I awake to find no peace of mind. I said, "how do you live as a fugitive?"
Down here, where I cannot see so clear. I said, "what do I know? Show me
the right way to go."
Let's see, where to start? I suppose that would be at the beginning. But which beginning? Perhaps to know the motives and emotions of a creature such as myself you must know my origins and past.
I was born in the slums of east Tokyo to a seventeen-year-old single mother. I never knew my real father, and I don't care to either. I had a string of "foster" fathers, a.k.a. drunken bastards who wanted a piece of my mother's ass and nothing to do with me. Though they did find the time to beat me quite often, and to tell me I was a worthless pain in the ass. At around ten, that didn't matter anymore.
When I was ten years old, I discovered the wonderful world of drugs. Mom was a crack whore at that point anyway, so it wasn't that hard to steal what I could from her, and when she'd snorted or smoked everything she had, I'd steal money from her purse, or my current father's wallet. It didn't take long before I was stealing every chance I got, whether I needed the money or not. At age eleven, I ran away, living in the streets or taking refuge anywhere I was welcome. The poor hold a lot of sympathy for lost children.
By the time I turned twelve, money became an issue. For some reason, I found it much harder to steal. It was probably because I was so fucked up from all the drugs I was using. There pretty much wasn't anything I wouldn't take. Pot, heroin, ecstasy, crack, coke, LSD, anything that messed with my mind and perception. I wouldn't let myself believe how bad things had gotten, but in the back of my mind it didn't matter, because, after all, I was worthless.
Worthlessness took on a new meaning in my twelfth year of life. At that point, I was completely desperate for money, shelter, anything to keep me alive. I found a dealer who said he might be willing to help me if I did something for him. Well, that something wasn't exactly what I had in mind. At twelve years old I lost my virginity to a man who gave me "free" drugs. And that started my life as a whore. I sold myself to whoever would take me: men, women, young, old, it didn't matter. As long as I got my money, I was fine. Not happy, but fine. From then on, the word "worthless" meant I wasn't getting paid.
At sixteen, I hit rock bottom, or so I'm told. Someone got me into rehab, though I don't really remember who she was. I just call her my angel. Brown hair and blue eyes, that's all I remember. No face, no name, not even a voice. But she was my angel.
By seventeen I was clean, ready to go back to the streets and try to make something of myself. I soon found it was impossible with no education and no permanent address to find any job worth having. So I was forced back into whoring. I found a brothel and told them I was eighteen, so they would let me stay there. The owner, or pimp, I suppose, was an older man named Ansem. He took a liking to me, though I always remained afraid of and intimidated by him. He held the keys, he decided how much money I got to keep, and he could kick my ass back out on the street if I pissed him off, so I gave him anything he asked of me and more.
The house was home to mostly girls, around my age or younger (even though they claimed to be of age it was obvious that they were not) who had the same motives I used to or still did. There were only two other boys. They were in their early twenties. I did not ask their ages because it would be presumptuous and rude. Shimbo was the older of the two, Heideki being the other. They seemed to be in love, though it is impossible for a whore to fall in love. In the three years I was there, Heideki remained throughout, while Shimbo seemed to leave whenever he got into trouble or couldn't take anything anymore. Whenever he was there, though, he and Heideki were all over each other when business was slow. Poor kid seemed really down when his lover took a six-month absence. He returned, though, and shot him two months later in a jealous rage. Or so I've heard. It was about three months after I left that this happened.
Being the only single male, I was open to many of the girls, though I wasn't interested. I'm bisexual, or so I would suppose. The only love I've ever felt was for a man, though, so I'm not really sure. You could group the girls in their attitudes and opinions about me. The vast majority was in love with me; constantly swooning and flirting and all other ridiculous things girls with crushes do. I did my best to ignore them or merely told them that they would get what they could pay for, which in most cases wasn't even an icy glare. Some were repulsed, not only by me, but Heideki and Shimbo as well. I don't really know why, since they were selling themselves as well, but I suppose it was because we sold ourselves to /men/. Women very rarely came in, and if they did, they mostly wanted another girl. Those that did not fit into the other two groups did their best to tolerate me and be pleasant, though there was really no point.
I made friends with only two of the girls. Selphie was my confidant. I trusted her quite a lot. She was perhaps sixteen when I met her and nineteen when I left. She was gentle and kind, though mostly she was exuberant and cheery. We needed cheer. That place got so damned gloomy sometimes. The other girl was Kairi. Sometimes I felt she hated me, was jealous of me, and others I felt like we were best friends. It was a very strange relationship, and toward the end, before Sora came in to my life, I felt as though I could fall in love with her. She was by far the most beautiful of all the other girls, and much more personable; sometimes moreso than Selphie. She was real, and she had pain like I did. We became close without really getting close. She knew as much about me as I did about her, and all I knew was her name.
After two years of living in that hellhole, I finally got my own apartment. Sure, it was small, had no heat or air, and the plumbing was bad, but it was mine. Mine and mine alone, and no one could take it from me. Except the landlord if I missed a rent payment. And Ansem would tell me if I would be able to or not. It was always "yes," but sometimes that answer took some work.
