19

Finding the cat head wasn't pleasant, but it was a relief.

At least the animal could be properly laid to rest now.

Now lay the bigger problem of why it'd been sent to Shuu Tsukiyama and Pasha Sorokin in particular.

Tsukiyama bolted before anyone else arrived, which really, really wasn't helpful.

Pasha said it must've been Tsukiyama doing it. Sergeant Kaito Yamamoto seemed to agree.

"I don't think he is," I'd said, "I saw that woman—"

"And then he showed up. He could just be paying some girl and blaming her," Pasha said.

"But the cat—"

"He could've easily done that,"

Yamamoto nodded. "We can question him again. We have to,"

"Mhm,"

I genuinely didn't think it was Tsukiyama. Alright, yes, I knew he had been watching me; but that was for an obvious reason. He already scared the life out of me by existing, I didn't see why he'd send me anonymous gifts and send himself a decapitated cat.

Plus, there was the factor that whoever was doing this might've been romantically attracted to me, which Shuu Tsukiyama wasn't. At least, he seemed like he wasn't. He seemed disgusted by me, actually.

I expressed this, but I was quickly shot down. Then Yamamoto was curious as to why Pasha had been sent the head, which led to shrugs because we really shouldn't have slept together.

Though it was obvious what was the reason, and we both knew that.

"That means that sick fuck was watching us," He'd said, later on, as I cooked his dinner.

"No," I said. "Not watching,"

"Hu—Oh. OhmyGod,"

"There aren't any windows in your bedroom so..." I shuddered.

"He was in here...Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,"

"It's fine. It's fine. It'll all be fine...I-I'm getting the locks changed,"

"Jesus...What did we do? Fuck. Right. Uh,"

"I might...No, I should stay. Pasha, you should go and stay in a hotel or something. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—I should never have let you move in—"

"Hold on, I invited myself in, and I'm not just going to leave you here. I told you that,"

"It's dangerous. God knows what they might do next. I don't want anyone to get hurt,"

"I know, but I will not just leave you. We can go together—"

"No, I need to look after my goldfish. I cannot leave her,"

He laughed. "It's just a fish—"

"Then let's leave your dog and parrot here too,"

"What? No,"

"Then why does Trev have to get left behind?"

"Be-Because...Charlotte, it's a goldfish,"

"Well, your dog's just a dog,"

"It's not the same,"

"I think it is, and I'm not going anywhere unless my Trev is coming with me,"

He sighed. "You are just being silly—"

"I'm not going anywhere without her. I refuse,"

He huffed, thinking. "Alright fine, but I'm getting surveillance sorted, they should start tomorrow,"

"What? Isn't that—"

"It's happening. In the meantime, maybe we will have to sleep in one room,"

"What?"

"It's one night and we have done it before. It's just so we know we are both safe, OK?"

I hesitated, before nodding. It was only one night, and we'd done it before.

I had to work that night. Pasha objected, but I needed money. I always needed money.

On that night, I recall wearing a black skirt that barely covered my ass, with a mesh top and a bra that made my tits look bigger than they were.

You could say I was asking for what happened next. It was my fault.

I didn't want to be late that night, not after the day's events. However, I felt I had a duty to my regulars, so went to see them.

I found my job was easier in Japan. It was mainly just blowjobs, handjobs, dances and fingering, oh, and sometimes anal. It wasn't as exhausting as constant full-sex.

I didn't have to fake orgasm. My body wasn't bruised afterwards.

It was easier.

Being a sex worker is a shit, shit job. Don't do it. Ever.

It's painful, exhausting, thankless and everything worse. Your body becomes everything.

Sometimes you'll give the best blowjob you can to someone who's never heard of personal hygiene, and they still don't pay you half of what they promised.

It's just...shit.

The only thing you can do is get on with it.

That's what I did that night, when I hated my job. When I hated my vagina, my body—everything—more so than usual.

You probably already guessed what's going to happen.

I'd been finishing up for the night. I'd just seen Kobayashi, who'd forgiven me for the other night.

I was on a street corner, checking my phone whilst waiting for a bus. I remember checking Shuu Tsukiyama's Instagram. I was warning him about Pasha's suspicions, though I doubted it was on his mind—he was at a party on Mount Aso, taking oversaturated photos of the volcano from above and slightly lewd selfies with Genesis Slawter.

