Nao edged past pedestrians and giggling couples, dodging elbows as she strode down a wide strip, her phone pressed to her ear as she simultaneously searched the crowds around her and tried to talk to her friend, Misa. In the two hours Nao had had to wait until Misa got off work, she had grabbed her weekend shoes—an old pair of beat-to-hell sneakers more comfortable than her work-a-day heels—and made her way to the last place she thought she'd ever go: the center of the Thirteenth Ward.
Nao had recognized earlier that it was a dangerous plan what with the rumors she'd heard and the horror stories she'd read on the internet. Now, as she walked among hundreds of people, surrounded by clubs and blinded by the blinking neon lights from shops, parlors and love hotels, she felt no less assured that the rumors were just that.
More so than that Nao had an endless feeling of suspicion roiling around inside her. How much had the stories online been embellished? Or were they themselves false. She'd known the Ward, while touted as bloody and dangerous, was also known for its main street of clubbing and pleasure, but the degree to which she saw of delight and enjoyment put to question exactly how "saturated" the Ward was with ghouls.
Or…were all the people around her ghouls?
The thought sent a cold shiver down her spine before she went back to her conversation. "Any time after six would be great, but are you sure you ca—" she started to ask before she was cut off by an indignant hiss from the other side of the phone.
"Na-chan, this is me you are talking about," Misa said, "I could get you into the most exclusive club in the Ward in nothing but jeans and an ugly sweater. This?" She took a pause to add to the theatrics of her drama. "This just insults me."
Nao let a smile twitch onto her face despite the trepidation scratching away at the edges of her nerve. "You know I didn't mean to imply anything," Nao told her as she continued to glance around the crowds, searching out the increasingly familiar build of the brutal, blond ghoul. While Nao wanted to seek him out, in truth she had no idea what she would do once she actually found him. That idea felt like icy water dripping down her throat, freezing her body and choking her lungs—much the same way Yamori himself had personally done to her. "I know you're great at this sort of thing—" The thing being manipulation of beneficial men, i.e. bouncers, managers and her own clientele, "—And I appreciate what you're doing for me," she continued, her eyes darting left and right, ahead and behind her in a fashion that may have been construed as paranoia to the people around her.
"Excellent. Then in apology we go out and party!" Misa cried in excitement, buzzing Nao's ear. "I know you're free this weekend; where are you at right now?" she asked her.
Nao started, sputtering a response in an attempt to keep Misa from joining her that evening. "I—ah—I'm actually sorta busy now; I'll talk to you tomorrow," she said, half-heartedly listening to Misa as she huffed an annoyed reply that ended with a click. Nao pocketed her phone as she went back to her objective, finding little luck in the following hours as she twisted her gaze this way and that, flinching as she spotted black-haired men in white suits and blond-haired teenagers with normal-ish looking faces. The closest she had come during the night had been a blonde man—teenager?—in a white suit with a slim build no taller than she was.
Nao spent several hours in this fashion, trailing up and down the busier streets—and all but avoiding areas pockmarked with few patrons and shady-looking businesses—before the crowds began to thin out and the night stretched on into hours even the citizens of the Thirteenth would avoid. Her plan, however poorly thought out, had failed.
|13|
Nao felt like a great weight had been lifted off of her chest. True to fact, she did not accomplish what she had set out to do, and the hour she'd set out at had been far exceeded by the hour she had left the Ward. In addition to the penalty she'd been given earlier that had driven her to such decisions, Nao had no reason to feel this way. Though that she did not run into or see the ghoul presently tormenting her, and who'd choked her to the brink of unconsciousness, was its own blessing in disguise.
Or it would have been had she not planned to do the same thing tomorrow. Today? Nao rooted through her purse until she found her cell phone and looked at the time. 1:43…it didn't seem that far before, Nao thought, pursing her lips as she looked around her surroundings. While Nao had waited two hours to speak to her friend, the actual walk over to the Thirteenth had taken little more than an hour. She'd left that Ward little less than two hours ago; and still she refused to believe she was lost. Even further she prayed that she wasn't accidently skirting the edge of that ghoul-infested Ward.
