A Quiet Kind of Hate

The time off quickly faded away.

Early morning in the makeup room with her staff chirping about how radiant she looked as usual. But of course, she would, for before Akari even came to work, she was already dolled up in her facade to face the day.

-

"Akari, your fans say you're always so positive! What's your secret to such a positive mindset?" The interviewer asked. A line used far too often.

Akari's fingers tightened around the teacup. Lie. Smile.

"Oh, I just love what I do! Every day I get to put my energy into something that fuels me with happiness, so every moment feels like a dream to me!"

The interviewer laughed, charmed by Akari. "And of course, we have to ask as the fans are always dying to know. Is there anyone special in your life currently?"

Typical. Akari drowned out her displeasure from her mind with her sweet voice. "Of course! I have my loving fans who are all very special to me! I can't imagine anything better than the support and love they always give me!"

Akari wondered how many more times she'd have to say those lines before they fossilized in her throat.

-

Flashes of light burst. Blinding.

"Angel!"

"Goddess!"

"Perfect!"

The photographer called out to Akari as she took on the hundreds of poses that seem unnecessary.

Her eyes half-closed, her lips parted ever so slightly, her clothes revealing, her poses alluring - she knew exactly how to work the camera, to give the people what they wanted.

Inside, she was counting the seconds. Every pose, every flash, every click felt like another inch of her skin being sold.

-

Under the artificial rain, she had to act a sappy romance scene that made her insides cringe.

Her co-star leaned in and gazed into her eyes to deliver his lines.

"More longing, Akari!" The director shouted.

Akari gave them more longing - the kind of longing that came from wanting to be anywhere else.

-

The music pounded. Glitter and sweat stuck to her skin. Akari danced like her body wasn't screaming, her smile bright enough to blind.

The backup dancers cheered her on.

The producer nodded in approval.

The staff smiled with pride.

But under the pounding beat of the music, Akari felt the pulse of something darker lingering.

-

After her performance rehearsal and finally the end of another tedious day, Akari sat alone in her tinted window car in the studios parking garage. The noise had faded, but her ears still rang.

A bouquet of white chrysanthemums wrapped in the same black ribbon as always sat staring at her from her car's passenger seat.

There was another envelope.

Akari cautiously opened the envelope.

I'll see you soon.

Akari groaned as her hands shook slightly.

She let the envelope and note fall into the seat beside the flowers. The petals glowed faintly in the dim dashboard light, ghostly white against the black interior. Chrysanthemums - funeral flowers. The first time she'd received them she thought it was a mistake. The second, some sick joke. By the fifth, she'd stopped caring. But now she had let it go too far and for too long. She needed to figure out who was messing with her before it was too late. Too much was at stake, and she foolishly had let her guard down.

Akari stared out the windshield, but the dark glass only showed her reflection - the perfect idol or rather the ghost of a woman pretending to be someone she wasn't. 

For a moment, she thought she saw movement in the reflection - a shadow behind her.

She quickly twisted around; breath caught in her throat.

Nothing.

Her pulse hammered. The silence inside the car pressed against her ears, thick and alive.

She forced herself to breathe. "I don't have time to be letting this get to me..."

She took a deep breath. "Don't panic. You can figure this out."

Akari started the engine to her car. The headlights splashed across the concrete ground, sweeping the empty garage. For an instant, the beams caught glimpse of a pair of footprints, faint, wet, leading away from her car towards the exit ramp.

Her mouth went dry.

She thought about calling security, but what would she even say? That someone left her flowers again? That someone might be following her? That she wasn't the woman everyone thought she was?

No.

She wasn't going to risk it. She wasn't going to let anyone find out. She could do it herself.

Akari put the car in gear, tires whispering against the concrete. As she drove out of the garage and into the night, the flowers slid off the passenger seat and fell onto the floor - white petals scattering like snow.

In the rearview mirror, as the garage lights disappeared behind her, she thought she saw a figure standing at the edge of the shadows. Watching.