Page 5 of The Oni's Heart

The night swallowed me whole as soon as I crawled into bed, and I didn’t even get a chance to pull the covers up before the dreams hit, the drink I had earlier taking its final effects on my mental state.

The dark pulled me under, the same kind of nightmare I had too often. The ones that felt too real. The ones that tasted like cigarette ash in the back of my throat. It always started the same way—my mother’s motel room, the stench of cheap whiskey and desperation clinging to the air. The muffled voices of men who had no business being there when they didn’t have an appointment… the sound of their laughter bouncing off the walls.

“Well, what do we have here?”

I scooted back in the closet, trying to get as far away as I could, away from the scent of his wretched breath. My gaze flickered to my mother, who was lying lifeless on the bed, still naked. He drugged her, didn’t he? Some of them do when they trick her into becoming a plaything to their group while only paying for a single service.

I could still feel it—the rough hands, the cold breath, the thick, suffocating air. I fought back, every muscle in my body screaming in protest as I slapped and kicked, trying to break free. But their laughter—God, it was the worst part. That mocking, taunting laugh. It echoed in my ears. I was trapped in the same moment over and over again.

In the dream, I was younger—barely more than a child—and I fought like I had no choice. I screamed, I pushed, I bit, and I tore myself away. But no matter how hard I struggled, they always came back, always found me. I could never escape. The fear, the helplessness—it clawed at me, raking deep into my skin, until I thought I might choke on it.

I was there in the moment, yet removed as if watching it all play out from a distance. But why could I still feel them on my skin?

Get them off me! Get away from me!

And then, as always, it shifted. One moment, I was fighting—pushing, kicking, screaming—and the next, the room seemed to melt away. The men were gone, their taunts fading into silence, and I was suddenly wrapped in warmth.

I froze. My muscles, still stiff from the phantom blows, went rigid in disbelief. My breath caught in my throat. This... this was different. The air was thick, but it wasn’t suffocating. It wassafe, warm—a comfort I hadn’t known in years. But my body tensed, every nerve on edge.No. No, this wasn’t right.

There was no such thing as safe. Lies. It was all lies!

I tried to pull away, but something held me there. His arms, strong and steady, tightened around me, as if he was keeping me from falling apart. I fought against it—against him—but the warmth only deepened, wrapping around me like a heavy blanket.

It was wrong.This was wrong.

But the weight of it—this softness, this care—it feltrealin a way I didn’t understand, in a way that terrified me.

The embrace caught me off guard, and by now, nothing should catch me off guard—that was what I was afraid of, an unknown to a girl who lived the life I had. But beyond reason, beyond my comprehension… it felt safe, a shelter, as if someone had finally pulled me out of the storm. For a moment, I wanted to sink into it, let the warmth drown out the nightmares. But then I registered something—his hands, his arms around me. Strong but gentle, as if he knew exactly how much pressure I could handle.

My heart skipped a beat.No.

I jerked in his hold, the sudden realization washing over me like ice water. I twisted, trying to break free, but he held me firmly.

Let me go!It was as if the scream was lodged, my mouth unable to pry open.

I forced myself to look up, to face my perpetrator head-on and possibly gouge his eyes out. But what I saw made my breath catch in my throat—the monk. His eyes were soft, too soft, and they held a kind of care I’d never known. The kind of care I didn’t know how to handle. My body tensed once again, my mind screaming at me to pull away, but my legs wouldn’t move. His face was closer now, his expression filled with something—something too tender for someone like me to even comprehend.

“I’m here,” he murmured, his voice a balm to my raw, battered mind. “You’re safe.”

Safe. What did that even mean?

I recoiled at the word. It didn’t fit. Safe was something I’d never had, something I didn’t know how to want. I didn’t trust this warmth, this soft comfort he was offering me. The only thing I knew was the cold distance I’d kept from everyone and thebitterness that came with it. This kind of care? It made my skin crawl.

But why? Why did it feel... different?What was wrong with me?

I pushed harder, pulling at his arms, feeling the heat of his touch like a branding iron. The monk didn’t budge, didn’t let go, and my heart pounded faster, erratic, until I couldn’t stand it anymore.

I woke up with a start, the sheets tangled around my legs, my skin slick with sweat. My breath was shallow, my chest rising and falling in frantic bursts. The shadows of the nightmare still lingered in the corners of my vision, but they were fading. The warm embrace, the monk’s eyes, thecare—it all lingered too, but now it felt wrong. Too soft. Too much.

I sat up, rubbing my face with both hands, trying to clear the fog from my mind. The room was still dark, the hum of the city outside muffled, as if the world was holding its breath, waiting for me to figure out what the hell was going on. My head throbbed, the remnants of the nightmare crawling under my skin, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something I wasn’t ready for.

What was that?

I could still feel the lingering sensation of his arms around me, the warmth of it, the care that didn’t belong in my world. The monk... why him? He was the epitome ofout-of-bounds. He was a figure of peace, of serenity, something I couldn’t wrap my head around. Something that existed outside the underground universe.

And yet, there it was. That damn softness in his eyes, in the way he’d held me.

I couldn't understand it. I couldn’t even explain why it bothered me so much. I’d spent years fighting back against men who wanted something from me. Men who saw me as nothingmore than an object to claim, to use, to abuse. But he wasn’t them. He was forbidden to be like them because of who he was.

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