Chapter 19

From the moment Dori was born, his mother never liked him. His pale skin, white hair, and red eyes―signs of albinism―made her see him as an embarrassment, a mistake she never wanted.

But it wasn’t just that.

She was overwhelmed, and drowning in her own problems―depression, addiction to alcohol, and a violent temper that turned on him more and more as the years passed.

The only reason she kept him was money. The government assistance she got for being a single, struggling mother kept her fed―and kept the alcohol flowing.

She didn’t beat him at first, not while he was still tiny.

But love? Affection?

He got none of it.

She was cold.

Distant.

But by the time he was six, her patience had long run out. The hitting started.

At first, it was light slaps, thrown objects, screaming. But soon, she began using him to vent all her rage―her fists, belts, anything she could find.

He became her punching bag. Her therapist. Her emotional trash can.

She never walked him to school, even though he was terrified of going alone. And there, things weren’t better.

His white hair and pale skin made him a walking target. Kids whispered. Laughed. Pointed. Called him a ghost, a freak, a monster. Some ran away from him, acting as if his albinism was a sickness they could catch.

During school events, he watched the other kids run into the arms of smiling parents. Their moms clapped and cheered, waving phones to record their children’s moments.

He always watched. Always hoped. The night before, he would beg her to come.

“Please, mommy. Come watch me tomorrow,” he’d whisper.

She never said yes. She never even looked up from her cigarette.

Still, he had hope.

And every time, he scanned the audience. Searching for her face. Hoping to see her waving, clapping, smiling.

But she never came.

At the end of one school play, he stood in the rain, watching all the kids leave with their parents. He stood there, soaked, until the crowd was gone.

When he got home, she was passed out on the couch, snoring. Her arms were wrapped around someone.. but not him.

It was her cat. Rachel. A massive serval cat, her favorite. She had several cats, actually. Loved them like they were her children. Fed them well, brushed them, spoke to them sweetly.

Dori stood there, dripping wet, clutching a drawing he had made for her and.. something inside him ached.

He had tried so hard. He stole cigarettes for her when she asked. Cleaned the house without being told. Cooked. Got good grades. Stayed quiet when she was in a mood. Smiled at her. Tried every day to make her happy.

But she never gave him even a single smile.

He looked at Rachel and the others. They didn’t do anything. They just lay around, broke things, meowed.

And yet, they got her love.

He looked longingly at Rachel, wishing it was him she hugged so tightly.

Then he stepped forward, still holding his drawing.

“..Mommy,” he whispered. “Mommy, I made something for you.”

Rachel’s ears perked up, then she hissed loudly and leapt off the couch. His mom woke with a jolt.

“What the hell did you do now!?” she shrieked.

“I-I just wanted.. I made something―” he stammered.

She snatched the paper, glanced at it once, then crumpled it. “Get this crap outta my face! You’re so annoying. Just f*ck off!”

She kicked him in the ribs with her foot as he backed away. He stumbled and ran to his room, hiding under the covers.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered as tears starting rolling down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, mommy.. I’m sorry.. I’m sorry..”

But as the memories of the cats flooded his mind―their soft purrs, the way they were hugged and loved―his voice cracked, shifting from sorrow to bitter anger.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Mommy! Please, don’t hate me! I’m sorry, mommy!”

He slammed his fists against the mattress, letting out a low, guttural snarl with each hit, the sound raw and full of pain, anger, and desperation.

But just when he thought his hatred for the cats couldn’t grow any deeper, something happened the day after that twisted it even further..

After a brutal day at school where a new kid had beaten him badly, Dori returned home exhausted. As he tried to enter the kitchen to get some food, Rachel was blocking his way, hissing aggressively.

The cat scared him enough that he called out to his mother.

“Mom, can you please take Rachel? She’s scaring me.”

From the living room, his mom shouted back, drunk and annoyed, “Just go! She won’t do anything! Stop being a baby for f*ck’s sake!”

But the boy was too scared and kept calling for her, until the woman finally snapped, “JUST F*CKIN’ GO!”

He ran toward the kitchen, ignoring Rachel, but the cat leapt and scratched his left eye with a sharp claw. He screamed as blood began to run down his face.

His mother stumbled in, but instead of helping him, she picked up Rachel and cradled her like a baby.

“It’s your fault, you provoked her,” she mumbled coldly, glancing at his bleeding eye. She walked towards him and grabbed his face roughly taking a closer look.

