I Fell In Love With A Girl Who Died Before I Was Even Born

I knocked on the door, once. It swung open, Rinko leaned out, grinned, and then laughed.

The way she leaned forward, one hand gripping the doorknob, the other on the frame, and her V-neck straining to hold the contents of her breasts even as they were spilling out the front and sides.

I knew, without her having to say a single thing, that she was already at least three glasses in.

Easily.

"Ryu-kun!" she giggled. "Finally. It's like waiting for my records from Columbia Music. Get in here, you rascal."

I half-expected her to grab my shirt and yank me in, but she stood up and moved out of the way.

Andy would've strolled straight in and thanked his lucky stars that a golden-blonde, buxom chaos engine like Rinko not only invited him over but was already drunk on sake. I wasn't that guy anymore, and I wasn't about to pretend otherwise.

The thing is, I wasn't sure what Ryu would do. I wasn't looking forward to finding out either.

I walked into her room though.

Rent was due and I needed the money. Hibana had been asking, and I couldn't keep ducking her. Plus, Rinko was the manager. Someone trusted her enough to give her authority.

What was the worst thing that could happen?

She shut the door behind me and told me to have a seat.

Then I looked round her room and understood what happened when equal parts horrifying met mystifying somewhere in a rave.

Rinko's room felt alive. One wall had at least half a dozen different colored lava lamps, and all of them were on. I could feel the heat radiating from the shelves where she had them, and I hoped that the fire marshal was laid back.

Hell, who was I kidding?

The last time a fire marshal had stepped through Shin'yume was when the original Ghostbusters was still in theaters.

One disco ball hung from her ceiling next to a strobe light (which was off, thankfully) and near a black light (which was on). Her walls had been painted with black light responsive paint, making them glow like I was inside a neon-pastel nightmare-daydream cave, and Rinko was the manic princess fairy.

"Make yourself at home," she said.

She made her way over to the kitchen. At least, I think it was a kitchen. Anyway, she was using the space as one, and there was a fridge in the corner, so close enough.

"You want something to drink?" she asked.

She couldn't mean…

Rinko held up a bottle of sake, two glasses, and a grin sharp enough to cut glass.

"But I'm fifteen," I said.

She shrugged.

"So? I don't work for Johnny Law, and it's not like I'm going to tell anyone."

She poured two glasses of sake and set them down on a small table in front of her bed.

I glanced at the little table, wondering what color it was originally because it was impossible to tell. Such a swirl of melted wax and paint splotches covered the top that they cast small shadows.

Then she took a small stool and sat it at one end of the table and a footstool and put it on the other end.

"Look, kid," she said to me. "I get it if you're nervous about drinking with the big-bad manager of Shin'yume. So let me put it this way. If you don't want to drink that sake, then I'll be more than happy to."

Then she threw herself down on the ottoman with a half-assed twirl and picked up her glass.

She picked up her glass, plastic, not glass, because of course, and swirled the sake in it like it was high-class wine instead of cheap rice liquor.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

"Cheers," she said. Then she drank hers in one gulp.

I watched her throat move as she swallowed, like it was nothing. Like drinking underage in a dorm room that looked like a rave cave was the most natural thing in the world.

I lifted mine. It smelled like bad decisions. But I needed the money. And maybe I needed something else, too.

"Cheers," I said back. Our cups clinked with a sad little plastic click.

What a woman.

She slammed her plastic cup down on the tabletop so hard that it shook a little.

I could feel the vibrations through the stool's wobbly legs.

"So," she said, leaning over the table and letting her enormous rack rest on it just enough to call attention to it without having to point directly at her cleavage.

"You wanna take my picture or what?" she asked.

I almost sprayed my sake all over the room.

"I… wha—?"

I was sure some kind of noise came out of my mouth. Maybe a dying bird call. Maybe a confession of sin. Maybe just my last functional brain cell giving up and logging out.

Rinko grinned wider, teeth flashing like a fox in a karaoke bar.

I watched with growing tension as she took her left hand and placed it right above her voluptuous chest.

