Chapter 9 Lipstick Evidence
Oom Eisaya woke up late.
This was not unusual.
What was unusual was the reason.
“…why does my neck feel weird?”
She blinked at the ceiling, still half-asleep, her brain slowly booting up like an outdated system trying its best.
Her room was bright.
Too bright.
Morning had arrived without her consent.
Oom groaned, dragging a hand over her face before lazily sitting up.
“Okay,” she muttered. “New day. Fresh start. Emotional stability.”
A pause.
Her brain replayed last night.
“…don’t move…”
Oom froze.
Then slowly looked down at herself.
Her shirt was slightly wrinkled.
Her body felt… heavy.
Like she had not slept properly.
Which made sense.
Because she had, in fact, been—
“…kidnapped.”
Emotionally.
Physically.
Possibly spiritually.
Oom pressed her hands to her face.
“I stayed for hours.”
Not minutes.
Not a quick interaction.
Hours.
She had sat there—
Held.
Trapped.
Willingly not leaving.
“…I need help.”
She dragged herself out of bed and shuffled toward the mirror.
“Okay,” she said, grabbing her toothbrush. “We reset. We forget. We move on like normal people who are not secretly being—”
She froze.
Mid-sentence.
Mid-existence.
Her eyes locked onto her reflection.
“…what is that.”
There, just along the side of her neck—
A faint mark.
Soft.
Barely there.
But there.
Oom leaned closer to the mirror.
Her brain went silent.
Then—
Exploded.
“OH MY GOD.”
She dropped her toothbrush.
Clutched the sink.
Leaned in even closer.
“That is not a shadow.”
She tilted her head.
It didn’t disappear.
She rubbed it.
It stayed.
“…that is not a bruise either.”
Oom’s entire body went cold.
Because she knew exactly what it looked like.
And more importantly—
She knew exactly who had been in that position.
“…she kissed me again.”
Oom slid down the sink slightly.
“I’m going to pass away.”
---
By the time she got to campus, Oom had reached peak panic.
Her solution?
A hoodie.
In tropical weather.
At nine in the morning.
“I’m sweating,” she whispered to herself, tugging at the collar. “I am actively melting.”
“You look insane.”
Oom flinched.
“Yada!”
Her cousin stared at her, eyes narrowed, arms crossed, clearly evaluating every poor life decision Oom had made leading up to this moment.
“Why are you wearing a hoodie?” Yada asked slowly.
“It’s cold.”
“It’s thirty degrees.”
“I’m built different.”
“You’re built suspicious.”
Oom turned away.
“I am not suspicious.”
“You look like you committed a crime and are hiding the evidence.”
Oom froze.
“…I did not commit a crime.”
Yada leaned closer.
“Oh, you definitely committed something.”
“I didn’t.”
“You have the face of someone who got kissed.”
Oom choked.
“I—what—no—!”
Yada’s eyes lit up.
“…you did.”
“I didn’t!”
“You did.”
“I didn’t!”
“You’re wearing a hoodie in the heat.”
“I’m cold!”
“You’re sweating.”
“I’m cold internally!”
Yada reached out—
Fast.
Too fast.
Before Oom could react, she tugged the collar down slightly.
Oom’s soul left her body.
“DON’T—”
Too late.
Yada saw it.
There was a pause.
A long, silent, emotionally devastating pause.
Then—
“…OH.”
Oom covered her face immediately.
“Don’t say anything.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t react.”
“I won’t.”
“Don’t—”
“She marked you.”
“I SAID DON’T REACT!”
Yada was already vibrating.
“I’m not reacting,” she whispered loudly. “I’m observing.”
“You are not observing, you are narrating!”
Yada grabbed her shoulders.
“Oom Eisaya.”
“No.”
“You got marked.”
“I did not get marked!”
“That is a mark.”
“That is a misunderstanding!”
“That is physical evidence!”
Oom dragged her hands down her face.
“She was asleep!”
Yada blinked.
“…I’m sorry?”
“She was asleep,” Oom repeated weakly.
Yada stared at her.
“…you’re telling me—”
“Yes.”
“…that Bam Saralee—”
“Yes.”
“…while unconscious—”
“Yes.”
“…chose violence.”
Oom made a strangled noise.
“It was not violence!”
“It looks like violence.”
“It was soft!”
“That is worse!”
Oom groaned.
“I’m going to drop out.”
“No, you’re not,” Yada said immediately. “You’re going to tell me everything.”
