Briefly, I would like to say thanks for you guys for all of the reviews and the patience you have shown me. I really appreciate everything, from the cute "I love it, please post" reviews to the critical reviews that correct my errors.
Thank you so much; you have no idea how much you have helped improve my confidence in my writing ability.
All other notes will be found at the end of the chapter.
Enjoy!
Chapter 14
Watching and Waiting
She was back.
He watched her with his scrutinizing yet easily pleased eyes, following her every movement in the room.
She was naked and for him to watch…
She was, after all, his.
He loved how her hair looked so soft, so smooth, and he believed that it would feel like silk between his fingertips.
He wondered if it would break easily, or would it stay strong as he gripped it tightly in his hand.
Growling softly at the back of his throat, he watched as she brushed her hair with long, smooth strokes, and, from the looks of her heart-shaped face, she was humming to some distant song he could not hear.
He watched.
He pretended that she was humming to him. A soft, sweet lullaby that would put him to sleep at night, after he had used and abused her, when he was spent she was still chained up, but passionately in love with him.
He saw the love in her eyes.
The way she stared at him with care, kindness, and complete and utter devotion. He knew that she loved him.
But, then, there was the other.
Of course, he was getting a bit luckier; the man had not been with her last week; he had been far from her when he watched.
He watched as she let some stranger bare her body and taste her.
He watched…
He was always watching, always waiting for the right opportunity to make his move. He was always angry in the end, angry because of her refusal to acknowledge his love, or because of the man.
She was devoting more and more time to the man instead of him.
It was growing rather irritating, so much so that he had to go vent his anger on another unsuspecting couple just last night…
It felt so good. To press his body up against theirs, to feel their pain in their muffled cries as they begged for him to be merciful and release them to be free in the night.
He could feel her, hot and tight around him, but far from moist. It hurt him; he could feel her distaste in him, knew that she was repulsed by his actions, and yet, he couldn't help himself. He had to keep doing it. He needed to do it to survive in the world.
A sound diverted his attention from his reveries and he noted that she had found a matching lingerie set to wear to work: a soft, pale blue lace bra and matching g-string, both of which cause his senses to go wild.
Growling louder this time, he clenched his fights tightly, lifting a pair of binoculars to his eyes, watching with more detail as she moved around her room.
He watched her tug on a pair of nearly skintight, black pants, and felt his arousal grow.
She tugged on a matching blouse, covering the voluptuous, gorgeous swells that were her breasts.
His growls increased and he clenched tighter on the binoculars.
Oh, how he wanted to make her, his for all of eternity.
To take her and use her the way she deserved to be used. To take her both physically and mentally, to know that he owned both her body and her mind, was the greatest feat of all.
He felt himself harden in his pants, watching as she bent over to retrieve a dropped item – an earring perhaps? Or maybe it was a delicate necklace that would accent the lovely, pale slope that was her throat?
All he knew was that she was giving him one of the best views of her buttocks ever. Her ass was so tight and round, so … perfect. He just wanted to grab it, to rake his short nails over the flesh until she bled and begged for him to do other things to her.
Kami-sama, give him strength; he wasn't sure how much longer he would be able to last with just watching…
The door shut and he watched as she made her way towards her car, and he continued to watch as she pulled out of the driveway and disappeared down the street.
Grinning from ear to ear, he slowly slid himself down the limbs of the tree, making his way nimbly to the ground, grateful that years of martial arts had giving him a lithe, nimble, and flexibly muscular body.
Landing softly on the grass, he quietly made his way to the duplex, this time climbing up a tree that was right beside her window. He wondered if that man would have given her shit for leaving her window open.
He didn't know the answer at the moment, and did not want to know it; all he wanted was to get into her room.
To touch the things she touched…put on…
Things that smelt like her…
He inhaled the sweet, cinnamon scent that permeated throughout the room, even more grateful that she and her housemate, that annoying brunette, had never thought about installing an alarm system.
He was gentle as he touched her things, holding them carefully, as though they were the most prized possession in the entire Universe. He brushed his fingers down the bristles of her hairbrush; he gently lifted the perfume bottle and sniffed the scent, and, carefully, lay facedown on her bed, inhaling the sweet, rich smell that was her.
Groaning with delight, he opened each drawer carefully, ensuring that he wore his gloves beforehand, before gently pulling out his favourite item.
It was the sexiest thing he had ever seen her wear…a lacy, thin scrap of scarlet that was a g-string.
Growling, he felt himself pressing against his pants, and he shoved the panties to his face, trying his hardest to find remnants of her scent that had not been washed away by soap and water.
