CW: Drug use. Emotional aftermath of rape.
Chapter 02: Sucker-Punched
The girl could hear the crowd going wild as he grabbed the bass and started his signature intro riff. The steady rhythm of the way he strummed those deep notes into existence used to be one of the most erotic things he had ever done as a musician. The passion that he poured into it and the almost hypnotic high that came from being able to produce something he knew was a masterpiece. That confidence and the art he created was brilliance incarnate. Now, as she listened to him fall deeper and deeper into the music, she felt sick to her stomach.
After he was finished with her, he kissed her neck and thanked her for helping his Tokyo debut to be such a memorable night. He promised that he would return once the concert was over, wholly unperturbed by the sins committed. Gathering himself together, he grabbed his bass and headed off to the stage to become the king that he had worked so damn hard for since they arrived in the city six months ago. Had she known what it would end up costing her, she would have stayed in their janky small town. Well, she was going to be damned if she'd stick around for the Hell that was to come.
She ran her hands in the lukewarm water pouring out of the faucet in the luxurious bathroom of the VIP room. Taking the lavender bar of soap, she lathered up her hands and scrubbed between all of her fingers, under her nails and along her wrists and arms up to her elbows. Rinsing the bubbles away, she grabbed a small towel hanging off the rack, soaked it up with water and some more soap and then proceeded to wipe down her breasts and body, everywhere that he had the audacity to stake a claim. Rinsing it clean, she lathered it up once more and then carefully cleaned between her legs. Unable to take her eyes off the sharp contrast of red upon the white towel as she rinsed it completely clean again, the young woman felt another wave hit her stomach. This time she ran to the toilet and vomited until everything, but her soul filled the bowl. Flushing away her dignity, she washed her hands again and then erased the painted mask upon her face.
When she was finished, she observed her reflection. A tight knot filled her chest at what stared back at her. A ghostly pallor of shame and rage hid the warmth of a girl who had hopes and dreams once. A young woman with a flushed complexion of a promising future, now wasted in the backroom, sleazy bedroom of music's biggest venue in the city of dreams.
More like the fucking city of lies, she thought.
Taking one last breath, she exited the bathroom and grabbed her large, leather backpack off the ground beside the bed. Looking at the discarded remnants of clothes on the floor, she picked them up and tossed them into a metal rubbish bin. Pulling a lighter from the small pocket of her bag, she lit the clump of fabric on fire. Snapping the zippo closed, she ran her fingertip along the engraving.
To my muse, forever yours.
"What a fucking joke," she muttered. Turning around, she threw the zippo clear across the large space. Raking her rock-star hair out of her face, she pulled a plain grey tank top and a pair of denim shorts out of her bag along with black nylon tights, and a pair of dark grey and maroon Chuck Taylors. After getting dressed, she searched the space for her leather jacket, which was hanging on one of the guitars that her dearly beloved musician monster had decided not to use tonight. After putting it on, she picked up the rest of her things and headed straight for the door. As she reached for the knob, her free hand slipped into the pocket of her coat.
She froze in her tracks. Pulling the surprise free of its confines, she discovered that it was a tiny baggie of white powder. Her mouth fell open in shock as the memory of him handing it to her in their shared apartment came rushing back.
"Hold this for me, will you babe?" He said to her as he shoved the baggie into her pocket while laying a kiss upon her cheek.
"I don't want this," she had protested eagerly. "If I get busted with it—"
"Relax, babe," he countered. "If you just relax, then you don't have to worry about anyone finding you with it. Besides, I'll take it once we get to the venue. Should help with the nerves."
Her amber eyes bore into the pureness of its white colour. A picture wheel of his hands on her body, his mouth invading her in ways she could never erase from her mind, the way he had forced her to relinquish her most prised possession, the pain, the blood—she could feel herself fraying.
Fuck, she thought. Get your shit together. Don't lose it, not here. Don't let anyone see you being weak.
Wrapping her fingers around it, she shoved it back into her pocket and got the hell out of there.