I came out here to find a ghoul, and given my luck it might be the wrong one, she thought cynically, trying to keep close to the streetlamps and as far from the alleyways as was possible. A few times she slipped off the curb, balancing on it even as cars whizzed by and the few pedestrians around either stared at her, or avoided her. Like she were crazy.
But what Nao felt wasn't insanity or anything of the like. It was relief tinged with a heavier feeling. That same dark feeling she'd felt hours ago when she'd been balancing groceries and trying to unlock a door. A feeling that had never really left even as her mind filled with dread at the thought of starvation, and her only option lay in the hands of a malicious ghoul. Instead that feeling—that premonition she had learned to rely on—had bided its time as she walked into a death-filled Ward.
And now—as she walked back to her home in the dead of night—Nao wondered momentarily if the foreboding feeling she'd had had been about going outside at all.
Nao glanced back over her shoulder, just in time to watch as the last pedestrian on the street turned a corner and disappeared from sight, leaving her alone save for the occasional car. Tension threaded through her muscles, her limbs tightening as if preparing to fight or run while her left arm twitched in mild pain. The few tendons and muscle left along her ruined forearm flaring in a sad replica of her right side.
Nao took her left arm in her right hand to try and relax the muscle; her own skin crawling as her fingers rubbed her bones more than anything else through the thin material of her sleeve. Eventually she gave up the action to simply wrap her arms around herself, all but trying to hold herself together as that heavy feeling festered and bubbled up her throat, threatening to suffocate her again until she stopped where she stood.
At times during the last two months, Nao had felt like she were in the midst of a B-grade horror movie, rife with clichés she should have seen coming—though in truth Nao had only seen the most terribly obvious films, and in her own defense real life didn't have music to signal when the monster would jump out and eat you. No, in Nao's horror movie her only warning was a dark, vague feeling that had done nothing to protect or prepare her for her harsh reality.
And if recognizing clichés was how someone survived a real-life monster movie, then Nao would wade deeper into it. If only because she was so tired of trying to avoid him when it ended in failure anyway.
"Come out already," she murmured under her breath, willing some sound into the air around her as she stood there and waited, leaning against the streetlamp above her. "I'm done playing these games, and living in this horror movie. I'm done waiting for you to scare the shit out of me," Nao seethed, her voice rising as she looked down both ends of the streets, glaring down the mouth of the alley beside her and silently daring him to come out of the shadows. When time ticked steadily by and he had still not appeared, Nao lost what was left of her patience for that night, inhaled deep, and poured every ounce of anger and frustration into one very loud screech.
"Come out and face me you sick son of a bitch!"
In the answering vibration and eventual silence, Nao waited with bated breath until disappointment stole over her and cooled her roiling emotions. She waited a few more minutes in dead silence before grabbing her phone and checking the time once again. No less than twenty minutes had gone by with the night deadening of activity and her anxiety skyrocketing. And now she was screaming at shadows, and angry with someone who had never been predictable in the first place.
A blessing in disguise? Nao wondered as she made her way quickly home, following the more commonly used roads despite the late hour and the overall desertedness of her surroundings. Taking no notice that the heavy sensation deep in her gut had slipped away.
|13|
Nao could have slept until noon the following morning, and very nearly would have had Misa not called incessantly, announcing once Nao picked up—several times and in various ways—that she was coming to "take Na-chan away from her soul-crushing routine" and "save her from the brink of exhaustion and boredom".
As usual her friend was being overly dramatic. But with the promise of coffee and a banana-nut muffin, Nao tugged on an old pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, grabbed her purse, and left to meet up at their usual hangout: a café cheap enough for Nao to splurge every once and a while, and spilling with men for Misa to trick over to the hostess bar she worked at. A hostess bar Nao worked part-time at when she needed the extra money, and had asked Misa about the night before.
Now again as Misa and Nao occupied a corner of the café—coffee and muffins on the way and pleasantries exchanged—she asked Misa, "Is there any news about the job?"
