Disclaimer

Neither the characters nor the story are of my property, they belong to their respective authors.

This story is a dark stalker romance with extreme dubious situations.

Please proceed with caution.

Sakura

I spend a long day at the hospital and get home with twenty minutes to spare before the big date. Rushing through the door, I pet Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hudson as I put my things down, then get their kibble ready for them. I need a quick shower before Kabuto collects me if I have any hope of looking decent.

As I strip my clothes off, I feel as if somebody's watching me. That disconcerting feeling of a pair of eyes following my every move won't stop, even when I've checked every nook and cranny of the apartment. There's no one here, it's just my imagination. I need to stop being paranoid and just focus on my date. It's about time I had some fun.

I take a much too short warm shower and dry myself quickly. I hesitate for a moment before getting dressed, my fingers lingering over the lace in my lingerie drawer before I finally pull out the white set and put it on. I flush as I check out my reflection in the mirror, Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hudson both watching from my bed with their heads cocked.

"Shut up, guys," I mutter. "It's not like I'm hoping something's going to happen."

Mrs. Hudson meows loudly and I sigh, leaning down to cuddle her close. I dry my hair and apply a quick layer of gloss to my lips, and a coat of black mascara to my eyes.

I spend a lifetime picking out outfits in front of my mirror, before finally settling on a little black dress. I even use some perfume, spraying my wrists and my neck.

I'm done in the nick of time, and the doorbell goes off not a minute past seven thirty. I let Kabuto in with the buzzer and throw some stuff in my handbag before opening the front door.

"Good evening," he greets me with his signature grin, and I allow him to kiss my cheek before stepping inside my apartment. "So, this is your place."

"Welcome." I smile shyly and give him the grand tour.

There's not much to see – it's really just one big room with a separate bedroom and a small bathroom. It's cheap, and I don't need much more, anyway. It serves me just fine. But Kabuto's expression falls slightly when he sees the inside of my home, and I try to imagine how it must look from his perspective.

The paint is chipping in some places, the kitchen is old, and the cats have pretty much destroyed my sofa. There are blankets and fluffy pillows everywhere, which I thought looked cozy, but it must look like a mess from a doctor's point of view. Of course, Dr. Yakushi must have a nice place, but then again, his paycheck is probably four times the amount of mine.

"Oh." His nose twitches when Mr. Bingley strolls into the living area and jumps on the dining table. "You have a cat."

"Two, actually." I scratch under Mr. Bingley's jaw and he purrs loudly. "You're not a cat person, I take it."

"Hardly." He gives me a disappointed look, and I can just imagine him adding 'likes cats' to the list of cons he has for me in his head. "Come on now, Sakura. We don't want to miss our reservation."

I nod, grabbing a light jacket and locking the doors behind us as we leave the apartment. I feel the prickle of eyes on the nape of my neck again as I walk with Kabuto down the street. As if somebody's watching me. A quick glance over my shoulder doesn't reveal a thing – the street is empty save for a mom pushing a baby carriage a little behind us. It's just my imagination playing tricks on me.

We drive to the restaurant separately at my request. I don't want to be stuck with him on the way back if things go south. Kabuto seems displeased but he says nothing.

His hand finds its way to the small of my back as we walk up to the building. I shift uncomfortably beneath the weight of his touch, but he doesn't move it, and I feel too nervous to ask him to stop touching me. I remind myself he doesn't mean me any harm, but still breathe out in relief when we arrive at the restaurant and are seated across from each other at the tiny table covered with a checkered tablecloth.

The waiter arrives with the menu, but Kabuto brushes him off, ordering for the both of us. I knit my brows together when he does it, not liking how he took the liberty to get me food. What if I had an allergy, or didn't eat certain foods? He never checked with me, and it's hard for me to fight off the feeling of annoyance.

He orders our wine too, red, even though I prefer white, and I sulk through the evening as he goes on about his medical achievements. The food is delicious – not something I would've picked for myself, but still yummy, and it's a small reprieve to the evening. Somehow, we manage to go through the entire bottle of red, and I decide to stop with my third glass. I never drink, and the booze has gone straight to my head, fraying my nerves.

It seems Kabuto doesn't feel the same way, though. He keeps reaching for my knee under the table, and I feign ignorance, carefully maneuvering my body so we never touch for longer than a couple of seconds. When the bill arrives, he gallantly offers to pay, though his expectant look only softens when I say I'd like to pay for my share. I don't feel comfortable making him pay for me since I won't go out with him again, and even though it makes me cringe because of the exorbitant price, I count out the bills to cover my half of the dinner and hand them to him.

I only realize just how tipsy I am when we get up to leave. My knees threaten to buckle. That third glass of wine was a step too far, and I'm regretting it as Kabuto slips my jacket on my shoulders and we leave the restaurant. We walk through the parking lot and I start to find the whole situation ridiculous, giggling softly when we nearly crash into one another.

There's a moment of camaraderie when a smile passes between us, but Kabuto must mistake it for me wanting more, because before I know it, he's caged my body beneath his against a car.

"I knew you wanted me," he mutters against my cheek as I awkwardly twist my head away from him. "It was all over your face."

"I'm sorry, Kabuto, I –"

"No more excuses." His tone is demanding, and he starts to feel me up, making me cringe as his hand slips between my legs and fight its way to my crotch. I resist him, trying to make it clear I don't want this, but he disregards the situation completely. "You nurses are all the same. Put a title in front of a man's name, and you're putty in their hands."

I couldn't give two shits about him being a doctor, but I have a feeling telling him as much will only make him angrier.

Instead, I grab his hands and try to pry them off my body, but he overpowers me easily, laughing in my face.

"Kabuto, please stop."

My voice is firm and collected, though there's a tremble in it, and I do my best to hide it as I slip away from his touch. But he keeps grabbing at me, his hand brushing against my tits, against my crotch. I want to kill him, but he would easily overpower me.

He presses himself against me, his hands rough as he feels me up, and when I cry out, he backhands me. I gasp from the unexpected pain, my eyes filling with tears. I struggle against him, but he raises a hand and hits me again.

I'm so shocked I can barely breathe and it seems as if we're both rendered speechless by his slap.

But he's not done yet.

He continues trying to grab hold of me while I desperately fight him off.

Then, there's a loud beep like a car being unlocked, and he's momentarily distracted. I use the moment to slip from his grasp and take off toward my car, rattling with the door handle and praying he's not fast enough.

I get in the car and lock the door just as Dr. Yakushi runs up to me. I rev the engine and get the hell out of that parking lot.

I hate what tonight has turned into, but not as much as I hate myself for agreeing to this date in the first place.

The drive home is quiet and sad, and when I walk into my apartment, my cats greet me with loud purrs. I fight the urge to cry. I feel utterly exhausted from the disastrous date, and I'm tempted to run to the deli beneath my apartment for another bottle of wine. But I don't let myself do it. The only reason I'm still sane is because I keep my demons at bay.

Instead, I curl up in bed with Mr. Bingley and Mrs. Hudson, their warm bodies a welcome comfort against my shivering form. I shut my eyes tightly and will myself to sleep.

I dream of someone comforting me.