one

Zero’s toned arm is wrapped around your shoulders when you wake up.

You can feel his silver bracelet against your back. The links dig in deep enough to leave a mark, branding your skin.

You take in your surroundings. You are both sitting on a couch in someone’s living room, in someone’s house, at someone’s party. Zero is talking to another guy with shorn short bleached blond hair with dark roots, and elaborate tattoos that twist along his pale arms and peek out across his chest from underneath his white wife beater. They’re talking about the new enhancements they’ve put on their cars. It’s all talk that you don’t understand nor really care about.

The blonde’s girlfriend, Rin, is sitting next to him, visibly bored out of her mind. She snaps bubble gum and twists her honey-blonde hair around her fingers that are tipped with long, glittery stiletto nails. Her other hand holds a plastic cup, the contents most likely liquor, like the one in your own hand that rests against your thigh.

Zero glances at you, and you try not to flinch at the flicker of his dark eyes as his arm tightens ever so slightly against your skin. Your breath catches in your throat as his dark eyes study you for a moment. You hold your breath even more as he holds his stare, before he sets his own cup onto the coffee table in front of you all and brings his hand towards your face.

You try not to recoil. It’s a dead giveaway, unbeknownst to him, what it really means.

A finger traces the edge of your jawline, and it feels like bugs are crawling up your skin, but you hold back from shivering. He tucks a loose strand of deep violet hair behind your ear. You meet his eyes and take in his face.

It’s unbelievable that this undeniably handsome guy is your boyfriend, but also eerie.

You know absolutely nothing about him.

Nothing positive, at least. Yet, his brown eyes are soft at that moment, and his lips curl into a smile, uncovering crooked teeth.

You try to act normal when he kisses you, though his breath stinks like a mixture of cigarette smoke and liquor as his mouth overtakes yours. His saliva tastes sour and acrid; his tongue is slimy as it darts into your mouth, and you want to pull back in disgust, but you roll with it, trying to go along with the motions.

A memory flashes through your eyes.

“Don’t you ever run away from me again,” the host-looking guy hisses at you while he grasps your neck. You can feel his grip tightening as his digits press against your throat. You’re terrified of this stranger and his dead fish eyes staring into your soul, but you realize this is what your life has become.

You are his trophy.

And there is no escape.

-

Rin manages to pull you away from the men’s dull conversation and overstimulating party. You both wobble in your chunky platform heels to the small bathroom tucked beneath the staircase of the apartment. The song of some amateur rapper’s blasting mixtape is finally toned down as the door closes, and the quiet makes you relax, easing your throbbing head.

In refuge, you can finally breathe again.

You check your phone. It’s 11 pm on a Friday. You try to calculate the days that have been lost, and conclude that approximately four weeks have passed.

“You okay, Hana? You got really quiet.” Rin asks. She takes a drag from her bejeweled IQOS.

“Me?”

She nods, blowing out a puff of vapor from between her glossy lips. Her blue eyes study you before she fusses at her hair.

You look at your face in the mirror. The eyes staring back are yours, but the reflection of the rest of the girl in the mirror is foreign. The shimmery eye makeup paired with purple lenses and doll-style eyelashes, the fuchsia blush and glossy lips. Your once dark brown hair is now dyed dark violet and lengthened with long extensions. You’re dressed in a short black frilly dress with a low neckline you would never attempt to wear in a million years. The sky-high heels on your feet are ones you would also never set eyes on, and your nails are tipped with long, elaborately decorated press ons as your fingers clutch your expensive black designer bag.

This isn’t you.

But this is your body.

You don’t know how to do any of this.

You are not okay, and haven’t been for a long time.

“Oh no, I’m fine.” You lie, giving a smile as you rummage through your purse, your eyes not even focusing on the objects that you fumble around blindly. The truth is that inside you’re panicking, but trying to pull off a convincing poker face.

“You sure?”

You nod with a small giggle. You both fix your makeup, and you try to plan how to make it through the unexpected time leap.

“Honestly, I don’t give any shits about their cars. I don’t get how guys can talk-“

Rin continues to talk as she reapplies her lip liner and gloss. You hum along as you try to figure out how to get out of there without being seen. Maybe you can slide through the cluster of awkwardly dancing drunk girls and make your way to the front door. Except you don’t know where the front door is. Fuck.

Zero isn’t going to let you go easily. The part of you that is missing is wrapped around his finger. You’re both too intertwined, and no matter how much the missing links of time between your wakings feel as if you’ve been incredibly violated, there is no fix. If you make the wrong move, you’ll get hunted down; if you try to escape, the part of you that is asleep will just come crying right back and perhaps get you killed.

There is no winning.

“Knock knock~” sing songs into the air as hands are waving in front of your face. “Wanna go back to the party?” A flurry of smoke escapes Rin’s glittery lips as she takes another puff before she sprays a sweet-smelling spritz of perfume.

“I’m going to take a little bit more time.” You smile, fingers fumbling through your purse again.

“Well, see you?”

You nod as Rin walks out before she turns and adds, not to take too long so that she’s left alone, tortured by the guy talk, before closing the door. As the door closes, it reveals her standing there like an apparition. She is the one who started it all. The one you don’t quite remember seeping into reality underneath your skin and into your life, nor how, but she’s there, and there’s a shit-eating grin on her face.

She is not you, but you both are one.

 _

This was inspired by several different things. One popular (?) 1999 movie I recently watched with my husband, season 2 of a Japanese dating show I recently caught up on, and a predictable 2026 horror film I watched a couple of months ago.

If anyone reads this and guesses them all correctly, I’ll tip you $5 (the first person to).🤷🏽‍♀️