“Tsk, great.. You’re even uglier now..” she scoffed.

Years passed like this.

Dori kept hoping, kept trying to earn a shred of love. He obeyed her demands, cleaned, did well at school. But his hatred for the cats―and animals in general―kept growing.

Why did they get unconditional love, while he never did?

Then came high school.

The bullying didn’t stop, but some of the bullies fooled him. They acted like friends―treating him better when he did what they asked. They made him steal and do their dirty work, but Dori liked the way they accepted him.

For the first time, he felt like he had friends, even if it meant doing things he didn’t want to. That small taste of belonging was worth it.

Then one day, Shiori―the prettiest girl in school―started approaching him. She struggled with some subjects, and since Dori always had good grades, especially in math, she asked him for help.

Over time, their talks grew more frequent, and Dori began to hope she actually liked him.

But the bullies didn’t like that. They all had a crush on Shiori. Every one of them. And they couldn’t stand the idea of someone like Dori, the weird kid with white hair, being the one she gave attention to.

So they came up with a plan.

They told him Shiori had a thing for bold guys, and that if he really wanted to impress her―really wanted her to fall in love―he had to show her ‘his package’.

“Trust me,” one of the bullies said. “She’ll be all over you if you do.”

Dori’s heart raced as he listened to them. Part of him felt nervous―this was way outside his comfort zone―but the other part, the part desperate to belong and to be seen, clung tightly to their words.

The bullies sensed his hesitation and pushed harder, their voices low but mocking.

“Come on, Dori,” one said. “We all saw it already when you were peeing after gym class. Not bad at all, man.”

He nudged him, grinning. “Way better than we expected. Shiori’s gonna love that.”

Another added. “Yeah, she won’t be able to resist. You just gotta show her what you’ve got, and she’s all yours. Trust me.”

Dori’s cheeks flushed hot as their words sank in. He felt a mix of embarrassment and confusion swirling inside him―but beneath it all was a fragile hope, a desperate wish to finally be accepted and liked. The teasing voices sounded more like encouragement in his mind, and for once, he wanted to believe them.

So, after school, Dori met Shiori in a quiet alley after school, his heart pounding with nervous anticipation. Following the bullies’ cruel instructions, he tried to prove himself.

But instead of the praise they promised, Shiori screamed, slapped him across the face, and ran away in shock and disgust.

Dori stood frozen, stunned by her reaction.

Then he heard it―the cruel laughter of the boys who had set him up. Their jeers cut through him like a knife. That was the moment something inside him snapped.

Fueled by rage and betrayal, Dori lunged at them. He wasn’t strong, but years of abuse had made him tough to take down.

His anger spiraled out of control as he grabbed a nearby brick and swung wildly, injuring some of them badly while the rest fled, terrified.

Later, on his way home, exhausted and limping from the fight, he was suddenly confronted by a tall, older student. His eyes caught the name tag―Shiori’s brother.

And Dori knew instantly why he was there. The look in the guy’s eyes was fury. Word had already spread. He’d heard what happened.

Before Dori could even open his mouth, the older guy grabbed him by the collar and slammed him against the wall.

Fists flew.

Punch after punch landed hard, knocking the air from Dori’s lungs, leaving his vision spinning. He didn’t fight back though.

Maybe part of him thought he deserved it.. Maybe part of him wanted it.. The pain didn’t compare to the shame and sadness burning inside.

It only stopped when Shiori herself appeared, shouting her brother’s name and pulling him off.

They walked away together, leaving Dori crumpled on the sidewalk, staring up at the darkening sky as the rain began to fall.

Cold drops blurred his vision, mixing with the blood and tears on his face.

Something cracked in him that day―something deep. Something permanent.

Eventually, he forced himself up, every step heavy and painful as he limped home.

When he opened the door, Rachel was there again, hissing fiercely. Dori stood frozen for a moment, staring at the cat―not a trace of fear in his eyes.

A flood of memories surged through him―years of being screamed at, slapped, ignored. The countless times he begged his mom to love him, to see him. The drawings he made. The chores he did. The cigarettes he stole just to earn a shred of affection.

He had done everything for her. And it had never been enough.

Meanwhile, the damn cat just existed―ate, slept, scratched the furniture―and was loved unconditionally.

It didn’t make sense. It never made sense.

Why did something so small, so meaningless, receive all the love he craved? Why did he get the scraps, the bruises, the broken pieces?

Rachel hissed louder, baring her teeth.