It was harmless. It couldn't hurt you. Though you were helpless, I know you'll get through.
Let's see, where to start? I suppose that would be at the beginning. But which beginning? Perhaps to know the motives and emotions of a creature such as myself you must know my origins and past.
I was born in the slums of east Tokyo to a seventeen-year-old single mother. I never knew my real father, and I don't care to either. I had a string of "foster" fathers, a.k.a. drunken bastards who wanted a piece of my mother's ass and nothing to do with me. Though they did find the time to beat me quite often, and to tell me I was a worthless pain in the ass. At around ten, that didn't matter anymore.
When I was ten years old, I discovered the wonderful world of drugs. Mom was a crack whore at that point anyway, so it wasn't that hard to steal what I could from her, and when she'd snorted or smoked everything she had, I'd steal money from her purse, or my current father's wallet. It didn't take long before I was stealing every chance I got, whether I needed the money or not. At age eleven, I ran away, living in the streets or taking refuge anywhere I was welcome. The poor hold a lot of sympathy for lost children.
By the time I turned twelve, money became an issue. For some reason, I found it much harder to steal. It was probably because I was so fucked up from all the drugs I was using. There pretty much wasn't anything I wouldn't take. Pot, heroin, ecstasy, crack, coke, LSD, anything that messed with my mind and perception. I wouldn't let myself believe how bad things had gotten, but in the back of my mind it didn't matter, because, after all, I was worthless.
Worthlessness took on a new meaning in my twelfth year of life. At that point, I was completely desperate for money, shelter, anything to keep me alive. I found a dealer who said he might be willing to help me if I did something for him. Well, that something wasn't exactly what I had in mind. At twelve years old I lost my virginity to a man who gave me "free" drugs. And that started my life as a whore. I sold myself to whoever would take me: men, women, young, old, it didn't matter. As long as I got my money, I was fine. Not happy, but fine. From then on, the word "worthless" meant I wasn't getting paid.
At sixteen, I hit rock bottom, or so I'm told. Someone got me into rehab, though I don't really remember who she was. I just call her my angel. Brown hair and blue eyes, that's all I remember. No face, no name, not even a voice. But she was my angel.
By seventeen I was clean, ready to go back to the streets and try to make something of myself. I soon found it was impossible with no education and no permanent address to find any job worth having. So I was forced back into whoring. I found a brothel and told them I was eighteen, so they would let me stay there. The owner, or pimp, I suppose, was an older man named Ansem. He took a liking to me, though I always remained afraid of and intimidated by him. He held the keys, he decided how much money I got to keep, and he could kick my ass back out on the street if I pissed him off, so I gave him anything he asked of me and more.
The house was home to mostly girls, around my age or younger (even though they claimed to be of age it was obvious that they were not) who had the same motives I used to or still did. There were only two other boys. They were in their early twenties. I did not ask their ages because it would be presumptuous and rude. Shimbo was the older of the two, Heideki being the other. They seemed to be in love, though it is impossible for a whore to fall in love. In the three years I was there, Heideki remained throughout, while Shimbo seemed to leave whenever he got into trouble or couldn't take anything anymore. Whenever he was there, though, he and Heideki were all over each other when business was slow. Poor kid seemed really down when his lover took a six-month absence. He returned, though, and shot him two months later in a jealous rage. Or so I've heard. It was about three months after I left that this happened.
Being the only single male, I was open to many of the girls, though I wasn't interested. I'm bisexual, or so I would suppose. The only love I've ever felt was for a man, though, so I'm not really sure. You could group the girls in their attitudes and opinions about me. The vast majority was in love with me; constantly swooning and flirting and all other ridiculous things girls with crushes do. I did my best to ignore them or merely told them that they would get what they could pay for, which in most cases wasn't even an icy glare. Some were repulsed, not only by me, but Heideki and Shimbo as well. I don't really know why, since they were selling themselves as well, but I suppose it was because we sold ourselves to /men/. Women very rarely came in, and if they did, they mostly wanted another girl. Those that did not fit into the other two groups did their best to tolerate me and be pleasant, though there was really no point.
I made friends with only two of the girls. Selphie was my confidant. I trusted her quite a lot. She was perhaps sixteen when I met her and nineteen when I left. She was gentle and kind, though mostly she was exuberant and cheery. We needed cheer. That place got so damned gloomy sometimes. The other girl was Kairi. Sometimes I felt she hated me, was jealous of me, and others I felt like we were best friends. It was a very strange relationship, and toward the end, before Sora came in to my life, I felt as though I could fall in love with her. She was by far the most beautiful of all the other girls, and much more personable; sometimes moreso than Selphie. She was real, and she had pain like I did. We became close without really getting close. She knew as much about me as I did about her, and all I knew was her name.
After two years of living in that hellhole, I finally got my own apartment. Sure, it was small, had no heat or air, and the plumbing was bad, but it was mine. Mine and mine alone, and no one could take it from me. Except the landlord if I missed a rent payment. And Ansem would tell me if I would be able to or not. It was always "yes," but sometimes that answer took some work.
It was harmless. It couldn't hurt you. Though you were helpless, I know you'll get through.