Ecstasy and pride filled him, swallowing him whole as he sniffed the underwear, feeling the lace between his fingertips, loving the feel of it as he trailed it down his throat.
A groan escaped his lips and he shut his eyes, reveling in the feel of it…the smell of it…
He could just see her wearing it, moving around, showing the underwear off to him, and asking him what he thought of it. He could see himself just shoving it aside as he took her on her bed, pounding relentlessly in her until she cried out for mercy…
Then…she would stop…
He would extinguish her life as well as the flaming, furious desire that coursed through him.
Holding the underwear in his hands, he deftly made his way out of the room, straightening her bed slightly, before making his way off of the property, the underwear now safely in his pocket.
He turned and faced the duplex, smiling in spite of himself.
He would do it.
Soon.
He would make the bitch pay for denying him…
She sighed heavily, leaning over her desk, closing her eyes as she fought the fatigue that had been plaguing her all morning. She was tired and felt horribly out of shape; what she needed was a good workout session, something to rejuvenate her and revitalize her spirit.
She needed to sweat and pant, to work out all of her tired muscles until they were sore, but quite content.
Opening her eyes at the sound of a knock on the door, she beckoned the person inside and forced herself to appear awake and cheery; her client was here.
"Ohayô gozaimasu, Tachikawa-san."
"Ohayô gozaimasu, Shibayama-san. Come in, take a seat, please." She smiled when he gestured to the door. "Oh, just leave it closed; it'll be more private this way, don't you think?"
The large man smiled in return before making his way to the seat before her, calmly sitting down, crossing his hands in his lap.
"So, Shibayama-san, we'll just start with the normal question of: how are you?"
He shrugged nonchalantly, almost as though to say that he was okay, not great but not horrible, just a constant, boring feeling.
"I'm all right; I haven't been feeling too aggressive lately, so I guess that it's a good sign; maybe the therapy's working."
She smiled softly, pulling out her notepad. They had had only two appointments so far, neither of which had been completely successful in determining the cause for his sudden aggression. However, he had been able to vent about what instigated his anger, mostly simple things that would irritate a person with normal aggression levels. These things, however, caused him to become as enraged as a wife when she found out he husband was cheating on her.
"Shibayama-san, I hate to burst your bubble, but all our sessions have accomplished is, well, letting you vent a bit to me. We still have to determine the source of the aggression, and that's when you'll see the real progression."
He nodded slowly, fully understanding what she meant about the need to find the root source. His eyes slowly roamed over her, noting the dark circles under her eyes and faint, red line that marred her pale throat. He saw the remnants of a bruise on her chin, and noted her bottom lip looked as though it had been recently swollen from a punch.
Frowning slightly, his eyes fell on her right hand, the palm of which was currently bandage, the white standing out starkly against the mahogany hue of her desk.
"I hate to ask…but, Tachikawa-san, what happened to your hand?"
Again, she let him see that soft smile of hers, a smile that meant to be sincere but only looked sad and shielding, and he knew that what she was about to tell him was not the entire truth.
"I cut it on a glass; I dropped a wineglass a few days ago and cut my hand picking up a large piece." She laughed softly. "I suppose it's probably because I slipped and slammed my face right into a cupboard." So she had noted his eyes falling on her bruised and faintly injured visage.
He chuckled along with her, knowing fully well that that was not what had happened. His eyes instantly fell on her left hand, searching in vain for a ring that would symbolize marriage and love. Noting the absence, he looked quickly over her desk, wondering if she held any photographs of loved ones. But the desk was bare save for one photo of her and another woman, whom, in their last session, was supposed to be her best friend.
"So, Shibayama-san, let's get started, shall we?" She flipped through her notepad, bringing his thoughts back from his thorough check for her 'lover'. He could feel annoyance slowly welling up in him; how dare somebody feel the need to hurt such a beautiful and kind woman? She had never done anything wrong to anyone…had she?
He couldn't be sure…all he knew was that she seemed too sweet.
"All right, we'll begin with a few ideas I had that might help you deal with the aggression. Now, I must admit that most patients, unless they realize that they are serious cases, rarely agree to doing this, but I will offer it all the same."
He slowly nodded, wondering quietly just what she was about to offer him.
She flipped her notebook to a certain page and read it briefly. "It's a substance something along the lines of Valium, a relaxant. It'll help ease your aggression and calm you down a bit when you're feeling rather angry or aggressive. You'd only have to take it once a day, but, it you're having a really difficult day, you can take it a second time eight hours after having taken the first dose. It's a new drug, called Ease, made by an American company. So far, the tests have proven to be good, which means that there are little to no side-effects, and a lot of patients have stated that the product works well."
