AN: Wow…this is graphic, but not as graphic as others. As for updates…who knows? Thanks for the reviews. I'll try to actually spell check my work and make it longer next time.

Chapter 3

Mitsune Konno, Kitsune to her friends, lived an unfortunate life, though you would not know it from her carefree, almost lackadaisical attitude towards – well – everything. It was only Keitaro and Naru who noticed those rare moments when the glint in the fox lady's eyes would dim – ever so slightly – revealing a pain that few could understand.

Neither ever spoke of it or approached Kitsune, which is how she preferred things. The past is immutable after all; thinking of it just brought back painful memories

At the age of 5, she watched helplessly as her father, a drunken and broken down man, walked out the door to their shabby apartment for the last time.

"Where is daddy going?" she asked her mother, a tall lanky woman with silver white hair. Trying to stifle her tears, the older Konno knelt down beside her daughter and smiled. "He's going on a long trip," she replied, her voice quivering.

Life was harder after that. Unable to bear with the loneliness, her mother sought comfort in the company of men and hard drinks. There were an endless parade of men entering their home, each more lecherous and unbecoming than the next. Each morning, Mitsune's routine was to clean up the bottles and cans that were strewn across the floor, shew away the lascivious drunks and to prod her often slumbering mother to go to work. It was a hell that stunk of stale cigarette smoke, liquor, and sex.

"You can't take much more of this," Mitsune sighed as she examined her mother's near naked form, her suitor long gone. "You have to take better care of yourself. I won't be around forever you know," she chided the silent woman. As Mitsune walked over to her mother's night stand, she noticed something. A chill ran down her spine.

Next to her mother's alarm clock was a picture that Mitsune thought had long been destroyed. It was a picture of her father, holding her when she was a baby: Father and daughter smiling, waving to the person holding the camera. It was then she noticed the opened bottle of pills and a note, neatly folded with the words: "To my daughter."

Mitsune was frozen in fear, her mind trying to push out the conclusion that had formed in her thoughts. She looked over to her mother and for the first time, began to see her. She was still, unnaturally still. Mitsune's pupils began to constrict, focusing her vision. Her mother had always been pale, but her complexion was now a sickly pallor. With a trembling hand, Mitsune reached out to touch her mother's cheek.

On contact, she pulled her hand away as if burnt by a flame. "So cold," she stuttered, holding her hand as if it had been infected with leprosy. She knew that her mother was dead. Crumbling to the floor, she began to weep. "You selfish bitch," she sobbed. Mitsune Konno was now truly alone.

The funeral had been short. Few attended the memorial. There was her uncle, an old man more interested in Mitsune's developing body than the deceased woman in the casket. There was also Granny Hina, a friend of the family. At the end of the service, the old lady approached her.

"My dear child, I'm sorry for your loss," she began to say, but Mitsune cut her off with a curt, "thank you." Undaunted, Granny Hina pushed on, trying to reach the young girl. "I was a friend of your mother. I use to be her nanny many years ago. I knew that she had fallen on hard times, and I am sorry that I could not help her more. But I know that I can help you, if you'll let me."

Mitsune didn't hear a word of it. She was too far gone. The authorities had remanded her to the custody of her uncle and though she knew him to be lecherous, Mitsune didn't care.

She had become numb to the world. "Let him do whatever to me, it's not like it matters."

Seemingly reading her thoughts, Granny Hina responded, "It matters to me." Mitsune eyes widened, her fugue state broken by the old woman's words. "What?" she responded. Taking her hand, Granny Hina replied, "It matters to me what happens to you. That's why I don't want you to live with that terrible man over there. If you wish it, you can come and stay with me."

It had been so long since she heard anyone speak to her with such affection, as if she was actually a person – a living breathing person who mattered. Mitsune broke down, weeping into the arms of the elder. "There, there, girl. It's okay. You're with family now."

Seeing that the old crone was about to take away his new sex toy, Kochiro was about to grab Mitsune when he felt an incredible crushing pressure on his right shoulder. Turning his head, he saw a young woman standing behind him, her hand gripping his clavicle.

