Yuki -

“So, Yuki. How are you enjoying dinner?” My mother asks from the head of the table, and I restrain myself from glaring at her. Instead I smile and take another bite of the curry, trying to resist the disgust I felt from being there. She smiles back at me, but with a cold smile that doesn’t seem to reach her neatly done up opalescent eyes. I wasn’t sure why my mother wore make up considering how beautiful she looked naturally. Soft full lips always drawn in a thin smile, bright hair matching her eyes, and a naturally thin physique like mine. And somehow she got settled down with this creep.

My eyes shift over to Jin-Hyuk, my mother’s husband. She calls him Jinny. He was a well off businessman, and a racist one at that. Never anything short of my unclean halfsies Japanese blood with him. He was ‘pure’ korean, my mother was, and I wasn’t.

Naturally, that makes me the bad guy, as if I was the one who had the affair. Jin may have had affairs, but at least he didn’t make efforts to conceive a child- unlike my mother.

“I don’t know why you bother making conversation with the girl,” Jin-Hyuk mumbles through a mouth full of food. Did the man even know what table manners were when he was drunk? I sigh and shrug it off as I notice my mother get up to pour him another glass of wine. He better get a hangover tomorrow.

“I’m gonna go to my room. Thank you for the meal.” I murmur, before placing my plate in the sink. They don’t even look at me.

My mother likes to tell me about how they used to be, through photos and memoirs. Before he became successful and well known, before he started screwing his secretaries. Yes, plural. To spite him, my mother went with him on a business trip to Japan, and ‘wandered’. She found Akio, my dad. If she didn’t go on that business trip to spite her husband, she never would have met her marked.

She tells me she had no choice but to return with Jin, so she decided to bring back a piece of Akio. Through me. Kind of gross if you think about it for too long.

When I came out and opened my little infant eyes, Jin grew enraged. Bright green and catlike, a japanese trait. He bribed the hospital staff, in case word got out. To everyone on the outside, I was adopted.

I groan into my pillow and collapse on my bed, pondering who I should text. I hear a knock at my window, and I roll my eyes.

“It’s open.” I call out, and the glass slides up, a lopsided grin meeting my gaze.

I close the door quietly, hoping they wouldn’t hear of my guest.

I used to do that with him too-

“So, what is up Yukes?” Will asks, and I shrug, sitting on the bed with a soft plop. He joins me.

“What can I do to cheer you up?”

~

The wind rushes past me in an increasing speed as we zoom down the old dirt road. No cops ever went back here, too many potholes.

The comm system of my helmet blinks as Will begs for his life, and I can’t help but chuckle to myself.

I loved this bike, it was my father and I’s making. A black sleek solar bike decorated in cherry blossoms and blue jays, something that took him and I quite a few weeks to paint. It sucked I had to wait until summers to visit him.

Why did I choose to stay home last summer? Maybe if I hadn’t I wouldn’t have let that happen to me-

“Yuki, look out!” Will yelps, and I swerve to avoid a large gator in the middle of the pothole covered dirt road.

“Fucking Florida, man.” I grumble, trying to get back on the barely visible road. I never asked to live here.

My thoughts drain away as we near a small beach by the lake, no one there. It was private property, after all. Who’s? Couldn’t tell you for my life.

I pull quickly to stop, leaving small imprints in the dirt path. WIll happily hops off before tumbling to the sandy area and lying face down, the helmet flung to his side. I roll my eyes and set the bike up, careful to prevent Festus from getting any dents, and making sure it was charging.

I grin to myself as the cold air from the ride mixes with the hot air around us, making me shiver in excitement as I sat down next to Will.

“Draw me like one of your french girls.” Will jests, and I pull my sketchbook from my messenger bag, pencil in hand.