I remember checking her Instagram too. She always showed the side Tsukiyama didn't show—She posted videos of her doing lines or selfies with ecstasy on her tongue. On that night, there were several photos of her as drunk as fuck, her tiny breasts hanging out of her dress.

Whenever ever one asked about how this matched up with her Catholism, she said God forgave her and that was that. Very vague, I noticed.

Ihad a huge crush on Genesis Slawter; she was so fascinating. I had a huge crush on Shuu Tsukiyama too, I had a huge crush on anyone who's wallet was that big.

It was really cold that night. So so cold.

"Hey," A voice called out.

I looked up, seeing a man of about thirty standing in front of me. I knew what he wanted.

"Whatever you want, it'll have to be quick; I don't want to miss my bus," I said.

He didn't say anything. "Down here," He dragged me down an alleyway. I asked what he wanted, but he ignored me.

There was another man in the alleyway.

I was confused. I didn't like this one bit. I'd had sketchy clients before, but sometimes you just know, you know?

"It's more for two," I said. I prayed marking myself up would deter them.

"She looks cheap," The newer man said.

Cheap? I suppose that's fair. I got all these clothes from a charity shop.

"You'll do two at a time, right?" The first man asked.

"I don't have—"

A big enough mouth? Enough hands?

"Dude, look at her, she'd take anything,"

"I would not—"

"I'll give you 3000,"

That's just insulting.

"She looks like she'd take 2000! Aha!"

"Piss off," I said.

One of them placed a hand on my shoulder, I tried to shake them away, but his hand only went down, down, down.

"Piss off," I repeated. "Do you honestly think I'd take two cheap pricks—"

"You're the only cheap one here, darling,"

"I'm not fucking cheap. Let go of me,"

"Why are you in such a rush, honey? We're paying you,"

"Your price is insulting,"

"Don't you want money?"

"No, I—"

"Oh, I know what you want," He held up a bag of white powder. "This, right? It's worth a lot more than 3000,"

I wad completely insulted. "You—Fuck off! I'm not a junkie,"

"Give her some,"

"No! Get that away from me—No!" I screeched, as one of them caught me and held me in place. I screeched for help, but anyone walking by only walked quicker.

Why isn't anyone helping me? Help! I don't want this! I don't! Someone, please!

I screeched and screeched. No one cared.

Story of my life, really. No one cares.

I was too busy screaming to see one of the men drawing a line on the top of a bin, beginning to unbuckle his belt. The man holding me grabbed me by my hair as I screamed.

This can't be happening. Not again. Not again! No! No! No!

Every part of me was screaming. Why wasn't anyone helping me?

The man holding me got annoyed with my screeching and slammed my head down, before smashing it on the bin and demanding I snort or he'd fucking kill me.

I didn't care if he killed me. I'd rather have died a million times than do what they asked of me.

I just kept screaming and begging for help, but no one came.

I was left to wonder why everyone seemed so concerned with me when I didn't want help, but when I was being assaulted in an alleyway; no one ever cared.

Where was my therapist? Where was my Mummy? Where was anyone?

So much for caring. They're all filthy liars. Probably laughing at me.

It got to a point where I couldn't scream anymore. My voice had gone and all I could do was freeze.

I was like a possum, a fainting goat—an overpowered animal accepting .

When overpowered, it's simply better to accept whatever will happen to you.

I still whined and whimpered, silently sobbing. It hurt. It hurt so much.

I remember seeing a stray dog staring, watching. The only one who took any notice of me.

It whined and eventually tried to approach, but one of the men pushed it and eventually threw it away. It scampered off, barking.

One of the men sighed and stamped off to go and get it. He was stopped by another man—one who I recognised from work; Ryōma.

I immediately cried out in help. Ryōma looked up and looked at the men, one of whom didn't stop rubbing his dick in between my thighs.

"What's going on here then?" He asked. "I heard screaming,"

"Please, Ryōma, you have—" I said quickly, but the man humping me put his hand on my mouth. I bit it.

"Oh, you fuck—She's just a whore, don't worry,"

"Why was she screaming then?"

"She's a junkie. Now, why don't you—"

"What's in that bag? Sugar?"