"Scotch, neat," the bartender said as he placed a glass with ochre liquid before the tall stranger. He nodded his thanks and then tipped the man with an American $100 bill.
He sipped his drink and relished the comforting burn that trickled down his throat. The wonderful smokiness of the aged alcohol helped calm his frustrations from the shit-show that was meeting his manager. When his bandmate had told him of the guy, he had expected an individual that would at least be on the same level as them. But this bloke ended up being an uptight walking bag of professionalism that was so neat-and-clean, it made the man want to punch bunnies.
He took another long sip before putting the glass back upon the damp napkin. Feeling the ache of stress seeping into his joints, he realised what he needed was some good ol' fashioned fun. He turned away from the bar and explored the scene with his icy blue eyes. So many beautiful women were around, yet none of them seemed particularly appetising to him. As he pondered which one to hunt, he noticed a young woman slipping into the club from the side entrance. She looked so wholly out of place that he felt immediately intrigued by her presence.
She walked straight up to the bar at the far end and whispered something to the bartender. They looked quite chummy, which furthered his interest. Picking up the glass for another sip, he was unable to take his eyes off of her. After she disappeared into the Ladies' Room, he waved down the bartender for a refill.
"Who was that girl?" he inquired nonchalantly. When the bartender looked at him with a cocked brow, the tall man added, "humour me."
"She's really well-known around here. Hangs out with the biggest musician in town," the bartender answered. "They have a tab. Whatever request they have, we usually comply."
"Interesting," the man replied. "Does that go only for them, or for any hot-shot musician?"
The bartender chuckled. "Well, it'd be difficult o defeat them at the moment. They are the hottest band around. However, anyone with that type of notoriety shall probably be given very special attention from the owner."
"Good to know," the man replied with a soft laugh of his own. "Does she have a name?"
"Why don't you ask her yourself," the bartender said while nodding in her direction. When the tall man looked over, he saw that she had returned and had grabbed the corner-most booth, the one that was the least conspicuous. After getting his refill, he continued to watch her carefully for a while.
In the passing hour, she had consumed approximately three to four vodka tonics, and with each one down she became further intoxicated. Yet, not matter how inebriated she became, she just kept going. The tall man realised that she must have been dealing with something heavy. Knowing that she was involved with the most famous musicians of the city, her predicament didn't really come as a surprise. So many women had their worlds turned upside down thanks to the business of entertainment. Even so, something about her made him feel uncomfortable. It wasn't merely the alcohol that was affecting her. He knew that expression clearly but couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Should I be concerned that you're sitting here ogling at her?" The bartender asked, startling him from his reverie.
Shooting the rest of his drink, the tall man paid the bartender handsomely once more. "I'm not a creep. Simply fascinated."
The bartender shook his head with a soft chortle. "I'm guessing the extra money is for more information?"
"Just a name."
Glancing towards hers, the stranger could tell that while the bartender wanted to uphold his client's confidentiality, the concern of her behaviour was making him contemplate that sense of loyalty this evening. When he looked back at the tall man, he sighed. "I feel stupid asking, but are you sure you're not some asshole?"
The tall man pulled a business card out of his wallet and slid it over the bar. "Do you recognise this name?" When the guy's eyes widened with astonishment, the stranger smirked. "He's a friend of my family's. Do you think he'd harbour an asshole?"
Taking the empty glass from the stranger's presence, the bartender then looked him in the eyes before taking the business card off the glossy surface. "Kyoko."
"Kyoko." The stranger repeated before glancing her way one more time.
Kōga raked his long brown out of his face and then tied it back in a small bun. He had been eyeing the short girl with metallic streaks in her hair for the better part of an hour. Normally, he didn't care for the stumpier ones. But she was so damn wasted that the opportunity presented was too golden to pass up. Flagging down a waiter, he ordered whatever she was having and discreetly slipped a tablet into it. Using the straw to mix it completely into the beverage, he picked up the drink and walked over to her.
