20

Things at the station got worse.

Ryōma made my life hell. Everywhere I went; he was there.

He made me his assistant, asking me to make him coffees and sandwiches and do other stuff. Whilst doing so, he'd ogle at me or place his hands on my butt or breasts. Whenever he was alone with me, he'd do whatever he could.

Himari also seemed to double down on my work, creating more specific jobs I could never do right.

Pasha and Lydia picked up on it immediately and tried to intervene. Lydia tried to catch me the second I got in, but Ryōma would literally wait for me to come in.

I didn't want to cause more trouble, so told Lydia I'd be fine. It was nothing; I could deal with it.

The advantage to Ryōma's 'interest' in me was that I had lots of time to check the homicide case for Shuu Tsukiyama. Ryōma liked me near him, setting me up at the end of his desk. He liked sliding his paperwork over to me, stroking my hand or slipping his hand under my skirt.

I started wearing thicker tights, but he only did it more. He actually threatened me because of it.

It was terribly mortifying. I wanted to curl up and die every minute I was there.

But I had to just get on with it. Just box up my feelings and throw away the key.

If it meant I got more information on the case, then I guessed it was okay.

I scribbled notes down when people weren't looking. There were very few leads. The case had hardly progressed from the Nishimura scene.

From what I saw, they were looking back at the two suspects—Kate Raabe and Shuu Tsukiyama. By looking at Raabe, they were also looking into Oliver Gunnarson.

Gunnarson was a professor of law at Seinan and a few other universities. He was seemingly Raabe's only friend; he had two children, one of whom—Kirsten, aged seventeen—was in a wheelchair as Shuu Tsukiyama had said.

What was suspicious about the Gunnarsons was the lack of information on them. No other family, very vague details about their lives before Tokyo—they basically only knew that they were Swedish.

The swan/woman sticker was also being looked into, though they weren't getting anywhere at all.

I'd assumed the link between my 'stalker' case wouldn't be considered because it was so loose. However, it was being looked too—the link being Shuu Tsukiyama—who was the prime suspect in my case.

I had to relay all this to Shuu Tsukiyama, and I got the feeling he'd blame me for the suspicions around him. Well, I thought. I mean, he certainly wasn't happy, but he didn't blame me.

He just showed up at the station, demanding to talk to Pasha. I didn't see what happened, but Pasha said he wanted to 'clear the air' or something. Apparently, he brought his lawyer—which didn't help.

Whatever he wanted to do; it didn't help. If anything, it only made him look more suspicious.

Pasha was almost convinced it was him—so what could he do? He was a suspect either way. I pitied him, but there wasn't anything I could do, and if he was innocent, he shouldn't have been worried; should he?

Pasha and Yamamoto advised me to keep my distance from Tsukiyama, but this was something I couldn't quite do.

"Can't he find another trainer?" Yamamoto said. Pasha nodded.

I shook my head. "I cannot lose that job. I need the money—"

"Why do you need two jobs?"

Three. It's three jobs.

"Have you seen my pay? I don't even earn mi-mini-mum wage! I have to pay for school, my flat, my pets—all the other stuff. I need that job,"

"Why can't you work with a gym or school or something?" Pasha asked. "I'm sure they'd even let you do classes in our gym—"

"Are you serious? Those classes don't make anywhere near enough. Tsukiyama pays me loads, and hopefully he'll go and tell his other rich friends about me, who will also pay me more. I need this job. Else I'll have to pick up at least two more and I'm already short on time,"

"Well, I can pay full rent if it helps—"

"It does not, and that is not fair anyway. I cannot lose this job—I need the money,"

"For someone who—" He trailed off. "Forget it,"

"You could work full-time," Yamamoto suggested.

"I don't have the time, want, nor qualification. Besides, it not like this job rakes it in,"

"Well, no," Pasha nodded.

Yamamoto looked confused. "I thought my pay was alright—"

"You are a researcher, of course you earn more,"

"I thought you were a sergeant,"

"No, I used to be. I'm sorry, did I tell you I was?"

"I think so..."

He shrugged. "Oh, sorry...I have to go. Sorry..." He walked off.

Pasha and I went back and forth trying to find an alternative. In the end, I did something I didn't really like, but I didn't have the energy to fight with him. I lied and said I would drop Tsukiyama and work for a gym.

I was certain he'd be suspicious, but he seemed to accept it pretty easily. I felt bad for lying, but I needed that money desparately.

The lie got even worse when about a day later; Shuu Tsukiyama asked me to do more work for him—as a yoga teacher. I would've refused, but the amount of money he offered per session made me slobber. With that amount, I wouldn't have to work in Shinjuku as much, or I could leave the station.

His first lesson went very well. He was more experienced than my usual students—and he was a lot better at yoga than lifting.