He frowned from the first mentioning of the drug, his eyes darkening as she continued to speak about it, describing how to take it and what to expect from it. Scowling darkly, he shook his head before cursing quietly under his breath.
"I'm sorry?"
"I … sumimasen, I just can't do it. I can't take drugs; I just really don't feel … up to it, I suppose." He closed his eyes, taking in a few slow, deep breaths.
Recognizing that something was deeply disturbing the man, Mimi shut the notebook before facing him, wondering curiously just what could be instigating such annoyance.
"Very well, Shibayama-san. I'm curious, though, to know just why you wish to not take the drugs? I can understand if it is personal choice; many people have certain religious beliefs, or they just do not feel the need to take drugs."
He shuttered his eyes, shielding his emotions from her, and she noted it; it was a sign that there was something he didn't really want to discuss, but, in the end, he just might have to discuss it.
"Shibayama-san, I understand if it is something very personal, perhaps something like a memory, that makes you dislike taking drugs so much. But, I would like to tell you two things before you decide fully on whether or not you wish to disclose the information to me. The first is that what is said in here remains in here; this place is a private area where you can tell me your thoughts and feelings without letting the whole world know them at the same time. Secondly, I'm not here to judge you. It would be, first off, very unprofessional of me to judge somebody, and secondly, I dislike judging people based on their memories, thoughts, and feelings. I try my hardest not to because a lot of people come to me because they are afraid of being judged. So … Shibayama-san, how about it?"
He sighed heavily, running his hands through his short hair, his lips forming a tight line across his face, before his eyes slowly opened, exposing the agony within their chocolate depths.
"When I was younger, my … my mother prostituted herself a lot. We were very poor, so she tended to bring the men to the house, as she couldn't pay for a hotel or anything. We lived in a small apartment, and a lot of the times, I could hear what was going on." He sighed heavily. "They weren't always very nice to her; a lot of times it sounded like they hurt her, were extremely aggressive with her, and she was a very delicate woman.
"It wasn't really the fact that she did those things that bothered me the most, it was more the idea that somebody would dare treat such a nice woman in that way. They were so rough, and a lot of times, when they left, I would find her crying and all bruised. She never did attract the nicest of clientele."
He gestured for water, and she got up slowly, poured him a glass of water and brought it over to him. Sitting back down, she watched as he gulped the water hungrily, as though he hadn't had water in an eternity.
When he had finished the glass, he sighed loudly and leaned back in the chair, closing his eyes in a way to fight back the memories being unleashed in his mind.
"After a while, she started taking prescription drugs, stuff like Valium, as a way to numb the pain … I suppose. She didn't want to waste money on illegal stuff, so she would forge prescriptions, or get them from a family doctor and claim them as mine. She would take a lot at a time and wind up really screwed up. When I saw what it did to her and found out what was causing her to act that way, I swore to never take any prescription or illegal drugs with the exception of Advil or antibiotics that are prescribed by doctors after, say, surgery or getting very sick."
Mimi nodded slowly throughout the entire thing, watching the emotions play viciously across his face as though it were some cheerful, colourful playground. She felt a deep-seated pain wash over her, as though she couldn't help but feel the very pain he felt, the agony of remembering such horrid memories.
She couldn't help but understand…
Everybody had their own skeletons in their closet; the only difference was the severity of the skeleton's deformity and cruelty.
"Shibayama-san, I have one question before we continue, and I suppose it would be an obvious one … where was your father during all of this?"
She knew, then and there, that she had hit a minor source of his anger, his shoulders tensed, eyes darkened, and his jaw became firmly set.
"My so-called father was off traipsing about at work during the day, and at nights, he would go out and cheat on my mother. He always expected her to work just as hard as him, expecting her to pay half of the rent for the apartment, and have the money in full all of the time. Of course, he was completely clueless that she had to prostitute herself, all because he refused to buy food for her, and forced her to pay, at least, half of the rent. He was too busy spending his money on whores."
"So … you don't consider your mother like the women your father slept around with?"
He jerked out of his seat, waving his arms about, his voice rising with each spoken word. "How could they understand? The ones my father went after were the expensive ones, the ones who charged obscene amounts of money just for one hour of so-called good sex. My mother was modest, she charged a decent amount, and came out of it worse for wear. Those things my father went after were not whores, they were just women considering themselves to be expensive. That's all."
Taking in a slow, deep breath, she got up and went over to Junpei, gently placing her uninjured hand on his shoulder. "Shibayama-san, I understand that this brings about bad memories, painful ones that probably make you feel very angry, but I feel forced to kindly ask you to please calm down. I would rather not chance having someone barge in, afraid that you're about to do something crazy."