"'m talkin' to him tonight; consider it good as yours," Misa replied, distracted as she looked around the open area of the café; waiting for the lunch rush of businessmen she was set to ambush, while Nao would look on and take notes. Misa looked back at Nao, flipping her long black hair over a shoulder as she exaggerated a wince—or what Nao hoped was an exaggeration via the dramatical nature of Misa. "Just…okay, I gotta ask. Have you been doing overtime the last month?" Misa asked her, propping her chin on her head as she took in each individual attribute of Nao's gaunt face. Nao grimaced, looking away from Misa and ducking her head slightly. "I mean, normally you look tired but—"
"I've just been a little stressed lately, Mi-chan. I'm fine," Nao forced a smile, though it felt bitterer than she'd liked to have had it, "I just need a little extra money this month." And maybe the month after that if I miss the deadline again, she thought, mirroring Misa's furrowed brows as the other woman looked at her with concern deep in her coal-black eyes.
Misa reached across the table to grab Nao's disfigured hand, squeezing it gently and holding it gingerly; not even flinching at the scar tissue and bony feel—Nao loved her for that. "My God, Nao, I'll lend you the money. Don't die for a stupid debt." Nao flinched microscopically; Misa catching the slight twitch in her shoulders before attempting to backpedal. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have phrased it like that." Nao shrugged it off, both falling silent as a barista came over to their table and dropped off their order.
"So Boss might want you to work a few weeks more than usual—just a head's up," Misa spoke up as Nao tore open tiny shots of cream and packets of sugar and poured them into her steaming cup. "You also might need to make your face less scary to actually get clients."
"I think all I need for that is bad lighting and a clever make-up artist," Nao replied blithely, taste-testing her coffee and staring at Misa over the rim, grinning when Misa sighed and said in an exasperated tone,
"Oh fine~ I'll use you as my personal doll and turn you into a knockout. Stop begging already!"
Conversation between the two dwindled down to idle chatter centering on Nao and Misa's few other friends—or rather, those who had bothered to keep contact years later after high school—and what they had been up to the in few months Nao had kept her distance. Jealousy at who was getting a pay raise or a promotion, anger at an ex-lover for a misbegotten deed, general happiness for a friend who'd found Mr. Right and another who'd become pregnant. Nao's heart ached for the normalcy she had been missing; her mood drastically rising from where it had been twelve hours ago.
"It's almost noon; is that all you're eating?" Misa asked as the barista poured them each a third cup. Frowning down at the diminished, unrecognizable shape of Nao's muffin (which she had been picking at for a solid hour), she added, "For God's sakes, I'm buying you a sandwich set."
"Mi-chan, I don—"
"Do you want the job?" Misa interrupted, snatching the laminated menu from the middle of the table, alternating between glancing over the selection and glaring over the top of it. Nao hesitated before nodding her head. "Then shut up and take the free food! Now which set do you want: jams or deli meat?" she asked, shoving the menu in front of Nao's face.
Nao didn't like the charity—nor the pity—her friends gave her when they saw her. But as she thought about the abundance of rice and the minimal amount of anything else in her fridge, as well as the small budget she'd have to stretch over the month, her stomach clenched in a way that had long since become routine. Pride be damned; she wanted food. "Both?"
Misa smirked in triumph as the barista left, returning a few minutes later with a plate in each hand, each stacked with a trio of triangular sandwiches. Nao nearly cried at such a beautiful sight before she pulled her purse into her lap and started wrapping each one in a napkin.
"You ever think about not being a packrat?" Misa sneered down at the scraps of papers stuffed inside as Nao shoved them aside to make room, reaching across the table to pluck a few out. "Are—are these all receipts?!" Nao had gotten into the habit years ago to keep track of her finances. As of late she'd not been in the right state of mind to go through them all and they'd accumulated into its current mess. "At least tell me you have a few guys' phone numbers in there." Nao didn't answer; Misa rightfully took it as a no. "If I wasn't aware that you were scoring with the office slut, I would be deeply disappointed in you."
Nao debated whether or not to tell Misa about the rocky state of her fling before remembering it as it was: a fling. As ephemeral and long-lasting as a fruit fly's lifespan. In addition, Nao realized that the reality of her love life amounted to a sexual relationship with an "office slut" and a confusing kiss with a homicidal ghoul. Not to mention the flirtation and pseudo-dates her semi-part-time job required.
