He narrowed his elephant eyes, as if he were trying to bring something into focus. Then he retrieved a roll of brown packing tape and said, “I’m here because I’m going to ask you to do something.”
Moving quickly, he circled behind Yuma’s back. Without giving her a chance to escape, he wrapped his arms around her from behind.
“St-stop!” Yuma shouted as she flailed her legs, both of them bare below her short denim skirt.
The man bound her wrists with tape, pushed her onto her side, and straddled her body. Then he bound her ankles together, leaving her completely helpless.
He stood up and looked down at her, satisfied with his work.
“Yuma, I’ll forgive every time you’ve wronged me before. But in exchange, I want you to sing only for me from now on.”
She saw a crazed look in his eyes, and she knew she had to do something to escape him, or else.
Bound hand and foot, Yuma asked, “Why? Why are you tormenting me?”
The man’s lips twisted into a frown. Stammering, he said, “You—you think I’m tormenting you? You’ve got it all wrong.” His eyes rolled back so that only the whites showed. “I’m not tormenting you. I would never do that, no matter what happened.”
He sounded like a child making excuses after his mother caught him doing something naughty.
Maybe that’s how I can handle this, Yuma thought. Whatever else he is, he’s still a fan. He just might listen to me.
She thrust out her wrists, wrapped in tape, and said firmly, “Then how do you explain this? You wouldn’t call this tormenting me?”
The man’s dark complexion slowly turned darker, and he began breathing roughly. “N-no—see, that’s not to hurt you. B-but if… if I didn’t do it, you’d run away.” Keeping his head lowered, he looked at her with only his eyes. “And if you were to run way, I might not be able to control myself. I might do something we’d both regret.”
Now his eyes entreated her to understand. “Sometimes,” he explained, “I lose control of who I am. When I think about you betraying me, I sometimes lash out in violence.” He gulped. “That’s why… that’s why…”
As he started to get flustered, he suddenly pictured that photograph of Yuma and Kawai Yukio. Yukio had his arm around her shoulders, and she was smiling, happy for the embrace.
A dark cloud of jealousy began to form, not just in his head or in his heart, but throughout his entire body. His hands shook, and a low rumble emanated from his throat. Then his small elephant eyes popped open so far they seemed they might fall out. He turned that widened gaze upon Yuma.
She sensed she was in danger. She curled her arms and legs like she was a shrimp and tried to wriggle away.
But in the next moment, he started slapping her face.
“How could you?” he shouted. “How could you look so sweet and be with… and be with someone like him?”
He grabbed her by her shoulder-length hair and lifted up her head, then shook her left and right.
Through grunts of pain, Yuma said, “St-stop it!”
But the man kept shaking her. His face took on a demonic look as he shouted, “How about this?! How about this?!”
“St-stop…”
Then with a little snapping sound, a few dozen of her hairs pulled loose. The strands clung to his fingers.
Yuma’s head dropped to the carpet. She remained still, frozen from the pain and terror. Some moments later, she heard the man sobbing. She cracked open her eyelids and saw him holding his head in his hands. Her hair was still stuck to his fingers.
“Forgive me,” he said. “Please forgive me. I didn’t mean to do that…”
Fat tears spilled from his small, ugly eyes. He looked at her with those watery eyes, and their gazes met.
“Y-Yuma-chan. I’m sorry. But… but it’s your fault. That happened because of the way you’ve been acting. You must never meet with that man again.”
Pushing through the pain in her face and her head, Yuma looked up at him. “All right. I won’t see him again. So please, take off this tape.”
The man bobbed his head in approval and began to slowly pull apart the stubborn tape. As he worked at it, he said, “Thank you, Yuma. Thank you for forgiving me. Thank you.” He began to cry again, but this time with tears of admiration and relief.
“But Yuma,” he added, “I’m just going to come out and say it. Just because you’re free to move again, don’t think you can run away. If you try to run, this is going to get scary.”
“Of course I won’t run,” Yuma said, as she eyed the distance between herself and the door. “I wouldn’t even think of it.”
She felt she could outrun him, at least with a head start. Freedom was not far away—just across the living room, through the front hall and out the door, then down the emergency stairway.
The problem was the door chain. She worried that he might catch her while she stopped to undo the lock. No outcome could be worse. He’d bind her with that packing tape again, and she’d be completely helpless. If only he’d remove his attention from her for just one minute, maybe two. Then she could have time to unlock the door and escape.