She was tall, beautiful, and dangerous. Trapped between her two luscious lips was a lit cigarette, its burning embers highlighting the fire burning in her eyes. "I know what you're thinking," the woman purred, "but it's not going to end like you think it is."

Kochiro was never heard from again.

A year later, Mitsune found herself standing in front of her mother's grave. Granny Hina had given her a good home; a place where she felt safe and was able to find a friend – perhaps a sister one day. But the wounds she carried in her heart still ran deep and no amount of love or friendship – so she thought – could ever heal them.

"Mitsune," a voice called out to her.

Her eyes widened as she recognized the voice. She was only a child the last they talked, but a daughter could never forget the sound of her father – even if he was the man who betrayed her and her mother.

Turning around, she saw a man, withered and frail. She could see the tears streaming down his eyes, his hand trembling. "I'm so sorry Mitsune, I never meant for any of this to happen," he stuttered, trying to keep his composure. But before he could say anything else, Mitsune raised her arm, her hand signaling him to stop.

He could not see her expression as her long silver bangs covered her face. He could tell she was crying, the tears glistening from the noonday sun. Suddenly, the young girl before him had changed. She was no longer shaking. She raised her head and revealed to him a face devoid of any emotions – her eyes seemed vacant, soulless. As her arm lowered, Mitsune spoke, "The day my mother died, so did my father."

And with that, she walked away, leaving behind a broken man, brought to his knees by grief and guilt. As she neared the cemetery gate, Mitsune heard a gun shot in the direction of her mother's grave. She paused, her expression revealing no emotion. After a moment, she walked forward, not looking back.

A few minutes later, she found a bar and let herself in. Plopping down on the bar stool, she slammed her fist on the table and yelled out, "whiskey." The bartender was amused by the actions of the minor who deemed herself worthy of one of his drinks. As he approached, he noticed the girl undoing the top button of her blouse, revealing two large mounds of flesh, pressed together by a black lace bra.

"No service to minors," he chirped, trying to tear his eyes from the girl's endowments. With a seductive purr, she lower her body, allowing the man to see further down her blouse. Drawn in by her allure, the bartender inched closer, knowing that he was in the wrong. When he was within in range, Mitsune slowly extended her hand, clutched a piece of his shirt, and slowly drew him in, like a fisherman wheeling in his catch.

He was so close to the young bombshell that he could smell her shampoo – it was the scent of lavender – and the feel of hot wet breath against his ear. She whispered hungrily, "Now, do I look like a minor?" Trying to stave off the lust rumbling in his loins, the bartender tried to step back, but Mitsune would have none of that.

She brought him in closer, and forcefully applied her lips to his. The bartender felt lightheaded, hot, and ready to explode. Feeling her prey melt in her hands, she broke from the kiss and with a wink purred, "now how about that drink?" The bartender, still fazed by the kiss, could only nod dumbly to the request. Bringing out a bottle of whiskey, he poured her a shot of the amber liquid.

He watched in amazement as she shot the hard liquor down without even a flinch. Slamming the shot glass down, she looked into his eyes and demanded another…and another…and another. After the third shot of whiskey, the bartender regained some of his stoic composure and said, "Haven't you had enough?"

Mitsune wanted to chop off his head for stopping the flow of liquor, but her brain had not been completely subdued by the alcohol. There was one more thing she needed from him – the man who resembled all the other men that her mother would bring home. She reached over to him and grabbed his shirt by the collar.

The man was surprised by her sudden action, but followed along, not knowing what else to do. Mitsune then got up from her stool and walked slowly towards the end of the bar, the bartender in tow. "Leave the bottle," she said, which he complied.

She led him to the backroom. She threw him to the ground, his head hitting the back wall. Before he knew what was happening, the bartender felt an oppressive weight fall on top of him. He felt his hand being maneuvered onto soft mounds of flesh. He squeezed instinctively, eliciting a soft moan from the tigress straddling him.