She let the topic slide into an afterthought as the lunch rush began around them; Misa looking past her to the door for possible targets. "I'll let you know what Boss says later. Now, ready to watch the master at work?" Misa slid a compact out of her purse, checking her flawless makeup and sweeping stray hairs out of her face. "Settle things with the enemy so you can stop having these problems," she said, setting the compact aside, "and for God's sake, clean out your purse!" With that she readjusted her top, put on a coy smile, and slid out of her seat, sidling up to a middle-aged businessman while Nao crammed sandwiches in her purse.
After a few minutes and a minor mishap with strawberry jam Nao gave into her friend's advice, pulling out stray, faded slips of paper and all manner of loose coins, pens and a flattened tampon. A while ago Nao had read some such or other about the state of a woman's purse being the insight into their mind. As she looked at the mess on the table, she figured it to be an accurate portrayal.
Most women worry about being late or if their boyfriends are cheating on them. Nao licked the jam off her thumb as she filed the sandwiches inside her purse, her wallet and pens tucked to one side. She cast a cursory look over the receipts she'd collected the last few months before picking out the faded slips and stuffing the more legible ones in whatever space was available inside her purse. Me? I get to agonize over Yakuza debts and a murderous ghoul.
Nao paused, staring down at the little slips. Maybe I should rethink that plan, Nao thought, rubbing away the ache in her temple and the strain in her eyes before glancing over her shoulder at Misa. She'd moved on to a younger man; the business man from before smiling down at a pink business card. But if I don't do it I'll probably end up getting fired. Nao turned back to her pile, sifting through them until a swirl of black ink caught her eye.
She picked out the little card, the edges bent at odd angles and the print slightly faded. Marking the broad surface of the card was a logo, no name—or at least none she could discern—and a phone number and address on the other side. Nao couldn't have been staring at it for more than a couple minutes before Misa appeared over her shoulder, making her jump in her seat with a very simple question Nao had no answer for.
"How did you get that card?"
"Do you know this place?" Nao asked in return, wondering herself when she could have picked it up.
Misa sat down across from her again, her side work forgotten as she gave Nao a bewildered/"are you serious" look. "It's a club—a pretty popular one in the Thirteenth Ward," she explained, snatching the business card from Nao's hand and peering intently at the logo before looking at her from over the top edge. "What were you doing in the Thirteenth?"
"I wasn't. I just…Matsuru-san must have put it in there," Nao quickly said, wondering herself who put it in there until the answer slowly came to her. He didn't. Nao glanced down at the purse in her lap, blanching at the thought of a secondary violation aside from the intrusion in her home. "That bastard…" Nao murmured under her breath, her hands clenching into fists.
"Well if he wants you to have fun once in a while, then he probably meant well." Misa handed back the card, raising a brow at Nao's mild anger, "And frankly I agree. So let's go out, destress, drink, and ditch our inhibitions for the night."
"To the Thirteenth? No, no, I'm not going there." Again, she mentally added, shaking her head and crumpling the card in her hand.
Misa frowned, reaching over to tug the little crumpled ball from Nao's hand. "Look, I know what happened to you was…traumatizing," she said slowly, smoothing the folds out, "But I've been there plenty of times, and it's honestly not as bad as the internet says." Nao would have liked to disagree, but her own disappointing experience in the Thirteenth backed that opinion up. When Misa saw she hadn't budged, she pressed a little harder, "Just for an hour or two—we won't even stay that late! Nine or ten at the latest."
Nao bit her lip, looking down at the card on the table while she tried to figure out what to do. She realized a moment later that any choice she had in the matter was decided the night before. Especially now that she had an invitation and a meeting place. "Just…stay close, okay?"
A wide grin spread across Misa's face. "Yeah, of course," she agreed before delving into a whole spiel about "pre-gaming" and bashing Nao's "utilitarian wardrobe", pausing only when Nao asked to go back to her apartment to get some things. "I'll come with you to pick out some stuff; you still have that little number from high school, right?"
|13|
Three years prior, when Nao had been released from the interrogation room in the Twenty-Third Ward, Misa and Sacha—another of Nao's friends—had taken her out to a club in the Ward to celebrate her recovery. Neither of them knew that she'd been released from the hospital a week prior, and never did Nao tell them the truth. That night Nao had hid her arm and hand beneath thick gauze and moved it out of sight as often as possible, drinking anything Misa pushed into her other hand, and faking her enjoyment for her friend's benefit when all she really wanted to do was go home and sleep. Hours later she did, with the added benefit of a nasty hangover and a bucket beside her bed.