The man was laughing.
“I’m so happy,” he said, taking her hands in his. “You’re right here in front of me. Not a poster or a picture, but the real Yuma.” He pulled her hands quickly toward him, and the momentum carried her body after them, so that she leaned against him. A cold chill ran through her.
I would rather die than be held by him, Yuma thought, and meant it.
He put his arms around her and looked her up and down, fire in his eyes. The edges of his lips began to twitch. He clenched his fists so hard they trembled. He seemed to be trying, through great effort, to contain the lustful feelings that had come over him.
“Yuma is an idol,” he muttered to himself, but this close, Yuma heard every word. “She’s a cute, adorable idol. We can’t have sex, no matter how much I want to. Oh, how much I want to. But we can’t…”
His eyes burned with an animal lust as he gazed at her face, then her neck, then her breasts.
He exhaled deeply.
He pressed his hands against his chest.
“We can’t!” he cried. “We can’t. We can’t have sex!”
He unzipped his jeans and pulled out the ugly thing that had swollen and risen between his legs. The unwashed smell quickly invaded the air around them.
“Yuma,” he said, “you mustn’t watch this. We can’t have sex, so I have to do this instead.”
He turned his back to her and began stroking himself. His shoulders rose up and down, and his breathing became heavy.
For a moment, Yuma watched in stunned silence as the carnal scene unfolded. She had never seen a man do what he was doing, let alone a man such as him. His body began to shake, as if a spirit had possessed him. He seemed to be building toward climax. His back curled, and his hand began to quicken.
Calmly, Yuma thought through her situation. It’ll probably take him another two minutes or so to finish. This might be my chance to escape. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched the man, rapt in his act of self-pleasure. Slowly, careful not to make any noise, she began walking. Leaving faint depressions on the carpet, she walked toward the front hallway. Please don’t finish yet, she prayed. Take it nice and slow. Enjoy yourself.
Reaching the front door, she looked over her shoulder to make sure his attention remained occupied.
She could hear him moaning now.
Good. He was still going.
Yuma reached for the door chain. Her gut was screaming at her to hurry, but she took her time, making sure not to raise the slightest noise.
She put her hand on the doorknob. When she turned it, the door opened with a click.
I made it! she thought, as the path to liberty presented itself before her. She took her first step into the freedom for which she yearned. But she couldn’t take a second step. Something incredibly strong pulled her back inside.
It was him. He grabbed her with one hand on her shoulder. He spun her to face him. Their eyes met. He looked more elephant than man.
With his other hand still in between his legs, he howled.
At the same time as she screamed, the man finished.
“I told you,” he said, stroking Yuma’s hair.
She cried, shaking her head.
The man sat cross-legged, having placed her across his lap. She’d tried to struggle, but he was stronger than he looked, and she hadn’t been able to pry herself free.
Giving it everything she had, Yuma pleaded, “Forgive me. I won’t run away anymore…”
The man regarded her with sadness in his eyes. “No, you’ll run. I wish I could believe you, but you’ll run.”
The man withdrew a box cutter from his pocket. He pushed out the blade, and it click-click-clicked its way through the notches built into the handle. Yuma knew what that sound meant.
“No! Stop!” she screamed, before panic turned her words unintelligible. There was no doubt over what he was about to do. If she didn’t escape, he was going to stab her.
As she flailed about, he held her in place with his other hand.
She opened her mouth wide and bit down on his inner thigh. The bitter taste of his denim jeans filled her mouth.
“That won’t work,” he said. “I’m not stopping. All right, Yuma—are you ready?”
His face emotionless, he pushed the box cutter’s blade into the bottom of her foot. Sharp pain shot all the way up to her brain. When she screamed, her voice sounded nothing like that of an idol, but like an old woman being strangled, on the verge of death.
The man said, “Yuma, you’re just going to have to endure this. Just a little longer, okay?”
He swung the box cutter again and again into the bottoms of her feet. Blood gushed freely from the gashes. By the time he was done, she was too weak to even cry out.
He looked at her ruined feet. With disgust in his voice, he muttered, “You won’t be able to run from me anymore. You have to accept it now. You’re going to stay right here and sing for no one but me.”
Yuma opened her eyes with a start. She awoke to a throbbing pain in her feet. She must have fallen unconscious, but for how long she didn’t know. She looked down at her feet and saw that they had been wrapped with a towel, now stained through with red.