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Yuka and I lived in the house with Mama, but Mama was never home. She left in the morning and came back late at night. During the day, only Yuka and I were at home.
I had been with Yuka since I was small. My brothers were taken away right after I was born, and I had been with Yuka alone ever since.
Yuka spent most of her time sprawled out in front of the TV. I would go over to her, lie down on the newspapers spread out on the floor, and rest my head on her back.
When we were bored with TV, we stood up and stretched. Yuka would wander around the kitchen and bathroom, and I would follow after, trying to keep up.
Then we would go for a walk. I liked walks—Yuka and I, walking together. There was a string tying us together during walks. If I started to go the wrong way, Yuka would frown at me.
Sometimes a stranger would come to the house, a big man Mama brought home with her. When he was in the house, the air smelled bad. The comfortable house where Yuka and I lived would vanish.
When he came in, he always patted my head, smiling at Mama as he did—but he never met my eye. When I felt his hand on my head, I always wanted to bite him.
Yuka and I hated him because he would always hit Yuka when Mama was out of the room.
When I first saw it, I thought I was imagining things. Mama had left for the kitchen, leaving Yuka and me alone with him.
Yuka was next to him when he’d suddenly jabbed her with his elbow. Yuka looked surprised, gazing up at him.
He smiled, leaned over, and whispered something to her.
I was watching from the corner and couldn’t hear what he said, but I could see Yuka’s expression change.
I felt a terror run through me. Yuka and I were sitting far apart, but deep down, our hearts were connected. I could feel her shock and confusion flowing into me.
Whenever Mama came back into the room, the man would stop whatever he’d been doing. Yuka would look at Mama anxiously, but Mama never noticed anything wrong.
Yuka looked to me for help, but all I could do was pace back and forth.
Every time he came over, his treatment of Yuka got worse. He even kicked her in the belly sometimes! Yuka would groan in pain and fall to the floor coughing, and I would run to her, putting myself between them, to the man’s great annoyance.
He always came over on the same nights of the week. Those nights, Yuka and I would always huddle in the corner to protect ourselves. The house always felt very sinister when he was around. We could never tell when he might open the door and come in a room, so Yuka was always too frightened to sleep.
Eventually, we could stand it no longer, and we began fleeing the house.
Yuka started making me kill animals after the man began visiting. She cried a lot after he began coming over, and her eyes had a new kind of darkness inside them. That darkness made me very sad.
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