16

The cat was in a bag now, away from sight. Its head was nowhere to be found.

There was little evidence aside from the cat itself.

No blood smears or drops—Nothing.

The only other evidence were some faint tire tracks near the back of the manor.

That was it.

Tsukiyama and I were questioned separately. After which I spoke to Yamamoto, who yet again, could do very little.

He offered police protection, which I considered, but Tsukiyama turned it down immediately. I didn't want to waste resources or money, and God forbid I upset Tsukiyama even more. So, I eventually turned it down too, even though I wanted it.

So, nothing else was done, and I returned home before Tsukiyama could have another go at me.

When Pasha got back, he asked me about it, as Yamamoto had told him everything.

"Why did you not tell me?" He asked. "I would have liked to know,"

I gasped, ashamed because I hadn't even considered Pasha. "I'm so sorry. I did not even think about you. If you want to move out—"

"No, no," Pasha said. "I'm not leaving you here alone, not after I've found this out. When did it start?"

I told him everything, in detail. He listened and did as Yamamoto had done, asking me the same questions.

"Why Tsukiyama?" He asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know,"

"Are you sure it's even the same woman?"

"She followed him, then me,"

Pasha paused. "Jesus...What's the link? There's no link between you and Tsukiyama, not one that justifies this anyway,"

I sighed. "I really don't know...Sorry,"

"It's OK..." He paused, looking deep in thought. "You don't have any, like, upset exes or anything?"

"I don't think so...I mean, I think maybe they would have sent me a few messages first?"

"Ok...You are an academic, you did not write, like, an essay or something that upset someone?"

"Well...My philosophy essays can get a bit controversial, and I've done loads of papers on controversial points in history or literature. But most of my essays are only seen by my professors, who are all in Oxford,"

Pasha paused. "I assume it must be directed at Shuu Tsukiyama,"

"Could it be related to the homicide case?"

"Possibly...Especially with the dead cat, but..."

"But?"

"You think it's a woman,"

"So?"

"Women don't usually kill unless they have to, and it's rarely planned,"

This is my chance. I can pry here, then maybe Shuu Tsukiyama won't see me as quite so useless.

"You think the murders were planned?"

He paused. "Probably, but anyway...I don't think a woman could do it—"

"I know, but why not?"

"Because I just said—"

"But that's bollocks. Women are just as violent as men, more so even, I'd say. The idea that women are incapable of pure violence is an outdated, misogynistic belief,"

He blinked. "Right...Well, for now, we are saying it's a man,"

"Do you have any evidence of the killer being a man?"

"Well, no, but—It doesn't matter. These cases probably are not linked,"

Damn.

Oh, nice one. You probably fucked it when you started talking about misogyny. He probably thinks you're some SJW right now.

Well, I am bi, vegan and a strong defender of minority groups.

You're also fat as fuck.

I'm not body-positive though.

"I'll get myself on your case though," Pasha said. "If that is any consideration to you,"

"Not particularly...I just want to know what the hell this all is. Am I in danger? Why? What did I do?"

"We'll find out, I promise...And I'll protect you if I have to,"

"That's the thing. I don't know if I'm the one in danger. I wasn't the one who was sent a decapitated cat," I picked up Aqua, as I'd been concerned with her especially after cat-gate.

Pasha nodded. "Yeah, but she's still made a point of you. If not violently...Well..."

"What?"

He smiled awkwardly.

"You mean romantically?"

He nodded.

"Well, I did kiss her,"

"Exactly. You are not with anyone currently, right?"

I shook my head. "I'm not really good at the whole relationship thing. Normally I end up upsetting them or getting bored. And eventually the whole things starts to feel fake, you know? They all tell me how special I am and how I'm the most beautiful girl in the world, but it's not like they mean it. They say that to all their partners,"

I paused. "And I used to get my hopes up, thinking 'Maybe this time, this person means it. Maybe they're different,' and they never are. Well, there was this one guy...But he's gone now,"

"Gone?"