“I already told you everything.”
“No, you told me the summary. I want details.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
Yada leaned in, smirking.
“Did she pull you closer?”
Oom froze.
“…maybe.”
“Did she bury her face in your neck?”
Oom looked away.
“…maybe.”
Yada gasped.
“Did she—”
“She kissed me,” Oom blurted out.
Silence.
Yada blinked.
“…again?”
Oom nodded.
Slowly.
“I didn’t even realize until this morning.”
Yada leaned back.
Then forward again.
Then grabbed Oom’s arm.
“You are not okay.”
“I know.”
“You are being emotionally kidnapped.”
“I know!”
“And you’re letting it happen.”
“I KNOW!”
They both went quiet.
Then—
Yada grinned.
“This is amazing.”
Oom stared at her.
“I hate you.”
“I love this for you.”
---
Unfortunately for Oom—
Her suffering did not end there.
Because she still had to face Bam.
In daylight.
Like a normal person.
Like nothing had happened.
Like she was not currently carrying physical evidence of Bam Saralee’s nighttime behavior on her body.
“…I’m going to die,” Oom whispered as she approached the club room.
“You say that a lot,” Yada said cheerfully. “But you’re still alive.”
“Not for long.”
“Be brave.”
“I don’t want to be brave.”
“Too bad.”
Oom took a deep breath.
Then stepped inside.
And there—
Standing near the desk—
Bam Saralee.
Calm.
Composed.
Perfect.
Untouched.
Oom immediately looked away.
“Good morning,” Bam said.
Oom nearly passed out.
“…morning.”
Her voice came out weak.
Unstable.
Suspicious.
Bam glanced at her briefly.
Then paused.
“…why are you wearing a hoodie?”
Oom froze.
“Because I’m cold.”
“It’s warm.”
“I’m built different.”
“…you said that yesterday.”
Oom blinked.
“…you remember that?”
“Yes.”
Oom’s brain short-circuited.
She remembers that but not the fact that she emotionally destroyed me last night?
“That’s concerning,” Oom muttered.
Bam tilted her head slightly.
“You’re acting strangely again.”
“I am always strange.”
“That’s true.”
“…hey.”
Bam waited.
Oom hesitated.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the edge of her sleeve.
Then—
“…did you do anything last night?”
There it was.
Again.
The question.
Bam didn’t react immediately.
She simply looked at Oom.
Calm.
Unreadable.
Then—
“No.”
Of course.
Of course she didn’t.
Oom forced a smile.
“Right.”
Silence.
Then—
Bam stepped closer.
Oom’s heart stopped.
“…you look flushed,” Bam said.
Oom panicked.
“I’m not flushed.”
“You are.”
“I’m just warm.”
“Because of the hoodie.”
“Yes.”
“…take it off.”
Oom froze.
“I can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m cold.”
“You’re sweating.”
“I’m cold emotionally.”
Bam stared at her.
Longer this time.
Then—
Without warning—
She reached out.
Oom’s brain shut down.
“Wait—!”
Too late.
Bam’s fingers brushed against the collar of her hoodie—
Pulling it down slightly.
Just enough.
Just enough to see—
The mark.
There was a pause.
A long, quiet pause.
Bam’s gaze lingered.
Focused.
Sharp.
Oom stopped breathing.
“…what is that.”
Her voice was calm.
But there was something else there.
Something subtle.
Something unreadable.
Oom panicked.
“Nothing.”
“That doesn’t look like nothing.”
“It’s a mosquito bite.”
“…on your neck.”
“Yes.”
“…in that shape.”
“Yes.”
Bam stared at her.
Oom stared back.
Both completely still.
Then—
“…I see,” Bam said.
She let go.
Stepped back.
And just like that—
Her expression returned to neutral.
Conversation over.
Again.
Oom stood there.
Frozen.
Processing.
“…what just happened.”
Yada, from the corner, whispered loudly—
“She knows.”
“I don’t think she knows,” Oom whispered back.
“She definitely knows.”
“She said nothing!”
“That’s worse!”
Oom groaned.
Because now—
Now things were different.
Because Bam had seen it.
Not just felt it.
Not just done it.
But seen the result.
And somehow—
That made everything more real.
More dangerous.
More—
“…complicated.”
Oom pressed a hand to her neck.
Her heart racing.
Her thoughts spiraling.
Because this wasn’t just a secret anymore.
This was evidence.
And whether Bam remembered or not—
Something told Oom—
She was starting to notice.