It was every bartender's fantasy, being manhandled by a young – albeit under aged – attractive girl and forced to copulate in the back room of their establishment. However, the fantasy came to crashing halt when, in the middle of the throes of passion, the young girl broke down into angry tears.

She pounded his chest with her fists, leaving behind bruises that he would have to explain to his wife later that night. The tears came streaming down, soaking his faded t-shirt. It wasn't love. It wasn't even sex. The bartender was just an object to her and he knew it, something to numb the pain that she was obviously experiencing.

If it wasn't for the sensations erupting from his groin, he would have felt pity for the girl.

When it was over, Mitsune stood up and adjusted her clothes. After taking a rag that she found on a nearby table, she cleaned herself up the best she could, while the man continue to lie on the floor, not believing what had just happened to him.

As she was walking out the door, the bartended called out, "I don't even know your name?" Mitsune stopped, but did not look back. "It's Kitsune," she said, before walking out of the bar, but not before she took the bottle of whiskey that sill lay on the counter.

"Fox," the bartender muttered, still wheeling from the experience, "take care of yourself."

Standing outside, the bottle in hand, Kitsune wanted to lash out and push down the incredible emptiness that seemed to pervade every inch of her body. She felt dirty, angry, and worst yet, alone.

With a roar, she threw the bottle down and watched as the glass splintered against the unforgiving concrete. "No!" she sobbed through gritted teeth, trying to choke back the tears. "I won't be like you mother!"

It had been years since that day, the day she swore she would never become like her mother. Kitsune Konno was a new woman. She was going to enjoy life, live for the now, forget the past. She was going to have fun – the fun her mother never had. She would never give into the loneliness and despair like her mother. She was never going to love like her.

She was just going to live and be free.

But hearing them make love had undone all the years of repression and avoidance. At first, she thought that it was Naru, giggling like some silly school girl in the manager's bedroom.

Naru had loved him since the beginning, Kitsune had surmised. So it was no strange leap to imagine her friend going to him, perhaps even making love to him, while the others were away.

"Good for you," Kitsune sighed, not knowing why her heart felt heavy. Curiosity, however, got the best of her and she wanted to see them – together. Feeling mischievous, Kitsune brought out her camera and was about to open the small peek hole that she had drilled in the wall the day that Keitaro had moved in when a thought struck her.

Naru is in Kyoto.

Then who could that be in Keitaro's room?

Why is Keitaro with someone other than Naru?

What's going on?

Kitsune's mind was in a flurry of thoughts and conjectures, trying to grapple with the evidence before her.

She could hear them, the paper thin walls offering little barrier to the sounds emanating from their actions. She could hear her, whoever she was.

The rage began to bubble in the pit of her belly, the furrow of her brow expressing the depth of her displeasure. She crawled to the peek hole and lifted the latch. Once she had identified the tramp, there would be no end to the evils that Kitsune would unleash on her. Already, her mind was working on a plan to hurt, humiliate, and eventually destroy Keitaro, the treacherous man who was betraying her best friend and the bitch in heat who had stolen him from them.

From her vantage point, she could see him on top of someone, his thrusting motions stirring her own repressed sexual desires. "No!" she screamed mentally, "he's going down for betraying us!"

She watched him, not knowing how much time had passed, making love to someone other than Naru – or herself. But his movements, his demeanor were unlike all the other men she saw plow into her mother, or the man that she had encountered in that bar all those years ago.

He was making love to her. He was caring and gentle. He was there for her, and she was obviously there for him.

"Am I jealous?" Kitsune asked, trying to stop from crying. But the tears came down in torrents when she finally saw the face of the one Keitaro had been making love with.

"Oh God!," Kitsune breathed, her stomach threatening to revolt, "not you." But her eyes could not be denied. She saw her, Motoko's face, bright red; her eyes clenched shut, her mouth moving, saying something. "I love you."

Kitsune crumbled to the floor, her resolve all but shattered. She wept. She was a child again.