"He's not here anymore,"

August 2005.

"I don't want to talk about it,"

August 2005.

"Anyway. That was a long time ago now. Are you seeing anyone?" I asked, only interested to see if he'd let me fuck him.

He hesitated. "Well...No, but..."

"But...?"

"But...I have my eye on someone,"

Damn. I need to get in there quick before he gets stolen.

I mean, the sheer size of the man, I feel like he has a nice cock, and I'm sure it'll feel nice rubbing against my slit.

Probably get some good cum shots too.

Oh, God...Cum shots.

I had to stop before I orgasmed in front of him. Thank God for my resting bitch face.

"Lucky girl," I smiled.

He blushed. "Who, with me? Aha. No. More like unlucky. I mean, look at this face—this nose—a face only a mother could love,"

"I like it," I said. "I think you're attractive,"

"No, you d—"

"How come you get to say that but I don't?"

"Because you're actually pretty, you just have, you know...stuff that means you don't see it,"

I scowled, thinking that he, like my mother and therapists, assumed I had body dysmorphia, which I knew I didn't have.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, uh, nothing. Just, I know what I look like. I know I'm not that attractive, but that's okay, because I still love myself, you know?"

"I don't know. How can you love yourself if you think you're ugly?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I guess it has never bothered me. As long as I'm healthy and strong, that's all I want,"

I didn't understand at all. To me, being healthy was nothing unless you were beautiful—well, skinny. I wondered how he could accept himself if he thought he was ugly.

He wasn't ugly, not to me—I enjoyed his large, hooked nose, narrowed eyes and thin lips. I liked his face.

I've always found 'ugly' people more interesting. I mean, a beautiful man like Shuu Tsukiyama was certainly interesting, but there's a lot more character to a flawed face. I think so, anyway.

And I also believe that there's beauty and ugliness in everything on the planet—in the universe.

I shrugged, a bit bored, and went back to cooking, as I spoke more to Pasha.

"Who is she? This girl you like," I asked.

He paused. "She's a journalist,"

"Oh, no,"

"No, she's nice. She was asking about the murder case, so it's kinda inappropriate,"

"Not unless you act on it,"

"She's out of my league anyway..."

"Am I out of your league?"

"What? Sorry?"

"I'm curious. Am I out of your league?"

"That's a weird question—"

"Just answer it,"

"Yeah, definitely,"

"Hm,"

"What?"

"Nothing. I just...You must have low standards,"

"Wow, thanks,"

"This chicken's done if you wanna get your cutlery and stuff,"

He nodded and got to it, seating himself. I sat opposite with a coffee. We went back to discussing my 'stalker'.

The conversation, however, quickly turned to food. Pasha began to ask what I was eating tonight, if not the meal I'd cooked for him. I began to evade questions, wanting desperately to stop treating him so horribly, but Pasha Sorokin was a very determined man.

He passed me my My Little Pony plate, filling it with vegetables, leftover tofu and some kind of chilli sauce I'd forgotten I'd made. I stared at it. It wasn't dissimilar to my normal nightly meal, only it was far too big.

As he ate, he asked me about things that weren't food, but all I could think about was the food on the plate.

"You study science, right?" He asked.

I nodded, picking broccoli apart with my fork. "Entomology. Biochemistry. Human physiology in sports, yes,"

"Wow. How do you manage all that?"

"I enjoy it," I squashed a pea with my fork.

"But how—"

"Good time management," I nibbled some broccoli, moving sweetcorn and peas around my plate.

"Is it hard?"

"Sometimes, but it's fun," I swallowed broccoli, almost choking.

"What's entomology like?"

"Fun,"

"Okay...What else do you study, anything?"

"History—the Native Americans, and I also study their mythology, also some Asian mythology. I have not been to any sites yet, but hopefully I'll have time soon,"

"Oh, how interesting. I used to live in America,"

Not sure what has to do with Native American history, but ok.

