to scream in protest at what I had been coerced into doing.

In my desperation, I once turned to Papa, hoping for solace or perhaps an end to this torment. But my confessions fell on ears that offered no real comfort or change.

"Well... if you don't, I couldn't let you visit my office again," Papa said, his voice carrying a sinister edge that belied its softness.

"But Papa..., I—"

"Didn't I tell you before, Daichi? If Mio-chan's happy, I would be happy too. Don't you want to see me happy...?"

Papa's words, manipulative and coercive, hung in the air, a twisted logic that sought to ensnare me further. It was a rhetorical trap, one that left little room for disagreement or refusal. In his carefully crafted world, my compliance was not just expected but required, a key to maintaining our relationship as he defined it.

In the realm that Papa had crafted, his desires dictated the rules – a realm where I was expected to comprehend and accommodate his needs. Foremost among these was his aspiration for a partner, a grown adult he envisioned as a wife, and this role was destined for Mio's mother. To ensnare her heart, Papa orchestrated a world where Mio was elevated to princess-like status, her every whim and desire to be indulged, every need fed directly to her as if she were royalty.

My lack of mutual affection for Mio mattered little in Papa's grand scheme. I was but a piece in his strategic game, moving according to his whims, my actions solely aimed at pleasing him.

I clung to the hope that this waking nightmare would eventually fade, that the shadows cast by these events would someday recede and leave me in peace. But instead, the darkness only deepened, spiralling into an abyss from which there seemed no escape.

And the turning point came one fateful night when Mio reached out to me directly.

On the cusp of her middle adolescence, Mio had always been a vision of unwavering brightness, her transformation through the years marked by a physical grace that seemed to mirror her inner light. On television screens, she was the embodiment of perpetual sunshine, her smile a constant, life-affirming presence. To the world, she was untouchable in her radiance, an emblem of joy that no shadow could dim.

Yet, beneath the post lamps subdued glow that night, a different Mio emerged, one that starkly contrasted the cheerful persona the public adored. The soft, flickering light revealed furrows of worry on her brow, creases that spoke of burdens too heavy for her young shoulders. Her eyes, usually sparkling with the simple joys of youth, now echoed with a tempest of emotions, a tumultuous sea of thoughts and fears that the bright gleam of camera lights had always kept hidden.

At that moment, the façade of the ever-smiling Mio crumbled as she silently extended her hand towards me, and in it was a pregnancy test.