Nodding slowly, taking several gulping gasps of air, he slowly willed himself to calm down, to try and think about the present. His mother was dead, he explained; she had overdosed on drugs. His father had promptly taking him away from the city, after having found out his wife had also been cheating. Only, his father had refused to understand the reason for his mother's actions; he had believed her to be like the women he had slept with.
Mimi leaned back against the desk, crossing her legs as she listened to him, not wanting to go too far away from him, afraid that he might jump up with anger a second time.
"My father … he didn't understand what a kind and caring woman she was. He refused to believe that she was doing this for the better good; she was trying to help and he called her a whore. She didn't have an education like him; he was ten years older than her, and she was sixteen when he got her pregnant. She thought that he had loved her, and she cried every night because she was not being loyal to him. It hurts, you know, hearing your father call your mother a whore…"
"I would say that I understand, but I can't, Shibayama-san, I'm sorry. But I can try to offer some advice. Remember that your father shielded himself; he blocked himself off from all other possibilities and treated people like he thought they deserved to be treated. He was a selfish man, and nothing can stop him from being like that. Your mother was a very kind woman, and she was really strong. If it had been me, I would not have been able to deal being in the same situation; I would have probably given up early on. Another thing you must remember, which I'm proud you do, is that your mother loved you, no matter what happened. She cared so much for you that she literally gave her life so you could live. That, Shibayama-san, makes her one of the strongest people I've never had the chance to meet."
He sighed heavily, his eyes shutting as his head fell back. "I know … I know Tachikawa-san … but sometimes … it's just so hard. I just get so angry when I think about those things. I try not to, you know, but … when I came back here … I suppose just being in the city unearthed them." He looked up at her, suddenly gaping, his mouth wide with an expression of shock.
"Tachikawa-san … you … wow!" His expression of shock turned into a broad grin. "Thank you! You've helped me so much!"
Her smile, still soft, held no sadness this time, but a faint glimmer of pride that shone in her amber eyes. "I'm proud of your for admitting it to me, Shibayama-san. But, we still have more stuff to go through; we may have found the possible root cause, and the link to how it's very sexual for you, but we still need to find a way to ease it so that you no longer get attacks of aggression."
Junpei, however, was not fully listening, for, just as she finished speaking, the door had opened, and a smaller, bald man walked into the room.
Hida Iori stopped in his tracks, mouth open, appearing rather aghast that she stood so near to the bulk of a man consuming the wooden chair. His cheeks then flushed with a bright embarrassment, and he muttered something inaudible before making his way out of room, closing the door behind him.
A smile played at her lips, and she looked down at the digital clock on the desk. "Well, I guess we went five minutes over. I'm very sorry; I won't charge you for the five minutes, I promise." She glanced back towards Junpei, her eyes holding a sincerely apologetic look. "Sometimes, when we get to a breakthrough, it's hard to just stop the session as is and continue."
He nodded, getting up, showing his understanding of the situation. He was grateful that she wasn't charging him the extra time, and even more grateful that she had helped him so much in such a short amount of sessions. He was only on his third and already he was feeling the aggression fade.
She was such a sweet woman…
Whoever dared to hurt her would most certainly pay … he would make sure of it.
She panted, gasping for air as sweat poured down her forehead, her muscles screaming in protest as she pushed herself closer to the peak. Her legs moved, hard, swift, and fast, her hips turning slightly, while her arms flexed with each movement. Stray strands of hair fell from her ponytail, sticking to her blushing cheeks and sweat-covered face.
She stopped, and moved aside, gasping for air as the machine stopped its work, slowing down to a halt. Her lungs screamed for air and her heart hammered against her chest, and yet, she felt oh-so satisfied and beyond content with herself.
Standing straight, having finally managed to gather enough breath within her lungs, Mimi swung her head back, eyes closed as she lifted a bottle to her lips, guzzling the cool, wet liquid that trickled down her throat and eased the burning heat within her body.
Sighing loudly as she removed the bottle from her mouth, she opened her eyes and looked around the room, knowing fully well that she should not be embarrassed by the clothing glued to her, but, in fact, proud of it.
The gym was full, several men and women working out, most trying their hardest to sweat as much as possible and show how hard they were working at losing the weight, whilst others simply stood around, mostly skinny females, trying to look pretty.
Adjusting her shorts, she moved away from the treadmill, making her way over to a few mats lying on the ground, before plopping herself down on an empty one and stretching her legs out in front of her. Stretching her arms high above her head, she closed her eyes and counted to twenty, or until her muscles eased into a calm, smooth feeling of relaxation. Slowly, she did the stretches, doing each one at a time, taking her time until, in the end, she felt limp and comfortable, relaxed, despite the sweat gluing her clothes to her body.
