Chapter 7
Matcha Milk
He had left that morning on his Japan tour. Watching him leave had been an empty goodbye. His touches held no electricity, his words no truth. She entered the room, kneeling to pull out the box from the bed, she let out a terse laugh when she saw nothing but a tempered empty tin. Anger raged through her as she hurled the metal to the wall. It collapsed on the ground, empty, save her for-sale flyer floating out.
"Don't dare."
The two words repeated in her brain. She could see him, his sleazy self, posing hypocrisy across the country. Replacing the women on his bed more than he did his underwear. Tired of slaving for him to consume it all, she balled herself dry. Pulling out her phone she turned to the first contact on her phone - Matsuri.
~.~.~
"Little Miss."
The night felt eerie, her flesh crawled as she navigated the dark alleys of the rickety neighborhood. Cat calls reached her ears, her full self clothed yet she felt stark naked before the moon.
"A pretty lady like you shouldn't be alone in this part of town.," a sensuous voice whispered in her ears a frightening shutter in her bones "or in this area."
She held the satchel so close to her abdomen, sneaking to grab her line of defense. Hastily raking through the bag she found nothing. 'Shit!' she left the pepper spray
Sweat dripped down her forehead, an uneasy clutch in her stomach. His breath filled her nostrils, the strong sensation of weed as he grabbed her arm. Yanking it she picked up pace, eyes full of fear and trepidation. He grabbed her arm again, this time digging his filthy nails into her flesh. "I like 'em feisty." He eyes heavy with lust, red from his last puff.