The Victim's Stories
Yosuke
AN: I need to give AMPLE WARNING ALL CAPS TO GRAB ATTENTION READ YOU READERS - The story is about to get a little dark. This chapter contains some darker themes that aren't present in the manga/anime, therefore some of you may find it a bit uncomfortable. I kept everyone as IC as I could with the situations they are given, but I understand if some of you may find some faults with the story. Feel free to explain any errors you find in a review, or if you thought it went well for a slightly cruel chapter, let me know so I'm aware that I'm doing it right by your standards.
Usagi never found out about the cab ride. I'd always had trouble keeping secrets from him before, mainly because he's so perceptive that it was just too hard to hide anything from him. But with the amount of work he'd been doing lately, shut up in his office with nary an appearance for food or sunlight, it wasn't very difficult to keep all of the horrible information to myself.
Yes, I'd brought into consideration everything that had happened, both at the award party and in the cab with Ms. Sakurabi. My black cashmere coat had only been a small sacrifice, an example as to what could be done to me if I didn't get out of her way. The threat did scare me to some degree, but to be honest, after the hordes of Usami relatives I've had to face, the jealous ones, the ones who abducted me and locked me away, the ones who tried to get me away from Usagi with severe intimidation, I wasn't too fazed by this one woman and her sentry of an assistant. For godsake, it was just a little invested money and some rampant hormones Sakurabi had with Usagi. She wouldn't kill me over it.
I had tried to plot out her next move, and all that would come to mind was the petty and evanescent threat of my prostitution rumors spreading around school. Perhaps a few doctored photos falling into the hands of teachers, winding up on the internet, posted on cork-boards. It would hurt for the moment, and I would likely have to switch over to online classes for a term, but it certainly wouldn't stop me from doing my work, from living each day like I normally did. The only hiccup would be if Usagi found out.
What if Usagi believed in the prostitution thing? What if he was given some false proof by Ms. Sakurabi that I was indeed whoring myself out to other people? Or that his reputation was being demolished because of a rumor that he was keeping an escort around for kicks?
No, Usagi could be stupid sometimes, but not to that extent. He wouldn't believe it for a second. I knew him; he trusted me, and I trusted him. More than anything.
So while I sit here and pretend to know what hour at night is it, hoping it's much earlier than it in all likelihood is presently, I shall regale my imaginary audience with the third installment of my incongruous story.
[THE STORY OF THE CIGARETTE VENDING MACHINE]
Much to my surprise, not a single rumor had arisen at the school, and no substance of blackmail had reached my doorstep. As unnerving as it should have been, like expecting to be punched by someone who would rather have you wait and anticipate the hit, I was strangely at ease. It felt more like all of Ms. Sakurabi's threats had been empty, or perhaps she'd lost interest, or she'd found a more profitable author to occupy her time with.
It was the middle of October and I had yet to hear anything from that crazed woman, or any hint from Usagi that he was aware of the threats I'd received. I had carried on with my studies and finished out the semester, finally on a recess from college and taking a couple of weeks off of work to spend some time with family and friends. I had plans to visit Takahiro and his wife at the end of the week, but for that moment, I was cozy at home with Usagi, laying on the couch and reading a comic book I loved while my mentor unplugged the phone from the wall.
"If they call me one more time..." I barely heard him hiss. This interested me; Usagi never vocalized his gripings, instead letting them stay bottled up to simmer with agitation. I pushed myself to my elbows and looked at him from over the back of the couch.
"What's wrong, Usagi?"
"Damn SDI keeps calling every week to check on my work. It's driving me nuts."
SDI? Sakurabi Digital Industries. My heart leapt into my throat.
"That's... That's all they call you for?"
"Yeah," he groaned, picking up a newspaper and heading to the loveseat, picking out some interesting part to pretend to be occupied with. "They're not going to be happy with what I've got planned, though." I saw the ghost of a smile pull at his lips, and suddenly I was very nervous.
"What plans?"
"They're not pleased that I haven't been writing that much for them lately, so they're gonna be pissed when my input drops completely."