But Dori’s eyes darkened with something colder.

In a sudden, violent motion, he lunged forward. He grabbed the cat roughly, slammed her down onto the cold floor, and began stomping on her head.

Blood splattered everywhere as he crushed the life out of the animal in a violent, uncontrolled rage.

His mother came running in, eyes wide with shock and horror.

“What the f*ck is wrong with you?! Oh, Rachel! My baby!” she screamed through tears, then slapped him hard across the face. “You sick monster!”

Dori closed his eyes for a moment, gritting his teeth so hard it felt like his jaw might crack. His fists trembled at his sides as the last thread of patience frayed into nothing.

With sudden strength, he shoved his mother back, sending her stumbling to the floor.

His voice was low and deadly as he warned, “Touch me again, and I’m doing the same to you, b*tch.”

His mother froze, eyes wide with shock and disbelief.

For a long, heavy moment, the room hung still―her expression a mix of fear, anger, and something like a dawning realization that the balance of power between them had shifted.

Without another word, Dori turned and went to his room.

That night, he packed his few belongings quietly and slipped out of the house for good.

He wandered through unfamiliar streets, unsure of where to go, until he crossed paths with a group of runaways who ran a small but tight-knit gang.

At first, they were wary of him―just another lost kid trying to survive. But Dori had something they didn’t expect: a sharp mind and skills that quickly set him apart.

He started tinkering with old gadgets and teaching himself coding on a battered secondhand laptop he managed to find. His talent grew fast―he hacked into local networks, cracked security codes, and helped the gang with digital tasks that kept them one step ahead of trouble.

Word spread quickly.

His skills weren’t just good; they were on another level.

Soon, he wasn’t just a member―he became essential. The gang relied on him for planning, communication, and strategy.

But he didn’t just support them behind a screen―he was in the thick of the action, defending the gang and taking down threats when needed. There were times when things got brutal, and he showed barely any mercy, often going far beyond what was necessary, which made him feared and respected―even among the toughest of the gang’s rivals.

Yet despite all the power and control he gained, something inside him remained empty.

No matter how many fights he won or how valuable his skills were, he still craved something more―someone who would care about him for who he was, not just for what he could do.

Deep down, he longed for real love, acceptance, and a place where he could finally be seen and valued as a person, not just a tool.

And if he had found that once.. he’d never have ended up where he was now.

○○○

Yuki stared at the screen for a moment, before replying.

“I’m really sorry you had to go through all that,” she finally typed. “You didn’t deserve any of it. But.. I want you to know this―you’re not alone anymore. I’m here, and I care about you. For who you are, not just what you can do.”

She paused, then added, “I.. I want to be someone you can trust. Someone who loves you, Kuro.”

○○○

Yuki stares at the ceiling, her expression tight and unreadable.

She hates him―she’s terrified of him―for everything he’s done: pretending to be a bot, stalking her, invading her privacy, threatening her, blackmailing her, hurting her.

And yet.. there’s something else too. A quiet, reluctant part of her feels sorry. Maybe even a flicker of understanding.

She exhales sharply, almost frustrated with herself, and turns onto her side, yanking the blanket up.

○○○

Just a few blocks away, in a dimly lit hotel room, Dori sits hunched on the edge of the bed, a cigarette dangling between his lips as smoke curls lazily around him.

He stares ahead blankly, lost in thought, his mind drifting back to Yuki, and what happened in the alley―the softness of her body pressed tightly against his, her chest rising and falling with quick, uneven breaths, the thump of her heartbeat right against his own.

He remembers the taste of her lips as he kissed her, the warmth of her skin beneath his hands as he grasped her, every touch seared into his mind.

A low groan escapes him as a sudden heat rises inside. A flush creeps up his neck, and he tightens his jaw, trying to shake off the growing restlessness, but the memory lingers, refusing to fade.

His fingers twitch, craving the warmth of her skin, the sound of her breath mingling with his own. He curses under his breath, flicking the ash off the cigarette with a sharp snap.

Then he reaches over and switches off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. Taking a deep breath, he stubs out the cigarette in the ashtray with a frustrated grunt.

He lays down on the bed, and forces himself to relax, pressing his palms flat against the sheets. He fights the rising tension, willing his body to calm before it goes too far.

Slowly, his breathing evens out, and after what feels like an eternity, exhaustion finally drags him under, and he drifts into a restless, uneasy sleep.
 
 
TO BE CONTINUED…