Now currently, as she and Misa walked into a club in the Thirteenth Ward, all she wanted was to not do what she had come here to do. All-in-all she felt like she was going to throw up. Or maybe just turn tail and run. Though the latter would mean leaving Misa alone in a supposedly ghoul-infested Ward. The former was just a gross wild card.
Misa will be close by; she won't leave without me, Nao reassured herself, looking around the club silently as music blared from speakers in hidden corners of the huge room and multi-colored lights flickered on the throng of people in the middle. Along the sides sat large booths and private seating; somewhere over the heads of the clubbers Nao spied a long bar counter, the wall behind it decorated with lines of different colored bottles of all shapes and sizes. In the midst of all of it, what she didn't see was a huge, blond ghoul. In all honesty Nao couldn't imagine the man Yamori had become in her mind coming to a club at all. But then again, the man in her head was little more than a monster hell-bent on a goal she didn't want to think about.
"D'you wanna drink first or dance?!" Misa shouted beside Nao's ear, her voice scarcely an octave above the pounding music. Looking past the grinding bodies, Nao nodded towards the bar, trusting that her voice would be nullified no matter how loudly she tried to talk. Misa grabbed her right wrist, the shredded hem of her miniskirt bouncing with each step while she dragged Nao along the outer edge of the writhing bodies.
What seemed like an hour went by in a haze of flashing color and monotonic sound. For a while Misa tried to make conversation, although Nao could only catch every third or fourth word. Before long—despite reassuring her that she would stay close by—Misa got swept away by a man with hooded eyes and a gorgeous smile. With a slightly apologetic smile Misa left, getting lost in the crowd and leaving Nao seated by the bar with a vodka tonic and a small bout of annoyance.
It was not as if Nao felt slighted that her friend had abandoned her so easily for a man to grind against, it was that coming with her to the club had been Misa's idea in the first place. "You're not here for fun anyway, just get over it," Nao murmured to herself, knocking back the rest of her drink as she continued to people watch. She had already acknowledged that the possibility of Yamori being here after a month had gone by was low. Added to that her gut feeling, her instinct, hadn't once gone off once tonight. Despite that, she felt uneasy in a Ward known for its ghoul problem; which in turn made believing that Misa had come and gone here safely "plenty of times" unbelievable. If anything Nao had an easier time believing that Misa was blessed by the gods to have the greatest of luck. Her proof was her own terrible misfortune the last several weeks.
Tapping the counter for the bartender's attention and mouthing the word restroom, she left, following the direction he had pointed to a pair of velvet-lined doors tucked away in the corner. Chancing a glance back at the crowd, she caught a glimpse of Misa before she disappeared again. Nao left through the doors, unwilling to fight through the crowd just to tell her friend where she'd be for a few minutes.
The hallway behind the doors was a stark contrast to the huge room behind her. It was narrow and long, lined with dark wood and low fluorescent lighting, and so quiet Nao thought she'd gone deaf until the muffled music leaked through. Three doors dotted the hallway, the closest to her being a men's restroom while at the far end was an emergency exit. She ducked into the middle, leaning heavily against the door and exhaling in mild relief at the blissful quiet inside the white ceramic walls. Her headache from earlier hadn't gone away quite yet; the pounding music and lights doing little to help. After a few minutes Nao went over to the line of sinks, splashing cold water on her face and inadvertently smearing her makeup.
Nao glanced up at her reflection, at the lines of mascara dripping from her eyes. At the sweetheart neckline of her dress—a threadbare thing she'd had since high school, and otherwise loose if not for the wide red scarf tied around her middle. Above it her bruises had faded to a dull yellow, hardly noticeable despite all the flickering light in the dancehall. Nao washed away the tracks on her face, careful not to smudge her lipstick as she patted herself dry with a paper towel.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Nao jumped at the sharp sound, her reflections eyes wide as she glanced over at the door. "Mi-chan?" she called, her voice strong though she knew the woman was like a bull in a china shop: boisterous and cheerful and unlikely to knock. There was an accompanying silence after her question before the same trio of knocks came again, louder.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Nao stepped away from the sinks, slinging her purse across her chest as she inched closer to the door. She hadn't locked it—that much she could see from the vertical brass knob above the handle—it wasn't another girl in need of a restroom. Nao hesitated before stopping a foot from the door, her back ramrod straight and her arms stiff by her side as she stared at the middle. Doubt filled her mind like a security blanket, trying to protect her from the surreal feeling of that moment. The moment where the girl in the horror movie inches the door open and sees a black void of nothing before a ghostly pair of arms drag her into Hell.
