She contemplated how long mornings always seem after a restless night of sleep; lying in bed in wait of gathering the motivation to rise and greet the day. There's no telling if being motionless like so is better than getting up, her mind is undecided on the matter and the only thing she can do is persuade herself to find out. It's another little game, another little test to run; starting as a bittersweet joke that always ended in exhaustion.
This is just another repetitive day for Tessa Celant.
The small home she lives in is quaint enough; she was unsure of how long she would be staying after moving from America a few years back, now she's just fond of the place she has made her own. Blood, sweat and tears went into this property – on top of money, any studying she had hoped to do was demolished and in the process of being rebuilt after her funds took a hit. The moment she began building them up dear old dad decided to pay her visit, one that lasted longer than she would have liked – just seeing his daughter, he had said, before she knew it he was living there. A discussion never occurred regarding it; he slithered into her life as easily as he did out of it two weeks back.
That's not the reason behind her lack of motivation. Tessa knew her mental state isn't the greatest though she tried hard to put effort into the smallest of things. It's a work in progress and dad didn't make it any better for her with his abrupt decision to crash at her place.
It's on the way back home that night, groceries in hand, that she decided to try something new tomorrow. A smile formed, a consensus reached – all before she's jumped but a couple of suits and held at gunpoint.
Perhaps the universe said, "Why wait until tomorrow? Why wait at all?"
There's a sack over her head, hands bound behind her back as she is left off balance in a quickly moving van. Words are being said but none of them make any sense to her. Her mind is overtaken with a barrage of thoughts that she cannot discern whether to be useful or not. Overwhelmed by the sudden danger and the fatigue from a long day of simply existing, the young woman has realized she has no idea how she is to respond to all of this – nor can she predict how she will when confronted with why she has been taken. Tessa had hoped to leave violence behind in America, she is also doubtful against this many people she could do much other than getting herself shot. Yet there's no crying, no begging, no nothing leaving her mouth but the gasps of discomfort and disbelief about the situation as a whole.
She must be the quietest captive they've ever had given the way they laughed.
It's difficult to say how long she has been within their custody for; time is hard to measure when your senses are cut off from the usual flow of information. Tessa cannot figure out whether it has been ten minutes or three hours before she's being yanked out of the car and shoved across tile floors that seem to make her shoes stick now and then.
Walking. She is walking and yet she doesn't feel as though she is; it's as though another had replaced her and is moving this body for her – she is but a passenger filled with worry about reaching her destination. Knowing she would come to find out the purpose of being kidnapped made her uneasy; she doesn't know how she will react and the idea of knowing is as dreadful as not.
That is what races through her mind when they halt her on a floor that's different from the rest. The stench of the hall she had been escorted through has come to be something richer; smoke, both of cigarettes and cigars – the scent of cologne strong as the noise that once filled the room softened momentarily into silence.
The sack is removed non-too-gently and her eyes are forced to adjust; there are more suits, unfamiliar faces both grinning and grimacing in her direction. Before her a man sitting behind a desk as though it is a wall to shield the world of his arrogance. Displeasure is what surfaced first; she wants to fight despite not wanting to fight at all. Perhaps that's just because she's an angry person, or maybe it's something more primitive. Words are not said, call her a stubborn bitch but as her senses started to return she in turn does as well. This response seemed to amuse the man who flaunted his success with expensive yet useless material objects.
"Miss Celant, would you like to take a seat?" He broke the silence first seeing how she won't play victim properly. A chair is not something she wanted to be strapped down to in a room full of men and so she declined it with a simple shake of her head. "Very well, onto the matter at hand then: Do you know where your father is?"
There it is. The reason she was snatched off the street and thrust into a potentially hostile environment; because fucking dad can't keep out of trouble in America and so he brought it overseas to the peace she had made for herself. This was it, the reason he had disappeared must be what led her to being in this predicament. She is upset for multiple reasons and yet wants no knowledge of what he did to piss them off; so utterly done and ever wanting to return home to that bed of hers.
This man that raised her poorly when her mother passed, the man she couldn't rely on even as a child that somehow managed to weasel second chances (and then third and fourth) out of her was the reason her life was likely on the line. It's at this moment she wondered why she ever gave him those chances, and then followed up that thought with why she is even thinking about that now. It won't do her any good when her anger is rising to a boil inside.
"I know this must be very shocking for you. I'm sorry-"
"Don't lie to me." Tessa cut in as her voice returned before she is ready for it. Irritation is easy to read on his face; her father reacted the same when she called him out on his bullshit. "Dad and I aren't close, he comes around when it's convenient for him no matter how much I protest. He doesn't care. Dad up and disappeared maybe two weeks back now? I couldn't tell you the exact date cause I've just been enjoying the peace that returned to my home. I'm the last person who would be in the know."
It's not the answer he wanted but it's spoken so bluntly, with such sincerity in her disgust that he withholds from immediately lashing her for interrupting him to begin with. The only proof he has to go by are the lack of photographs in her apartment, barren of any family or friends and instead replaced with artwork to cover up the holes.
There's no way he could just let her walk even if he did believe her. Too much effort has been put in to find the man that owed him money; this kid is the only collateral he has to repay the debt, though he can't say he's all too pleased about it. Nor is she, despite being unaware of his thoughts. On top of which he can't play nice when she's burning hot, that flame has to be smothered – respect must be maintained by his men and she could do with learning some as well.
"Are you sure that's the answer you want to go with?" He asked her. It's one last try before he is to begin testing how true her statement is. No doubt she can see some of his boys are itching to crack down on her, some get off too much on laying a fist on a woman but that's the nature of the business tonight. Nothing much can be done to avoid it when she has readily given her answer and is unmoved to provide anything else.
Debts must be paid. If her father won't come to her aid she'll just have to pay up in his stead.
"It's the only answer I have to give." Tessa replied with a sinking feeling as to what was to come when fingers tightly curled over her shoulder.
By the third punch she's finally crying – it's almost a relief.
New short story. Not quite sure where it is to go. I've been rereading this manga, as it's one of my favorites and I suppose it triggered some strange dream I had - which this story is a result of. I'm unsure what to expect outside of the dream bits but feel free to leave comments if you think of anything - I may further the story past the point it ended in the dream.
Excuse any grammar errors. As per usual my writing on here comes very late at night/early in the morning, in which I become too bitter to do much editing.
As usual: I do not own Parasyte (Kiseijuu) nor profit from this. I only own the OC.