Sitting up on the mat, she crossed her legs Indian style, leaning back slightly, closing her eyes as she began her brief period of meditation that would calm her heart and ease her aching, sore muscles. She slowly breathed in and out, taking her time to calm her body, listening to the distancing sounds of the grunts and machinery moving each second.
It had been about a good week since her attack, and Taichi had taken to calling her every single night, asking her how her day was, and simply irritating her to the point that she finally gave in and called a security company. They were to come and set up their system on that Friday. Sora had also taken to watching over her, checking her injuries every day, and, finally, just two days ago, she had said that Mimi could have the stitches removed.
Looking down at the bandage-covered hand, she watched as a few drops of blood surfaced and stained the white wrap. She knew that she had probably opened a small scab while working out, but it didn't really bother her. She already knew that it would scar, and it would be only a physical scar compared to the nightmares that psychologically scarred her mind.
Taking in a few more deep breaths, fighting back the sudden rise of panic within her, she willed herself to focus on her breathing instead of the nightmares that had plagued her for the past week.
No, they weren't nightmares…
They were memories…
She didn't want to remember those days … locked away in that damp room at the top of the abandoned factory. She didn't want to remember how she feared, each and every time, that the beast would take her, only to feel a strong sense of relief whenever he received some form of a conscience and moved away.
She just didn't want to remember what had happened on that last day there…
Sighing softly, she stood up, gathering her water bottle and a towel from the nearby rack; she made her way towards the changing room.
The nightmares had finally subsided three nights ago, after Sora had finally managed to tug the story out of Mimi. Sora had sobbed with her, holding her friend tight and close, crying tears of pain and empathy onto Mimi's face, mingling with her own tears. She had held her for hours on end, whispering sweet words in her hair, holding her tight and close, giving her all of the warmth she had. Mimi had taken that warmth gratefully and had tried to give back her own, trying to let Sora feel some of her own, sweet, tortured heat that had taken forever to return to her body.
Another sigh escaped her lips as she entered the locker room, making her way towards her locker as she thought back to the night when Sora had finally helped her ease away from the nightmares. Sora was such a good friend, like the sister she had always wanted, and Mimi wanted, with all of her heart, to be able to repay Sora for her years of kindness.
Sora was truly a loving, caring person.
Pulling out her gym bag, she shut the locker and made her way towards the showers, her thoughts finally be tugged away from Sora and her nightmares; she would have a few difficulties getting the darn bandage off of her hand so she could wash. Fortunately, the stitches had been removed the previous day, so she knew that she didn't have to worry about tearing one. Although, she did worry about the bandage ripping off of her scabs, but she would deal with it when it came to it.
Carrying her bag in her uninjured hand, she walked towards the showers, quite amazed at the way technology had improved throughout the years. Although the locker room, itself, was set up in the same, old style of the 1900's, the shower room was completely different. It was simply a long corridor of doors, which lead into a bathroom-like room, suited with a shower stall, toilet, sink, and a small cupboard for one's clothes and towels, as well as a hamper for the dirty towels that belonged to the gym.
She entered one of these rooms; they were always unlocked unless somebody was in one, and locked the door, knowing that a red light would go on above the door, signaling that somebody was in it.
In Shower Stall Number 4, for they were all numbered, she placed her stuff in the cupboard, and proceeded to strip. The focusing of her attention on the removal of her clothing helped her fully stray from her earlier thoughts, and she focused back on the present. Moving over to the back corner of the room, she stood in front of the rather large stall, and began pressing the buttons on the wall beside it, adjusting the temperature and force of the spray she wanted.
Technology certainly was amazing.
Laughing quietly to herself, she thought about how she felt like she was in a Star Wars movie.
In the end, she thought that being in a Star Wars movie would be way better than currently living in this reality.
He wanted to kill somebody.
No, he was going to kill somebody.
The fucking bastard…
His hands were clenched into tight fists, eyes dark slits of blue that expressed the deepest, darkest, coldest hatred from within his very body. His heart pounded against his chest, while his stomach twisted and turned, like a pile of writhing snakes that were constantly getting tied into knots. His lungs heaved for air, begging him to open his mouth and throat and take in a deep, gasping breath of the cool, life saving oxygen that filled the air.
His muscles were tense, like he had been stressed for days on end. It was because he was stressed that his muscles were tensed. Every night, he woke up in a chilled sweat, his heart racing against his chest as his lungs screamed for air, while his mind swirled with the darkest, most despairing thoughts he had thought he would never come to think.