This wasn't a horror movie though, this was Nao's sad reality where monsters existed and took pleasure in her slow mental destruction. A monster who was now intentionally mocking her with a horror movie cliché. Which only meant that he'd heard what she'd said last night. Which of course meant that the reason for that lingering dark feeling was because he'd watched her make a fool of herself in a Ward that terrified her.
Nao's hands clenched into tight fists as she bored holes into the door separating her from the man on the other side. If the reason last night that made her want a deal was because of money, then the reason now was because of this.
"Ya—Yakumo-san?" She winced at how weak she sounded compared to the confidence from before when she knew she was wrong. How timid she seemed when what she felt most was anger. "Yamori-san?" she tried again, stronger this time though a quaver remained. There was no answer, not even a knock. Only silence. Nao didn't know if he—or on the off chance it was someone else—was still there, but when she didn't hear anything like receding footsteps she took it as a sign and continued. "I-I n-n-n…" she stammered, biting her tongue immediately before starting again. "I need t-to talk to you."
"Then come out here."
Nao was taken off guard by the suddenness of his voice, near certain that he was going to keep up the charade of silence. And to be honest, now that the fear that he was truly here had been confirmed, Nao lost what little confidence she had. She glanced quickly from the door handle and the lock to the slim window behind her. It wouldn't be the first time she'd escaped out a restroom window, but it would a first where she wasn't trying to ditch a horrible blind date or standing on a toilet shimmying her ass in order to do so. Though in the time it would take her to get underneath the window to even try, Yamori would've already broken down the door.
Swallowing the lump in her throat—and mentally preparing herself for coming face-to-face with the monster that had nearly choked her to death—Nao reached for the door handle. Her fingers jerking only once toward the lock before she grasped the slim metal beneath her palm and opened the door. Simultaneously her other hand fingered the zipper on her purse. Rather than the black void her mind had conjured up moments earlier, or the red-and-black eyed figure from her nightmares, Yamori stood there in his white suit, his broad-shouldered figure just barely framed by the door opening. As usual a grin adorned his face; a small part of Nao wondering if—aside from the open hostility she had once experienced—he ever showed an emotion beyond those of amusement and annoyance.
Nao felt her breathing pick up and her chest constrict; her panic rising as she stared at him. Much the same way she'd reacted months prior when she'd run into him for the first time. Nao bit the inside of her cheek, focusing on the sharp pain in her mouth as she worked on taking deep breaths to calm herself down—a tip she'd picked up from her doctor three years ago to help combat PTSD to stay in the here-and-now. The problem was that her "here-and-now" was a repeat, and the breathing exercises only really worked when the object of your PTSD wasn't standing right in front of you.
But then again, that's the reason why she had a knife in her purse.
"Didn't try to go out the window?" he asked. Nao just barely curbed the urge to look over her shoulder as she gradually calmed down. The bitter irony being that his relaxed demeanor was causing it. She didn't answer him beyond a little step backward, trying to increase the distance between them but still anchored in place by her tight grip on the door handle. She let go and retreated further into the restroom only when Yamori glanced away from her towards the entrance of the hall before he took a step inside.
Nao heard the thud of the double doors as they shut behind two people entering the hall—a man and a woman was as much as she could tell from the briefs stints of conversation between wet, sucking sounds—before Yamori closed the restroom door and turned the lock. Shutting the couple out and keeping Nao inside. Aside from a second dull thud out in the hall, the only sound Nao heard clearly was the pounding of her heart in her ears as Yamori strode closer, following Nao step for step until her back hit the wall.
She kept herself still, watching him with continued fear as he slid his eyes up and down her body, his expression taking on a leering quality that made her all too aware of the hem of her dress brushing against her stocking-covered thighs and the low dip of her neckline. Nao swallowed the lump in her throat, unsure how to broach the subject she wanted to discuss with him. And overall unsure if he even wanted to talk as his eyes zeroed in on her neck and he reached a hand towards her.