Just as Kyoko was about to get up, he slipped into the booth, cutting off her exit. "What's the hurry, babe?" When she looked up at him, he saw how bloodshot her eyes were, indicating that alcohol wasn't the only thing she was indulging in tonight. Taking a moment to admire her appearance, he couldn't help but notice how sexy she looked.
"Who are you?" she asked defensively. There was a vibe about this guy that made her uncomfortable. Then again, she was awfully wasted, and it could have merely been the nausea.
"Where are my manners," he replied, setting the drink down in front her. "My name is Kōga. It's very nice to meet you."
"Well, Kōga," she continued ignoring his gesture. "If you don't mind, can you please get out of my way." Kyoko eyed the space between him and the edge of the booth, calculating how she could slip away. One bastard was enough for the night, wasn't it?
"What's the rush, darling?" He said, sliding closer to her. "I even got you a drink. Vodka tonic, right?" He watched as she glared at the drink and contemplated the offering. "I promise it's not poisoned. Look," he added before picking up the drink and pushing the liquid to his discreetly sealed lips. "See? Perfectly safe."
"I suppose one more drink can't hurt me." Kyoko grabbed the glass and drank heavily, wishing desperately that she'd either black out or the images of her musician's assault would fade into the background of her mind.
Kōga asked her for her name and then engaged the young girl in mindless chit-chat as he waited for the drugs to kick in. When she touched her forehead and started to lean against him, he knew that it was time to get her out of here. "Are you alright, Kyoko?"
"I feel really light-headed all of a sudden," she answered. "I don't know, I'm not feeling to good. Maybe I drank too much." She reached her hand out and placed it against his chest to try and keep upright. It wasn't until he placed his hand on hers that Kyoko realised just how drunk she must have become. "Can you please help me to the Ladies' Room?"
"Of course," Kōga said, knowing damn well that the back exit was located by the lavatories. When they both stood up, he allowed Kyoko to lean on him completely and led her towards the back where it was relatively deserted, to his fortunate surprise. Kōga pulled her along until they went out the backdoor.
"Wait," Kyoko muttered, slurring a bit. "The bathroom was—" Before she could finish her statement, she had collapsed into Kōga's arms. He carried her to his Jaguar, unlocked the passenger's side and placed her into the seat. The brown-haired creep buckled her up and then closed the door. As soon as he turned around, he was greeted with a very tall blonde man.
"Let me give you a hand," the stranger said angrily and then fed Kōga a right hook to the jaw.
"What the fuck?" he cursed after he had been splayed out onto the wet, dirty ground. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, he saw the sheen of blood pouring into his palm. "You broke my fucking tooth, you bastard."
"Oh, that's rich coming from a dick like you," the blond stranger said in English. He approached the bleeding man on the ground, used his foot to flip him over and then kicked him in the ribs with most of the strength that he could muster. A loud, gross crack filled the quiet alley, along with Kōga's groan of agony. "Tell me, is roofying a girl the only way you know how to get laid?"
"Fuck you," Kōga replied in English. He wrapped his arms around his gut and scooted away from the foreigner as quickly as could. Biting through the excruciating pain of cracked ribs, he managed to find his feet and stand-up. Seeing the guy approaching him, he attacked with a punch of his own. Yet, it fell totally useless as the blonde sidestepped it deftly before landing a left hook to Kōga's jaw again.
"Sorry, mate. You're not my type," he quipped before closing the gap between them and following his hook with a right punch to the shorter man's already busted gut. This time when he fell, he didn't get back up. "Sick sonofabitch," the blonde mumbled as he turned around and strode up to the car.
Relinquishing a passed-out Kyoko from its cabin, he gently laid her on the ground, took off his large zip-up hoodie and wrapped it around her. Then picking her up again, he carried her bridal-style to his own car. Once she was safely inside, he took a moment to compose and send a text message. Glancing towards the alley where Kōga's crumpled form still lay, the stranger spit with disgust at such a human being. Getting into his white sportscar, he shifted into first gear and sped away.