The Victim's Stories
Yosuke
AN: This was meant to be a little one-shot but it turned into a huge endeavor with multiple chapters. I hate how ambitious some plots turn out to be.
JR not mine.
Those strange stories that start nearest to its finale have always been something of a pain to most audiences, yet at the same time oddly relieving, giving a viewer an interesting yet brief glimpse into the future while the pain of the mystery of an untold story dance ever so mockingly on the stage.
This story shall be no different, for we start in a jail cell, containing one inhabitant: Misaki Takahashi.
Yeah, that's right. We're starting with me, Misaki, so close to my uncomfortable ending I can almost taste it. I don't know what waits for me at the other end of this day, but I'm sure as hell not looking forward to it. I've stepped on so many toes these past few days that I can't even begin to dream of some reprieve arriving anytime soon.
I suppose, of all the people I can think of off the top of my head, I might be the last person anyone would suspect of winding up in a jail cell, chilly, hungry, and far from sleepy. Any peculiar audience that might witness this story, or hear of it one day, would obviously wonder how it is I, Misaki Takahashi, quiet, wide-eyed college student who never received any kind of reprimanding in his whole life from either his parents or his brother, let alone a police officer, wound up in the district prison for one night (Yes, only one night. Not the hardest sentence anyone has ever served, but devastating to me nonetheless. Sumi will never let me live this down!)
My story involves a coat check ticket, an awkward cab ride, a cigarette vending machine, and an unreasonably sturdy umbrella.
Let's begin, I suppose.
[THE STORY OF THE COAT CHECK TICKET]
It was late August and the great Akihiko Usami had very recently been the recipient of some kind of bestseller's award (for the life of me, I wish I could remember what it was called, but his work had been glorified by award ceremonies so often that it was hard to keep track of them all). It was a black tie event with champagne flutes and fancy cheeses floating around so swiftly I almost thought the servers to be ghosts of some kind.
Naturally, Usagi had been reluctant to attend at all, and I practically had to dress him myself and push him into his own car. He hated those events, he always did, and it wasn't something I necessarily understood, but I knew if so many people were going through the trouble of celebrating his hard work, then he needed to be there, at least to appease some smiling faces.
I hadn't been on the invitation, which I expected and wasn't too disappointed with. Formal gatherings had never been my strong suit, and I was always too awkward around "grown-ups". But Usagi had refused to go unless I attended as well, and in my haste I managed to gather a decent suit, something from the back of my closet, and climbed into the car with my mentor. Needless to say, he drove about ten under the speed limit, not at all excited about being punctual.
Once we'd arrived, Usagi was tugged this way and that by drooling women entranced by his handsome face and previous writing (a part of me wondered strongly if any of those ladies had read his other work, namely the ones with my own desecrated name plastered all over the pages in a frenzy of smut and humiliation). I had only shivered at the thought and watched the room absently as Usagi was again pulled into another conversation by rival authors. Everyone in the room, a large ballroom of an extremely overpriced hotel, was immaculate, wearing clean-cut tuxedos and cleavage-bearing dresses. Jewelry glittered across the attendees like stars and soft music wafted over everyone's perfectly combed heads.
Part of me began to realize why it was Usagi didn't like these events; it was kind of dull. If you didn't know anyone, you didn't have much to do. I, for the most part, hung out in a corner with a glass of something fizzy and tart, trying to look as harmless as possible. One hand stayed in my pocket, worrying the small paper tab that my coat check ticket.
My eyes had once again found my mentor, caught helplessly in what appeared to be the most boring conversation on earth, his eyes glazed over and a forced smile on his lips. I chuckled a little to myself. Poor Usagi was going to drop to the floor in unconsciousness in a moment if someone didn't entertain him somehow. This, ultimately, sent a cold shiver up my spine. Usagi would probably resort to me to entertain him. I knew him, and based on everything he'd ever done, I could surely expect to be yanked into a men's bathroom with the lock secured good and tight, or into a waiting hotel room he conveniently would have reserved for entertainment. I swallowed hard at the thought. I was going to get raped tonight, to both lighten his mood and to punish me for making him leave the condo in the first place.
As I contemplated different back pains I could fake for the sake of getting out of another night of awkward perversions, I had faintly begun to notice sets of eyes glancing over at me. Random people, all beautifully dressed with an air of swollen egotism, were briefly glimpsing in my direction, looking me up and down in what I could only describe as disdain before returning to their socializations.