The deep purple she had worked hard to cover up the last few weeks had faded and given way to a yellowed blossom across her throat. No longer was it as tender as it had been, as sore as it used to be. And yet tingles followed his fingers as they traced their vague imprints on the sides of her neck. His thumb softly skimming down the length of her windpipe. Nao jerked away from his hand, batting it away in a moment of bravado as she pressed back further against the wall. Her left hand stung at the bare amount of contact, a flare of pain radiating down her arm even as she hissed, "Don't touch me." Yamori smirked down at her, dropping his hand back to his side and lowering his gaze to the knife pointing at his abdomen.
"You brought a weapon?"
"It's just a little…protection," Nao replied, flicking her eyes down at it. Involuntarily she remembered the last time she had held a knife to him, recalling with startling clarity what the Interrogator had said about a ghoul's body. "Would it have worked?" she asked him, making clear how useless she herself saw the small object; deadly to anything else but them.
"You wanna try and see?" His hand wrapped around hers, steading the shaky grip she had and raising both her arm and the knife until the tip of the blade rested lightly above his clavicle. In that instant her gut filled with the same sick feeling it had years ago, forcing her to try and yank her hand back from Yamori's.
Her hand slipped from his, leaving him the knife as he scoffed down at her. "What are you going to do with a knife when you lack the conviction to even use it?" he asked, readjusting his grip along the blade and—as far as Nao could see—applying the smallest amount of pressure. Before her eyes the metal bent beneath his fingers, curling and letting out the slightest whine before he let it drop to the floor. Nao stared at the twisted bit of metal that used to be her kitchen knife before she moved her eyes to Yamori's hand, expecting to see blood where there was not even a scratch. Her stomach sank like a rock. Her time with the Interrogator had done her no favors—that was to be certain—but least of all he had shown her how weak a ghoul could be, and never how invulnerable they actually were.
"I just…I just want to talk with you," Nao murmured, her voice low even in the soundless void of the restroom. "But…please…just don't touch me," she asked, unwilling to look him in the eye as she continued to stare at the unmarked flesh of his hand. Unable to suppress the shudder that went through her as he bent his forefinger under his thumb. The subsequent crack echoing off the linoleum.
"You tried to kill me," she began, earning a low scoff from Yamori as he rebutted,
"Don't exaggerate—"
"I can't!" she cut him off, daring to raise her voice from a murmur to something angry and indignant as she forced herself to look at him, "Not if that's what everyone's saying. Especially not if that's what everyone believes." The smile had dropped from his face, the amused look she had grown used to overtaken by one bordering on vague curiosity or studious interest. "I can't spend the rest of whatever time I have left thinking about whatever end you have in store for me—if you want to drive me insane or…" she started off strong, her voice dwindling in volume the closer she got to her proposal, "k-kill me. Because if I do, I'll lose track of what I've been working towards the last seven years."
She let her last sentence hang in the air between them, watching him carefully as the mild interest he had shown throughout melted into a narrowed look of aggression. "What do you want instead then?" Yamori finally said, "To live longer? To do what; marry your lover boy? Quit your job and have a few brats?" Though the left side of his mouth had twitched up, he was not smiling. Rather he had grown more antagonistic and taunting. "Wait around like a good little wife till death while he goes out and fucks his whores?"
Nao stared up at him, her previous emotions until that point draining until there was nothing but confusion at his aggression at something—someone?—she didn't even want, and a small sense of suspicion. "…He's just a stupid fling," she mumbled, "And that's not what I had in mind."
Yamori's lips stretched into a mirthless smirk, as if she were lying or trying to weasel her way out of playing his game. "What then?" he asked her. Nao bit her bottom lip, looking away from him as she quickly and carefully chose her next words.
Though she wasn't suicidal, she couldn't let something equally as deadly continue before he had had his fun terrifying her. And who knew if that moment was two months, or even two hours from now. Maybe there was a way out that she hadn't thought of, hadn't seen from behind the veil of abject fear and stress. But until she found it she had to stall, and what better way than with a gambit?
"A year. I want a year. And after it's done, I'll let you kill me."