"None of your fucking business—"

"It might be, actually," He showed his badge. "I'm a police officer,"

One of the men swore and backed away, the other still holding me. "Yeah, so? This is legal. It's anal,"

"Coke isn't legal though, neither is sexual assault,"

"Well, I'm not assaulting her and it's her's anyway,"

I yelped again, shaking my head in protest.

"Alright, let her go. Come on,"

"Fuck off, I paid for this,"

I moaned again, I cried and sobbed.

Ryōma waited. "Do you want to do this at the station?"

"Seriously?"

"Right, let's go—"

"Fine," The man pulled away from me and buckled up his belt. I immediately pulled up my skirt and got away from him. I tried to look for the dog.

The men ran off without paying me, which insulted me even more.

I thanked Ryōma, waiting for him to shout at me, but nothing happened. I went to leave, telling him I'd miss my bus and that we could talk about my situation at work with everyone else, but he stopped me.

He'd placed a hand on my arm instead. I flinched. I didn't want anyone to touch me. It almost physically hurt.

"Hold on, now. Where do you think you're going?" He sneered.

I gasped. "Oh, do you want money?"

"No. Sit,"

I sat on a bin, waiting like a dog caught red-handed eating a birthday cake.

"You realise that that's illegal?"

"It's all non-coital,"

"Yeah, yeah, that's what they all say...But you—you—work for the police. You'll lose your job over this,"

"I know, sir,"

Pays shit anyway. I only do it to get the mental health services off my back.

"I know you don't care. You made that very clear the other day,"

I blushed.

"But you know what else would happen?"

I waited.

"This gets put on your record. That might not sound all that bad—but you're studying science at university, right?"

"Yeah, entom—"

He laughed. "Whatever. But do you honestly think they'd let someone like you anywhere near that university? Let alone in a science lab,"

"I don't see why it'd have anything to do with my future. They only care about what I get in exams—"

"That's not how it works. Scientists don't want sluts like you in labs,"

"Again, I don't see how it matters,"

"They wouldn't want a girl like you. A slut. A whore. You're trash—less than trash, even. They'd laugh in your face,"

"No, you are—"

"I mean...Look at you; you don't look anything like a scientist anyway, but with this on your record, this—Not even McDonald's would take you,"

"Uh, okay,"

"So you wouldn't want anyone to find out about this, would you?"

I shrugged. "I guess not,"

"Hm. What I thought. Now, you've got two choices here—either I tell everyone, you lose your job, your education; everything. Or..."

"Or..."

He smiled, placing his arm around me. "You do me a few favours, and I let this slide,"

"Favours? But...You are married,"

"So? Half your clients are married. Besides, my wife is fat and ugly, but you...You're gorgeous. You get me?"

I nodded. "I think so,"

"Mhm. Good, good. We have a deal?"

I thought. Surely it wouldn't be much? He'd probably get bored of me before long and let me go. It's not like it would've been much work.

I nodded. "Yes,"

"Great, now bend over,"

"What? Now? But—"

"I said; bend over," He unbuckled his belt.

I didn't want to. Not after what'd happened. I'd thought he'd meant the next day, not now.

I winced. "...Of course," I turned and let him pull my skirt off. "Do you need a condom?" I asked.

"Oh, I like it raw,"

I was going to protest, but figured there was no point and just turned away, waiting for it to happen.

It's fine. I've got an implant, I'm on the pill, it's fine. It'll be fine. Just grin and bear it. Just deal with it. Everything will be fine.

He did as he pleased, gripping my breasts and crying out and grunting. I was thankful it was from behind, for I was crying silently.

I felt so stupid. So, so stupid.

Stupid for getting stuck in such a mess. Stupid for going out that night. Stupid for thinking I could do it all.

I just felt stupid.

I wanted to cry harder, but had to hold it in. I breathed shakily, wincing quietly whenever he tugged my hair or when his cum dripped down my legs.

When he was done, I couldn't move, I just stared at the wall with wet eyes.

"See? That wasn't so bad, was it?" He said.

I want to throw up.

I shook my head.

He grumbled. "See you tomorrow. Have a good night, I know I will,"

I nodded, my throat dry.

He walked away. "Oh, hi doggy," He called over the stray mutt with cloudy eyes. He stroked it, before shoving it away.

I gasped and he chuckled before slinking off. When he was gone, I immediately called the dog over. It was crying and whining.