"I'm serious," she said, drawing the word out an extra three syllables to show, indeed, how serious she was. "I need a photographer, Ryu-kun! Get this…"

This time she leaned back. She took her long legs, crossed them deliberately, and carefully placed them on the table.

Then she playfully wiggled her toes at me.

"The old photographer I had said he turned professional or something."

She rolled her eyes.

"He said he needed more money. Apparently he wasn't very appreciative of me."

She crossed her arms and snorted, obviously fishing for a sympathetic reaction.

"How could he?" I offered.

She slammed the table with her fist, making her empty plastic cup jump about two inches.

I probably did too.

"Right?" she asked, a little too loudly.

She stretched her legs and tucked her feet on either side of the ottoman.

Okay… I tried to unpack everything that she'd just laid out.

"You want me to be your photographer? You'll pay me, right?"

I hated to ask so bluntly, but I had to make sure.

Her eyes lit up like someone had just switched on a Christmas tree.

"Oh, yes!" she said.

Then she reached between her legs, found the sake bottle, and poured us another drink.

"Ryu-kun, of course, you'll get paid."

She sat the plastic cup of sake in front of me like a sacrament.

Then she grinned, like a cat, and raised one of her eyebrows.

"I think you'll find that, when the moment takes me, I can be very generous."

I reached out to take the glass.

Then, she put her hand over mine.

She raised her own cup and took a slow sip this time, eyes never leaving mine.

"You know," she said, "the old photographer never stayed for a drink."

She tilted her head, just slightly.

"He was always in such a rush. Always so professional."

She said the last word like it was a disease.

I felt a knife blade twist in the recess of my very soul.

Damn it, Rinko, you buxom wanton babe.

"And you're not like that," she said. "Are you, Ryu-kun?"

Her voice was syrup-sweet and slow, like a trapdoor creaking open, and she gave my hand a small squeeze before letting go.

I opened my mouth to respond—and froze.

Because Murasaki's presence tightened around me like a noose.

She knew.

I could feel the succubus impatiently waiting for me to return.

And Rinko?

She leaned forward.

Waiting for something entirely different—but just as dangerous.

"You don't have to be so nervous you know," she giggled.

I looked up, my fifteen-year-old body feeling every bit of the cheap sake and bubblegum chaos princess in front of me.

The she looked over her pink plastic glasses.

"I'm not going to bite, Ryu-kun. I want you to feel comfortable around me, especially if you're going to be taking pictures."

She poured another glass.

"Last one," she said with a wink.

I picked up the glass, concentrating on not making my hand tremble.

"I'm in," I heard myself say.

A smile parted her lips. I saw her run her tongue across them before she spoke.

"Good."

She raised her glass to mine.

"To us. Rinko and Ryu, Shin'yume-sou business partners."

We both drank the sake in a single gulp.

She slammed her plastic cup on the table, and I watched as a large crack split the plastic straight down the middle. She didn't seem to notice.

I scratched the back of my neck, still concerned about the rent money.

"So, about how much are we talking?" I asked.

She bit her lower lip for a second.

"Let me show you. Let's call it a practice run, okay?"

I blinked. Maybe it was the sake, or Rinko just being weird anyway, but I had no idea what she meant.

"Um, okay? Sure."

She did a little shimmy in her seat.

"Lucky you, kid. Get your phone out," she said.

I drunkenly fumbled with my cheap burner phone, but eventually I fished it from my pocket.

"Okay, what am—"

When I looked back up at Rinko, my brain melted, because she was sitting across from me with her breasts on full display.

Lah Lah activated straight away.

Ryu… Damn… You're going to have to back up to get both of those in frame. They're HUUUUUUUGE.

My mouth opened, but no words came out. My brain had exited stage left. I was a guest in my own body, watching this happen.

She gave me a look that told me she knew exactly what she was doing.

"Well?" she asked. "You're the photographer… so… photographer or whatever."

Click. There you go, Ryu. I guarantee she has to order ger clothes special-made. Those things have their own center of gravity.

Lah Lah snapped a picture, and Rinko put the twins away so I could think again.

Only I didn't have much time because I knew. I could feel the wind of demonic wrath storming down the hall as soon as I saw the puppies with their little pink noses.

Murasaki was on her way, and she was through waiting.