Afterwards, as I was putting everything away, he requested to speak to me outside. I went to one of the balconies and sat opposite him. We went through everything I knew about the cases—where he was concerned especially.

"You've got an awful lot of information suddenly," He'd said. "A few days ago you didn't have anything, what happened?"

"Nothing,"

"Don't lie,"

""Does it matter?"

"Oh,"

"What?"

"You're upset. What did you do?"

"I'm not upset. It's nothing. It's here and that's what you wanted, right?"

"So touchy. I did strike a nerve, didn't I?"

I looked away. I didn't want to talk about it. I didn't want to think about it.

He sighed. "Oh, I've been meaning to apologise to you about something,"

"Apologise?"

"Oui, oui," He cleared his throat. "I wanted to apologise because I've been quite rude to you and that's not at all how a gentleman should act. Especially when you haven't really done anything wrong,"

"OK. I mean, I found out quite a big secret of yours. I know how dangerous that must be for you, so I understand—"

"That doesn't make it any better, and I shouldn't disparage your career choices either,"

"Oh,"

"I'm sure it's a very mentally taxing career and the last thing you need is someone like me making fun of you,"

I paused. "Okay..."

"Are you alright? Oh, gosh, don't tell me I've upset you again—"

"No, I'm fine. It's getting late—"

"Tsukiyama!" Cried an unfamiliar voice from below the balcony.

I withheld a gasp. It was Genesis Slawter. She was dressed fabulously, her dark hair perfect. She stood below, looking up at us.

Tsukiyama mumbled something, before placing his hands on the railing. "You're early, ma chérie! How was mass?"

"Fine. I had the most wonderful idea—"

"Come on up then,"

She nodded and went inside. Tsukiyama looked at me. "Don't get starstruck; she hates it,"

"I was—I was just leaving,"

"Are we done?"

"Yes, unless you—"

"Well, I suppose you ought to leave. Genesis and I are organising our next party and I don't think you know anything about that,"

"I don't. I last went to a party when I was twelve,"

"What? Really? Goodness...Twelve?"

"Tsukiyama?" Slawter emerged from the balcony door. She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen—rich black hair, smooth olive skin, plump lips and oh...She was so skinny. I almost hated how skinny she was. I hated how I thought she was skinnier than me.

She smiled at me. "Oh, I didn't mean to interrupt,"

I blushed. "I was just, uh, going,"

She approached me and took my hand. "Genesis. I don't think we've met,"

"Uh, Charlotte...Fisher,"

"That's a pretty name. Where are you from?"

"She's English—"

"Welsh," I corrected.

"And you're Tsukiyama's new friend?"

"She's my trainer and yoga teacher, she was just leaving,"

I nodded. "Mhm,"

"You didn't tell me you had a new yoga teacher,"

"She's started today,"

I was eager to get away. It felt awkward and I wanted to get home and do schoolwork, before inevitably getting drunk and crawling back to Shinjuku.

Or I'd go home and sleep. I didn't care.

"I should go—" I started.

"You don't have to...If I interrupted anything—" Slawter began.

"You didn't. We've finished," Tsukiyama said. He gave me my money in cash—more than I'd been promised, I noted.

Slawter noticed. "How good are you?" She asked.

I went bright red. Tsukiyama answered for me. "She's fine, why?"

"Just out of curiosity, Miss Charlotte Fisher; would you teach a Catholic?"

"Uh...Yeah, how do—Cat-Caf-Cat...Never-mind. Is a yoga allowed for you?"

"It's condemned," Tsukiyama said.

"Oh,"

"It doesn't have to be," Slawter added.

"I'm sure I could...I'd have to do research—" I said.

"That's good. I was just asking, but here..." We exchanged cards before I made my excuses and left.

Pasha was walking the dogs when I got back. He'd taken to Mark rather well and the dog had near forgotten about me.

I sat alone in my room for a long time, staring at the floor, unable to move. I was thinking, thinking about why I was sat there doing nothing—that was so lazy, what would Mum think about that?

I let myself cry silently, before suddenly feeling aroused by a sudden coldness in my room. I didn't want to masturbate—I was disgusted by myself and I didn't want to touch myself. After what'd happened in Shinjuku, I never wanted to do it again.

But that money, and that feeling I got when I pleased someone, when they liked me, when they insulted me when they hurt me...When they wanted me.

I couldn't stay away. I couldn't. I couldn't help it. I needed to do it.

I hated it. I wanted it. I hated everything about it. I loved everything about it.

When I'd finished, I screamed and cried, before going to the bathroom. Why had I done that? Why was I like this? What was wrong with me?

I hated myself and I needed to hurt myself. I had to.

I deserved it. I did. I'd done something wrong. I was disgusting. I deserved it. I deserved to die.

I deserved it.