I picked it up and put it on my lap, stroking it. It smelt awful, like death, but a dog is a dog and I like dogs.

Eventually, it raised its head, nuzzling into my chest. I sighed.

I will not cry. I will not cry. I am okay

'I try so hard to play their way—'

Now is not the time to quote musicals, Brian. Especially not that one.

But...But we love Carrie.

The dog whined, pawing at my chest as if he knew I was upset. I smiled as much as I could.

"You wanna come home with me for a bit?" I said, stroking it. "Yeah? That's good...Just...Oh," He scrambled out of my arms and ran off.

That was it.

I just started crying. Really crying.

Then the dog came back, holding something. It wagged its tail as much it could.

"You came back," I whispered. I wiped my eyes. "What's that? Oh..."

It was a battered teddy bear.

"This yours? Well, you're just ready to go, aren't you? Hm?" I stroked it. "Come on, I need to go to sleep,"

I picked it up and ran to the bus stop. I'd missed all the buses, and I felt even more stupid. Pasha would either laugh at me or get annoyed if I asked if he could pick me up, so I began to walk home with the mutt—who I'd called Mark, because I just wanted to say 'Oh hi, Mark'.

I walked home, my emotions seemed to have disappeared. I no longer wanted to cry or scream. It was like I was a void. A shell of whatever I'd been.

Each step seemed painful and painfully boring. Everything seemed bland and empty, despite the district's bright lights that hurt my eyes.

I stared at the floor, then up at the sky. I didn't want to think about it. I didn't want to think about anything.

So, when I noticed the young woman staring at me as she always did. When I noticed her flirty grin and the fact she was following me; I did nothing.

I didn't care. I didn't want to think about her. She could've stabbed me and I wouldn't have batted an eyelid at that point. I simply thought of two things; sleeping and cutting.

I can't tell you if she stopped following me, but I didn't care and ignored her. I remember letting Mark the dog in and being greeted by Pasha, who immediately expressed concern.

"Where have you—Oh, God," He swore in Russian. "Something happened. What happened?"

"Nothing,"

"No not lie. Wh-Wh-There's a dog,"

"That's Mark,"

"Mark?"

"Oh hi, Mark,"

"...I do not understand, but okay. What's happened? Come on, tell me,"

"Nothing,"

"Have you taken something?"

"No,"

"Then...Woah. That's a nasty bruise, where did you—Oh, fuck, tell me you were not—"

"I don't want to talk about it," I gave Mark some water and food and made a beeline for the bathroom. Pasha stood in front of the door.

"No. No. I'm not letting you—"

"Pasha, please—"

"No! After what happened the other week, I—No. I'm not letting you do it,"

I sighed. "It's the only thing that helps. Move. I need to. I have to. If I don't it'll just get worse,"

"No. I'm not letting you. You do not need—"

I shoved him out of the way, sliding through the gap between him and the bathroom and shutting the door. He placed his foot in the door. "Don't be a dick," I said.

"I'm not. Charlotte, come on, let's talk about this,"

"I don't want to come out. I want you to leave me alone,"

"That's not safe,"

"Fuck off,"

"Charlotte, come on, calm down—Ow! Charlotte! Open the d—Unlock it...Charlotte?"

I sat on the floor, retrieving my blades from under the cabinet. I didn't think about it, I just had to do it. I had to. It didn't feel good per say, but it was relieving. It felt like all of that nights' events were slowly dripping from my arms.

I hated myself for cutting myself, I hated that I did it. I hated that I couldn't stop. I hated that I needed to do it.

It just made me feel so...relaxed.

I was a mess by the end of it, and sore for days afterwards. I felt dizzy upon standing up and going to the door, my plan to simply go and sleep.

Pasha seemed against that, so I became even more annoyed. I'd had an awful night, was it too much to ask for sleep? Was that truly too much to ask?

I managed to avoid him, burying myself in my bed. Pasha must've been settling the dogs, because he came in later, giving me a hot water bottle, before laying on the floor. I'd forgotten that he was staying in my room that night.

I tried to ignore him, though I became paranoid that he might try and do something to me. I lay awake, not knowing what to do or how to feel.

I knew there wasn't anything I could do. It was all over now—nothing anyone could do about it. All I could do was deal with it.

Just pretend nothing had happened.

Everything was fine.