The images of the dream were still vivid in his memory, even as he stood at the crime scene, looking down at the dead bodies before him. They were not the young couple, murdered only twelve hours before, but they were a bright, sweet, dark-haired woman with a seductive smile and bewitching gaze.
But, in his dreams, the smile was curled into a frown, a grimace of pain felt just before death, while the eyes lay cold, like frozen whiskey, empty, amber orbs that gazed on forever after death.
The pale skin, so soft, so tender, was bruised and battered, ivory with splashes of crimson staining the porcelain skin of the doll, scarlet streaming down to stain the clothes that were ragged and torn on the body, exposing and yet, somehow managing to keep the image modest. Her pretty, long column of a throat was slit, from ear to ear, exposing the torn trachea, no longer flooded with blood, a simple red, gaping slit that exposed the inside of the beautiful column and the reason for her death.
But that wasn't all that plagued him in his dreams; he saw the bruises, he would see the cuts, the signs of extreme violence. He would hear her screams as somebody other than him shoved their way into her body, forcing her to succumb to their strength and power, forcing her to forever be theirs.
But … why?
That was the question that plagued him his every waking moment. Why would somebody go after someone so caring, so sweet, somebody with a melodic laugh and a bright spirit that helped others fight their fears and gain a sense of self-esteem? What she done that, in the end, was leading to the attempts on her life?
Guilt filled his body as he recalled the sight he had seen before his eyes upon exiting the club. Her body, bruised, cut, and shaking, looking so terribly pale, standing out in the darkness of the night. Her limbs seemed so frail, and he had feared to touch them, almost as though he feared he would break them.
He had held that frail body in his arms, and had never wanted to let go. It had been his fault that she had left in the first place; if he had not barged in on her, then she, most certainly, would not have rushed out of the club in such fury. If he had just tried talking to her … but his jealousy had overcome his senses, overwhelming him with such strength that his mind had easily succumbed to their seductively angry whispers.
He buried his face in his hands, remembering how she had sat there, calmly in the questioning room, and yet, he had noticed the tremors that filled her body each and every time she was asked to recall the scenario. He had wanted to take her in his arms again, fill her with his warmth, and let her know that everything would be all right.
He wanted to say that he was sorry for chasing her out. He was sorry that it was his fault that she had gotten attacked. It was his and only his fault that she had nearly died in the arms of a stranger that night, in the darkness were no moon waned and no stars glimmered with a brilliant laughter.
Every day it hurt … it hurt to know that he had been the near cause of her death. He felt such a tremendous urge to protect her with his life, especially now, and he was growing more and more desperate. It took all of his strength of will not to follow her to work, or to set up a car near her house to ensure that she got home all right. It had taken everything in his power no to do it himself, to not follow her everywhere and make sure that she did not even break a nail.
He was obsessed.
And yet … he did not feel terribly obsessed in a way that he would kill to have her, or take her without her consent. Something inside of him told him that, if she said no, he would back away calmly and accept that she did not love him.
Love?
He turned away from the scene and began walking around the perimeter, pretending to look for clues, while his mind strayed on the thought concerning that one, four-letter word.
Love.
Did he love her?
It was strange to think that, for the first time in his life since his parents' divorces years ago, that he mind feel some sort of love for somebody.
Love…
That four-letter word, such a small, little word, that held so much strength.
What was love? Was it this strange obsession? Was it the feeling that he would never be able to exist without her? Was it the dreams that constantly plagued him at night? The nightmares that screamed for him to go back and protect her with his very life? Was it the pain he had felt in during his every waking moment, when the guilt had eaten away at his very being and he wanted, with all his might, to turn back the clock and save her from the vicious, cruel man who had attempted to burn out the light that was her life?
What was love?
Was it the constant tenderness he felt for her? The constant need to hold her in his arms and protect her from all of the darkness in the world? Was it the feel of her beating heart against his as his lips found hers in a sensual, yet tender embrace? Was it the way his mind always found a way to bring her into every conversation? Or was it the sheer, absolute care he felt for her, the endless feeling that he needed to know everything about her, and felt triumphant when she directed her kind words towards him?
He didn't know. But, something he did know, was that he wanted to be near her.
The panting of breath behind him made him turn around and focus his attention on the now. The crime scene was taped off, located at the back of Cruella's. It had been exactly one month since the last killing, and they had begun to think that it was over.
So why did the killer suddenly show up again?
He wondered about this as Taichi showed up at his side, panting for air. "I … tried calling … Mimi-san …and she … is not answering."
Yamato couldn't help but frown and cross his arms. He arched a brow at his comrade, wondering aloud just why Taichi had felt the need to sprint over as fast as he could to give Yamato this information. Then, it hit him. What if…?
