""Silent Night, Shattered Girl: Rina Nakamura’s Christmas Gift"" part 2

The hotel elevator hummed softly as it ascended, its mirrored walls reflecting Rina Nakamura’s hollow stare. She clutched the straps of her overnight bag—packed not for a holiday getaway, but for them. The basketball team’s "annual Christmas retreat" was a sick joke she’d long stopped laughing at. The sequins on her too-short Santa dress itched against her thighs, a costume chosen for her, not by her.Floor 12. The doors slid open to muffled laughter and the tinny bass of hip-hop bleeding through a suite door left ajar. Inside, the air was thick with sweat, cheap cologne, and the acrid bite of spilled whiskey. Takashi lounged on the king bed, rolling a red-and-green pill between his fingers. "Late," he tutted, nodding to the empty space between his spread knees.Rina’s stomach knotted as hands guided—no, pushed—her forward. Fingers hooked the hem of her dress, peeling it up before she could kneel. Someone pressed a spiked eggnog to her lips; the burn of liquor made her cough, droplets clinging to her chin. Takashi caught one with his thumb, smearing it down her neck. "Should we unwrap you first," he mused, "or the other presents?"A chorus of whoops erupted as the team’s "gift exchange" began—her body the only currency. The bed creaked under shifting weight. Someone’s phone flashed, capturing her flushed face, the way her back arched when cold fingers slipped beneath the dress’s lace trim.Across the room, the balcony doors stood slightly open, snowflakes spiraling onto the carpet. Rina fixated on them, counting each melting star until the world blurred—not from tears, but from the powder dusted over her tongue, sharpening every touch to a razor’s edge.By midnight, the suite reeked of sex and peppermint body spray. Rina lay curled on the balcony’s icy tiles, her Santa dress rucked around her waist, watching her breath fog in the air. Inside, someone slurred, "Merry fucking Christmas."And the snow kept falling.