Of course I was confused a bit, but once I took a look at myself I realized it wasn't too hard to figure out why it was I was earning these glares. Compared to the rest of the room, I was a dust bunny. My suit was old, frayed at the sleeves and a rather unattractive brown color, something more akin to backyard weddings or small claims court. I had managed to iron it before leaving, but that was probably the only saving grace of it. My hair must have been messy, too. Heat tinged my cheeks as I had come to the realization that I must have looked so out of place, a peasant amongst royalty. The buffet table was better dressed than I.
I tried to make myself look smaller then, pressing into the corner and hiding my face partially behind my champagne flute. I began to hope that Usagi would want to pull me away into the aforementioned hormone-driven indulgence of a hotel room. If it meant I could leave that party, I would even actively participate in that lusty romp.
About twenty minutes or so had passed by and the only one who became oblivious to my presence was me. It felt like I weren't even in the room anymore, but watching a terrible television program with no plot and no character development. I was so out of it I almost didn't notice the well-groomed couple approaching to my right. Once I did manage to register them in my vision, I turned to face them just as they stopped in front of me.
"Correct me if I'm wrong," spoke the woman, a tall brunette in a figure-forming blue gown and diamonds in her hair. "Didn't you arrive here with our guest of honor?"
I had to think the question over a few times before my mind allowed me to answer. "Y-Yeah, I came here with Usagi."
"Usagi!" the woman squealed, clapping her gloved hands together once and lightly elbowing her suitor, an even taller man in a perfectly pressed suit who appeared at least ten years younger than the woman on his arm. Her eyes danced over me as the mirth slowly faded. "That's adorable! To think the prestigious Akihiko Usami gets such a childish petname!"
"It's..." I tried to explain myself, but the words just wouldn't surface.
"And what does he call you? 'Son'?"
Son?
"Or perhaps something more fitting, like 'Gold digger'?"
Gold... digger?
But before I could inquire as to what they had meant, the two sauntered away, snickering to themselves and leaving me dumbfounded in my spot. Son? Our age difference wasn't that big. It was only a ten year difference... Just... ten years...
Wow. When I thought about it, it was a lot bigger than I had assumed. But gold digger? No way! I never asked Usagi for anything! He always indulged me of his own accord, and I always refused whatever he tried to splurge on me! They couldn't possibly think I was some cheap arm candy pumping money from a wealthy lover! That was ludicrous!
But the continuing glances I got from passing party-goers told me that it was exactly that. But should I have been surprised? Usagi and I hadn't been very affectionate in public before, and I only made myself known to his closest piers. I could only assume he didn't rant about me to other people. Of course he wouldn't; why risk "enticing" someone to come and steal me away with endearing stories and descriptions of the person he adored most (as creepy as that was sometimes)?
I heard a chuckle right in front me and quickly pulled myself out of my thoughts to see another woman, this one younger with glorious blonde hair and a low-cut, sparkly black dress before me. She peered down her nose at me, arms crossed and one eyebrow raised.
"To think I was ignored by such a handsome man as Akihiko Usami only to be beaten by some kink escort. I guess you've gotta be pretty good on your knees for Mr. Usami to be so... confused."
Confused? Usagi wasn't confused. He'd been into guys for years. If there'd been any confusion for him, I was certain he would have cleared it all up with one look at this lady's protruding bosom. But as her and her bouncing chest bounced away into the night, I was suddenly struck again by what I'd heard. Kink escort? Kink escort? These people thought I was a male prostitute?
Anger had started to simmer in my veins as the temperature in the room climbed. All of those people were looking at me with such contempt because they thought I was a some impecunious, poisonous whore that had confused Akihiko Usami into bed with another man for money. The anger and embarrassment had built up so high that, out of habit, tears began to swell behind my eyes and a painful lump developed in my throat. How mortifying. All of those people, all of them that knew Usagi, thought I was a prostitute. There was no recovery from that. Usagi could've stood on a stage with a microphone and given a grand speech to correct them, but the image would always be there as a horrifying stain. I was Akihiko Usami's whore. And that was that.
As if on cue, another stranger approached, this one a man with an air of importance to him and a distractingly bald head. I imagined he helped to run the whole event of the night.
"I beg your pardon, but you are Mr. Usami's escort, correct?"
"I'm not an escort," I practically breathed out, but I didn't think he heard me.
"I do apologize, but some of the other guests tonight have expressed concern over your presence, as someone with your particular... career choice... is not appropriate for the atmosphere of this dignified event. And as it appears that you were not on the invitation list, I'm afraid I must ask you to leave. We have several very wealthy and very important contributors to our association here tonight, and your being here upsets them quite a bit. Now, if I may show you the door, sir?"