No, he had to push those thoughts back, all the way to a far and distant recess of his mind, where he didn't have to think or focus about any of the negative thoughts. They would simply consume him, and he would be able to do nothing but succumb to their whispered words.
He wouldn't let them control him.
"Detective Yagami," he used this title only when in public, "have you tried calling Tachikawa-san's friend, Takenouchi-san? It is very possible that Tachikawa-san is in a meeting and cannot answer her phone."
A blush tinged Taichi's cheeks, and he stammered quickly that he hadn't thought of calling his lover and Mimi's best friend. Dialing the number on his cell phone, he spoke quickly to her, before turning to Yamato to relay the information to the blond. Mimi was at the gym, like she always was every Thursday afternoon. At Yamato's request, Taichi got the directions, and hung up after a rushed 'I love you.'
Turning to Yamato, he frowned as the blond began heading away from the crime scene. Following him, Taichi's frown deepened as he noted that Yamato was headed towards his car.
"Lieutenant, you're not thinking of going over there and getting her, are you?"
"She's a part of this team, just like you and me, and she should always have her cell phone on, I told her that the moment she joined us. I told her to be expected to be treated exactly like a cop, always on call, and that she should always be ready to head for a crime scene or to the station if we called."
"But, Lieutenant, you can't really expect to be allowed in the gym. Okay, well, you'll be allowed in the gym, but what if she's in the woman's changing room?"
"Then I'll go in and get her."
The simple prospect of being able to see her again was filling his mind, making him want, making him need, to do anything in his power to see her again … to touch her and to know that she was all right.
Besides, he had clearly instructed her to always be ready for a call, so he would consider this a learning experience for her. She had obviously disobeyed him, so, the Dom in him said, she was to be punished. Even if it meant finding her naked and wet in the shower, he would find her and drag her to the scene, instructing her the entire way that she should always have her phone on.
What if it had been an emergency? He sat in the car and drove. What if Sora had been hurt and had been trying to call Mimi? He found the place with ease. What if Yamato had been calling her to tell her that they had a break in the case? Flashed his badge at the desk. There were just so many 'what if's.
He walked through the gym, asking around if anybody had seen her. Some women told him that they had seen her head off towards the changing room, and he couldn't help but feel a powerful surge of triumph at the thought of finding her half-naked.
Entering the changing room without being stopped and without even asking, he couldn't help but smile. The women were, in fact, all changed, and no one was naked. He knew that, because the amount of peeping toms had increased in public women's changing rooms, the lockers were only there to hold things, while a series of rooms and shower stalls were established for the purpose of cleaning and changing.
Asking around, he was finally told that she had entered Shower Stall Number 4. Making his way over to the door, he used his police I.D. to bypass the code locking the door, and entered the changing room quietly, closing and locking the door behind him.
Before the door had fully shut, he heard a series of feminine giggles, and few women whisper that Mimi would be having some amazing company.
His favourite was the woman who said that Mimi would be pleased with her new, personal trainer.
Turning around at the shut door, he surveyed the room quickly, noting the cleanliness of it, and, even before his eyes fell on the shower, he felt the strong humidity and heard the water pouring in the stall.
The glass was distorted, a foggy glass that hid her nudity despite the fact that nobody could see her anyways; the door had been locked.
But he was there, and he couldn't help but feel grateful that the glass was fogged; he did not know what he would have done if he could see her full, naked body covered in rivulets of water.
"Konnichiwa, Tachikawa-san."
She screamed and he heard a thud as her shadow fell to the ground of the stall. She fumbled, reaching around for the first time she could find, and grasped a hold of her shampoo bottle. Slowly, she stuck her head out from behind the door, a mass of wet, black hair surrounding the pale, heart shaped face. Her eyes narrowed, the bottle held out like a weapon that would save her life if it came down to it.
The eyes widened when they caught sight of the man standing by the door, leaning against the wall. His hands were stuffed in the pockets of his black slacks, while a white shirt was tucked loosely in his pants. The tie fell to his navel, and her gaze went further down, falling on the crotch of his pants, noting that the way he held himself hid any sign of arousal.
Keeping the bottle out just in case, she scowled up at him from her position on the floor, trying to appear indignant despite the fact that she was naked in the shower and he stood fully dressed, with a gun at his side.
"I … Ishida-san! What in Kami's name are you doing here?" Her voice had obtained a pitch she never thought it could – high and extremely irritated.
He couldn't help but smile; the flush at her cheeks told him that she would most certainly be sorry for turning off her phone. However, he just didn't know why he taking a great deal of pleasure from punishing her for such a little thing. Perhaps it was simply the lack of sexual activity in the past month.