My heart nearly stopped in my chest, the comic book forgotten as it fell to the floor, the thud catching Usagi's attention as he eyed me curiously over his paper. "What's wrong with you?"
If Usagi stopped giving product for SDI to print... what would happen to me? Would they blame me? Of course they would! All of the money they had invested in Usagi would go down the drain, and Ms. Sakurabi would accuse me of influencing his decision!
My mouth was dry and I could already see big, tough Tetsuo standing over my pummeled body, but against these horrible thoughts I managed to clear my head enough to answer my lover.
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just being an airhead. I don't really understand how all of those companies work, so I was just trying to figure it out." Play the dumb card. It always lures people away. "But doesn't Marukawa Publishing print your books?"
And then I was provided with the same explanation I'd received the first time around, this one somewhat lengthier and more detailed, but all things I had figured out already. It was just a distraction to keep Usagi from asking me any questions, and it worked. By the time he was finished talking, the tea he had been drinking had run out and he was then rummaging through his vest pocket for a pack of cigarettes. Unfortunately, he found none and stared in silent, rather childish disappointment down into his own lap as if pouting would produce a parent to give him what he wanted.
The look on his face was pitiful, but rather endearing and I couldn't help but sigh and smirk as I rolled off of the couch and put my book on the coffee table.
"I can run down the street for you real quick if you want another pack."
"You don't have to do that," he answered quickly, standing also and making a move for his billfold on the kitchen counter. "I can go get it."
"No, really. Let me do it." I needed to get out of there. I needed an excuse to get some fresh air. The information Usagi had provided me with about dropping SDI had devastated me on such a low level that I wasn't sure I wouldn't start hyperventilating right there in the living room. The night air would clear my head, at least a little. I smiled at Usagi. "Besides, I'm craving canned coffee. The machine next to the cigarette vendor has the best kind."
"Are you sure?" He looked skeptical; he didn't like it when I went out by myself. He was always under this weird impression that I would, at the drop of a hat, get snatched up by men in sunglasses in a black van, drugged, raped, and left on a street corner without any clothes. (At what point he seemed to think a Columbian drug cartel had started targeting me, I wasn't quite sure.)
But I had to insist, and I did, and eventually Usagi agreed and handed me a few yen bills to sufficiently pay for his cigarettes and my coffee.
Once I was outside in the icy air, it was like stepping out of the stagnant atmosphere of a doctor's office. The night was refreshing and I could finally feel a bit more at ease without the curious glare I would be getting from Usagi for the rest of the night. Hopefully, he didn't think anything of my questions.
I had to forget all about it. Ms. Sakurabi hadn't made a move, and it seemed that she wouldn't for a while. If anything, she had instead turned her full attention on Usagi, choosing to harass him instead of me, seeing as it would've probably gotten better results to milk the actual cash cow and not the awkward, littler cow the bigger cow was having sex with.
Whoa. Weird mental images.
Two blocks away, I found myself at my mentor's usual vending machine. It had a decent variety of packs, boxes, and some off-brand nicotine patches which never seemed to diminish in quantity. I quickly located his usual cancer-of-choice and bought two packs, stuffing them in my pocket.
A strange series of events happened in rapid succession after that, and to this day, I find it very hard to retell the following moments as accurately as I experienced them. I remember I had turned my head to look at the beverage vending machine I liked, the remaining yen in my hand, and suddenly the money wasn't in my grasp anymore. My head was smacked into the acrylic glass of the machine, the substance bowing around me and bouncing me back off to land on my ass on the sidewalk.
I tried to rub my head and look around me, but within moments, all I saw was black, the smell of worn, unwashed twill surrounding my senses as I was dragged backwards by very strong arms. Up over a hard edge, shoved to an uncomfortable, wiry carpeting, and a sharp, electrifying jab to the back of my head. I was out cold.