"Really, where?"

"Florida. My ex-wife lived there,"

Oh, I wonder if he knew anyone in the Seminole or Cherokee, etc.

"I thought you had a face only a mother could love,"

"I needed a green card, she was lonely, very lonely,"

"Right. There isn't a big native population in Florida. There used to be,"

We kept talking about Native Americans, which was frustrating because Pasha, like most people, was incredibly uneducated on their culture and history. Sometimes it astounds me how truly ignorant people are to anything related to the Native Americans. It infuriates me.

Though, talking with him allowed me to more easily distract from my food, allowing it to go cold. When he tried to breach the subject, I diverted, went to do yoga before offering to watch a film with him.

We watched Black Swan, one of my favourites. Pasha kept getting distracted, which was annoying.

As the film went on, I began to edge closer to him, resting my head on his chest. He slowly placed his arm on my shoulder, then down, down, down.

I shut my eyes, waiting.

Nothing happened.

I looked up at him, placing my chin on his chest. He stared down at me.

"What is this?" He asked. "What are we doing?"

I paused. "Well...That depends on what you want," I smiled.

He blushed. "Uh, I don't know...I was not expecting—"

"Me either. Sorry. I didn't mean to pressure you into anything,"

"No, you—It's just...Are you comfortable with this?"

"Absolutely, you?"

"Yeah. I want to,"

There was a pause. I smiled. "Why don't we go into the bedroom? It might be more comfortable...There are no parrots watching us in there," I nodded to Kiwi.

Pasha nodded and we went into his room. He'd cleaned up since Jack, getting rid of the smell and making the room look tidier and bigger.

Once we were comfortable, I offered him condoms. He decided to use his own, not my strawberry flavoured ones. To be fair, I think mine were too small anyway because he was massive.

I mean really, really massive. I knew I was having fun that night.

I was eager to do it, pouncing on him as I removed my bra. My breasts spilled out and rested on his chest, as I placed my hand on his groin.

"Woah, woah," He said. "Let's just...Slow down,"

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to push you," I giggled, I couldn't wait ready to start.

"No, no, you didn't. Uh. Just, with your legs, they said no rough activity,"

"Then you'll have to be gentle with me," I smiled thinly, lowering myself back onto him. "And there's plenty I can do without my legs,"

He was very gentle, caring, almost. It felt intimate, even though I had no romantic feelings towards him. I was very rough, desperate not only to please him, but to finally achieve an orgasm.

I've never orgasmed. I've always almost had it. I've never gotten there. I can't even cum at the appropriate time, it just happens randomly throughout the day. How ironic; the horny-as-fuck, pansexual prostitute who can't even orgasm.

I was praying that Pasha Sorokin with his massive cock would save me from the endless chasm of unsatisfactory sex.

He didn't. He tried, but in the end it was just annoying. At least it was fun, I guess, and he got an orgasm and a blowjob out of it for free.

It was just a nice experience. Just nice.

I slept with him that night. His bed was warm and it was nice to have him in bed—he was hairy and I mean, with those muscles—it was like sleeping with a big bear!

I slept extremely well that night for the first time in years, I suppose.

Waking up was yet again, a disappointment.

Pasha was still asleep, so I decided to make my escape early and get some chores done.

I cooked breakfast for him last, then sat to do schoolwork. He came out not long after, a frantic air about him.

"We have to go," He said.

"Good morning,"

"Seriously. We have to get to Kita, now, get your uniform on,"

"What? What are you—"

"Charlotte, Morimine wants us in the seventeenth ward now,"

"Why? We don't work there,"

Something big, I assume.

Like what I had in my mouth last night?

That didn't even make sense, you idiot.

"It's related to our case. They passed it to us. Come on. He wants the same people that were at the first one,"

"First what?"

We knew it'd happen. Those stickers meant something was going to happen again.

"Murder. There's been another murder,"