"Well, Tachikawa-san, you forgot to turn on your cell phone, and I've been trying to contact you for the past several hours." It was a double-lie; Taichi had been trying to contact her, and he had only been trying for a good half hour. But sometimes it couldn't hurt to exaggerate the truth just a little bit.
She frowned, wondering briefly if she should just continue her shower while they talked. It really couldn't hurt…
"If I hear you come near this stall, I swear on Kami-sama, I will squirt this entire damn bottle of shampoo in your eyes and find something painful to shove up your ass. Got it?"
His grin widened. "Sounds like a blast."
Closing the door, she resumed washing, rather irritated with herself for having not taken longer in the shower; she only had to wash her body and would be finished. She couldn't help but wonder if he would leave the room if she asked; it was only common courtesy, wasn't it?
She couldn't but smile slightly, noting that, although she had bled a little when removing the bandage, the bleeding had stopped. Sighing heavily then, she squirted the body wash into her uninjured hand, breathing in the soft, subtle scent of lotus flowers and cherry blossoms.
Before they could restart their previous discussion, she had quickly lathered the body wash all over her body, cleaned herself of the sweat and dirt, and was in the process of turning off the water from the panel inside the shower.
"Ishida-san, I would really like to get out of this stall. If you would kindly leave the room, I will not be forced to scream when I get out of the shower."
She could see him in her mind, grinning like a Cheshire cat, ready to pounce on the fact that the rooms were, in fact, well insulated from sound.
"Well, Tachikawa-san, I hate to state the facts, but, in this particular situation, you are very much unprotected. Or, did you forget that the rooms are padded so that nobody can hear what's going on inside, or outside? Yes, it's a lovely invention. I suppose they did it for … particular reasons. Don't you?"
As he spoke, he fought to grit his teeth, gnawing on the side of his cheek roughly as he felt a powerful lust fill his body. There she was, naked and exposed, unprotected in that shower stall. He could just see her body's outline in the fogged glass, growling with delight as she lifted her arms, thrusting her breasts in the air.
He felt his erection press against his pants and he further adjusted his position, not knowing if she would stick her head out a second time. The last thing he wanted was to have her notice his arousal.
Although, it could have some pretty interesting consequences…
Leaning further back against the door, he continued to grin as scenarios filled his mind. What would she do if he just opened and closed the door? Would she stick her head out and look to see if the coast was clear, or trust the shit out of him and just step out?
The prize was most certainly worth the risk.
"Fine, fine, Tachikawa-san, I can hear you snarling from here. I suppose it wouldn't hurt for me to wait outside. I'm giving you three minutes, exactly. Starting…now." He turned, opened the door, waiting a second, and then shut it.
He resumed his position, leaning and grinning.
Now to wait.
The wait lasted for a good couple of minutes, almost as though she were wondering whether she should just step out or not. Twice, he ignored her questions directed to 'him', twice she paused afterwards, listening to the silence that now filled the room.
The entire time he grinned.
And waited…
She knew that she would feel foolish if she stuck her head out and checked beforehand. Furthermore, she had, twice, asked questions, and, both times, had not gotten a single answer. She could hear no movements, not even the sound of breathing.
Sighing heavily, she ran her hands the best she could through her hair, pushing it away from her face, enjoying the feel of it plastered against her bare back. Then, leaning forward, she flung the door open.
Edit: Lyphta noted that I mentioned (in my first section of this chapter) that the stalker was going into a home sans security system. I would like to note that I forgot to add that the scenario took place several days before the remainder of the chapter. (I got too lazy to write up a whole...blahblahblah days later.) So, just pretend that it took place a day or two before they installed the system.
I'm a bitch, I'm a bitch, and I'm a bitch!! Hee hee, don't you guys just HATE me now?
Lovely little cliffhanger that might, possibly, lead to a…LEMON!
Oh snap.
Maybe there will be a lemon next chapter, maybe there will be a description of Yamato lying in the ICU after Mimi got a hold of him.
Who knows?
Only I do!!
Why?
Because the next chapter is already written, all I need to do is edit it a little bit and I shall pooost it!
But, of course, I need a minimum of three reviews before I can post it…so, if you're waiting and I don't post, maybe you should review. Who knows? It could take a whole month before I get that third review.
Or I could just be a bitch and not post until you are all begging for it.
Hee hee, I love this.
So, yes, three reviews and you will all know the outcome of Yamato's devilish, sudden plan.
While I already know it!
So, please, review, correct any mistakes, and the first three reviews will get a piece of Lemon Meringue Pie because…I love Lemon Meringue Pie.
Too bad I'm not handing out any Cherry Pie in this fic. I love Cherry Pie, too.
Jâne!