He had said it all in one breath but didn't look winded in the least, an arm gesturing in the direction of the exit. I had nothing to say in response, too shocked by what I had heard and still too upset over being called a prostitute. What would Usagi say when he found out? Did he know that was what his piers thought of me? He... he hadn't started the rumor himself, had he? Was this his way of dumping me?
'No,' I shook my head. 'He wouldn't do that. He said he loves me. He wouldn't dump me right out of the blue like this. It's just these snobby people. It's just their narrow-mindedness.'
Clearing my throat and fighting back the tears of humiliation, I held up a hand to decline the man's offer. "Thanks, but I can show myself out. I just need to get my coat and I'll be out of here, okay?"
The man nodded, oddly polite for being one of the narrow-minded crowd, and stepped back, eyes watching me carefully as I drifted lifelessly to the coat check counter, my body numb but my heart in pain. I had hoped viciously that whatever rumors were circling that night wouldn't cause any disturbances to Usagi's reputation. He didn't need that. He was doing so well for himself, the last thing he needed was for me to bring him down.
Swallowing against the lump in my throat, I handed my ticket to the lady behind the counter, who stared directly at me with the same icy glare I'd received all night. Oh, crap. Not her, too.
"My coat, please," I said hoarsely, and she remarked me with a smug smile.
"Sorry, can't find it. Must've lost it."
I stared at her in dumbfounded shock. Really? I was getting bullied when I was trying to leave? Who were these people?
"You haven't even looked. I'm number 72, can't you at least try looking for it?"
"Already did. It's not here. But tell ya what, if we do find it, we'll mail it to your place. Oh! I mean, Mr. Usami's place. You do live there, right? At the foot of his bed, in a pile of his money?"
The heat that swallowed my face was enough of a response for the woman, who laughed and took my ticket from me, crumpling it in her fist and dropping it at her feet. "Have a pleasant night, Mr. 72. Remember to shower when you're done." And just like that, the conversation was over, the woman returning to a professional stance, smiling and bowing her head respectfully to passing guests.
I could only stare in horror, my jaw slack and my mind unsure of what to do with my own body. There was nothing I could do about any of it, any of the names I'd been called or my usurped coat. I could've started ranting and raving, climbing the counter and demanding my property be returned to me, but what would that have done? If anything, I was certain men with curly wires connecting their ear to their coat lapels would be on me in an instant, shoving me out the door and furthering my embarrassment.
With my dignity shredded and my lover lost somewhere in the throngs of arrogance and ignorance, I sniffled and angled a hand to shield my face as I walked quietly to the exit, aware of the eyes watching me as I left. Idly, I wondered how long it would take before Usagi would notice I was gone, or if he would question anyone as to my whereabouts.
I had walked home after that, which was quite a distance considering we'd had to drive to the party initially. It had taken me thirty minutes to get back to the condo, at which point I had deemed it safe to look at my cell phone. There were thirteen missed calls and thirteen voicemails from Usagi. I had only sighed and texted him back, [Felt sick, went home. Sorry. I'll have something ready to eat by the time you get here. How's the party going for you?]
Only a minute passed before I received a responding text, but I didn't read it. I was too embarrassed by the evening, too horrified by the rumors circling, too upset from being kicked out of a party when I'd only stood in the corner and kept to myself. Would Usagi be humiliated when he found out? What would he think about his piers assuming he needed a prostitute just for some extra kink in the bedroom? Would he be mad at me?
I couldn't fathom anything. I didn't want to feel anything anymore that night, and quickly set to starting a late dinner for my tutor, barely aware that I was crying like a baby the whole time.
I did eventually see my coat again. A week later it had been mailed to the condo in a large brown box. Usagi had been locked away in his office, working, so I had the privacy to open it without him snooping about, wondering who it was from. Then again, even if he'd asked, I wouldn't have been able to tell, as there was no return address.
Once I'd opened it up and found the coat, I could only sigh in exhaustion. My coat, a lovely black cashmere thing Usagi had bought me on a date one night, was decorated with blue and red paint. The sleeves had been sliced open long-ways along the seam and the buttons had all been ripped off along with the waist pockets. For an added effect, the crumpled paper ticket with the bold numbers '72' was pinned to the blue-speckled lapel with an office staple.
Rubbing at the corner of my eye to ease an oncoming twitch, I stuffed the coat back into the box and replaced the tape, tearing the paper with my address on top of the box clean off, then I gathered the whole thing in my arms and went to the trash chute to dump the evidence, hoping that the horrors of my memories of that awful night would go with it.
To be continued.