I hadn't known at that time what happened while I was out. I didn't know who had done it, or why, or where I'd been taken to. But for the next several hours (or minutes; I couldn't determine time anymore), I found myself blinking through fogs of black and gray, tiny lights dancing in my peripheral and the sound of my own heartbeat pounding wildly in my ears. My pulse was so fast. Had I been running? I sure felt tired... I could barely keep my eyes open. The ground was scratchy and raw against my back, and I didn't like it at all. Occasionally, there was a bright flash of light that disturbed my eyes so much that all I could do was groan and try to turn my head away, but whichever direction I turned to, the light would be there, flash flash flash.
I remember a small piece of metal, rectangular in shape, twirling drunkenly just in front of my eyes. It looked fun. That was all I could think, that the metal was fun-looking. I wanted to be like it and just dance around like an idiot. The air smelled nice, and it was so quiet save for my rampant heartbeat.
Spots of my skin would randomly grow very hot, and I felt a constant burning sensation on my back, but other than that, it was kind of peaceful, almost therapeutic the way the smell of fresh linens and the sparkly light of the dancing metal moved in perfect tandem to my lost state of mind.
Next I sort of remember the world tilting to one side very quickly, and the cold air of the night, the air I'd sought out earlier to clear my head, rushing into my lungs and lunging at my skin. My clothes felt strange on my body, and my stomach was doing a strange jazz dance in me that made me groan in severe discomfort. Nothing hurt, but everything was uncomfortable. My limbs were numb and the ground I lay on spun like I was in a clothes dryer.
The hands that had shoved me around earlier were gone, and as far as I could tell, I was alone. My head lulled around against the painful, sandpaper-like ground until I managed to see something familiar: the cigarette vending machine. I appeared to be laying down in front of it, it's soft lighting comforting in a weird way, like laying in a dark bedroom with a nightlight. I wanted to fall asleep, but the twirling actions of my stomach kept that from happening, and I feared I would throw up.
I don't know how long I lay there. I don't remember seeing anyone pass by, which was good. After all, it was probably rather embarrassing to be seen just lying on a sidewalk by the vending machines. Even if someone had seen me, they'd probably only disregarded me as a drunken college student, disappointed with not having enough money to afford some cigarettes.
I was busy memorizing the health warnings at the bottom of one of the boxes on display, contemplating when I could stand again seeing as my whole body felt like it were made of cotton and thread, when I felt the tingling sensation of hands on my face. Everything in my vision resembled paint being poured into water as I tried to focus my eyes on who could possibly be looking at me then. The familiar pale hair and strong jaw were the first things I noticed, and I fought to smile.
"Hey, Usagi..."
He said a few things, but I couldn't quite make them out. I did catch the words "missing", "hour", and "eyes". I would later come to realize that what he'd actually said was, "Misaki! Where in the world have you been? You've been missing for a whole hour! How can it possibly take so long to... Misaki, what's wrong with you? Why are your eyes so big?"
I was certain he would find it strange that I was just lying on the sidewalk like I was, or that he would question why my clothes were on fire (at least, I thought they were. My grasp on reality seemed slightly questionable in that moment). But he didn't even notice that. He instead kept touching my face, lightly slapping one of my cheeks as if to keep me from drifting off to sleep. He kept saying things, but I couldn't understand them.
Usagi had broad shoulders. Have I ever mentioned that? He was always so manly, and I never really appreciated that. And his lips were so soft when they kissed me. I wanted him to kiss me. Nay, I wanted him to have his way with me. Right there on the sidewalk. And I also wanted a baked potato. But mostly I wanted Usagi. That potato sure sounded good, though. Maybe Usagi could feed me a baked potato after making love to me. Is that weird? What was that thing about cows I was thinking of earlier?
He appeared to be on his cellphone, where I could've sworn he was speaking Polish into it, then he had me sitting up and leaning against him, one strong arm around my shoulders and the other hand sifting through my hair. He smelled good. He didn't smell like cigarettes right then, I guess because I hadn't gotten him his packs yet. I thought about it then, but I decided not to. I wanted him to keep smelling like his cologne and his office. His little office in the condo smelled like a library; new paper and wood polish. That was a good smell for him.
Baked potatoes smell good, too. Dammit, I want a potato. They take so long to cook, though. Maybe Usagi can special-order me one. I wonder if he would order in Polish?
As time passed, my body felt like it had been dunked in the ocean and I was being carried away in a riptide. Usagi stayed in my sight but his arms were no longer around me. I was surrounded instead by metal walls and stiff sheets. Something poked my arm, but I didn't really care much. The ocean movements continued until I saw bright lights passing me like a line of UFOs, or when you lay in the backseat of a car while you drive through a tunnel. I swayed constantly, the tides pulling me this way and that until I dropped heavily onto another set of stiff sheets, and a man I didn't recognize was shining a light into my eyes. It hurt very badly, and I squeezed my lids shut, trying to swipe an arm at him. I garbled out Usagi's name a few times, but he never came.
Usagi hadn't left me, had he? Had he hated me for being on fire? Or for wanting potatoes? Or for not getting him his cigarettes? Did Usagi hate me?
Oh, god. Usagi hated me. He hated me. He didn't want me anymore. He found some Polish people and left me with them to stick lights in my eyes and make me sleep on terrible sheets. I was stuck in this ocean forever without Usagi. I wanted Usagi back. I wanted my Usagi.
I think I started crying, but it was hard to tell. I kept saying his name, kept reaching out a hand for him, but he never showed up. I had trouble breathing, and the room got incredibly hot. I think the Polish man with the light got irritated because he put a weird muzzle over my mouth. I struggled for a few minutes, but it used too much of my energy and within moments, I was asleep.
I'm not sure how long it was before I awoke, but once I did, I was rather terrified by my surroundings. I was in a hospital. I hadn't been in a hospital since my parents' death, and it was all I could think of when I saw those haunting white walls and heard nothing but disturbingly eerie silence.
My eyes tried to survey my condition, but my head hurt so badly and my body felt like it were glued to the cot I was on. The sheets were so stiff... Those sheets... My eyes widened as I began to recall the moments before I had fallen asleep. Everything hadn't been as I had thought it was, of course. I hadn't been on fire, for one. I certainly didn't see any signs of it on my body. The lights that had passed me were the hallways of the hospital, and the man shining the light in my eyes was a doctor. And as far as I knew, Usagi didn't know Polish...
Usagi!
I tried to sit up, but as I moved to lift my arm, I felt a strange weight on it. I looked to find a hand clutching my own, and a soft tuft of hair resting against the sheets beside it. Usagi slept soundly, the rhythmic pace of his breathing replacing the awful silence I had been listening to before. Usagi hadn't left me... He was still here. He simply couldn't get to me because the doctors had been tending to me.
Why had doctors been looking at me? What had happened that had landed me in the hospital?
Obviously Usagi had placed the call for an ambulance when I was back on the sidewalk in his arms. I couldn't understand what he'd been saying, therefore I must've confused it with Polish... (Why Polish, of all things? I must've been really out of it). And the shifting of movements I compared to the ocean was the ambulance ride and my time on a stretcher.
And the baked potato thing... Well... I suppose I had really just wanted a damn potato. Hm.
Usagi didn't stir as I moved, so I imagined he'd been up for a while beside me. The thought clutched at my heart. Usagi had stayed that whole time, for however long I was out, to keep an eye on me. His hand clutching mine felt so warm, it was the best thing I'd felt within those past hours (or days... How long had I been there?)
I lifted my other hand to stroke his hair. For some reason, I just really wanted to touch him more. Everything felt shifted and disconnected, like something within my time on the sidewalk and at the hospital hadn't been real. I wanted to feel Usagi, to make sure everything was still real. As my fingers sifted through his hair, I felt him start to rouse. I dropped my hand as his head lifted, sleepy eyes looking up at me, disoriented.
"Misaki? You awake now?"
"Yeah," I mumbled out, my mouth feeling like it was full of marbles. He sat up and scooted his chair closer, a hand stroking my forehead.
"How do you feel?"
"Miserable," I spoke honestly, closing my eyes upon the contact he made with me.
"Do you remember anything from last night?"
Oh, so it'd only been one day. That was good, I suppose.
"Kind of. I remember being at the cigarette vending machine, and the next thing I know, I'm on the sidewalk, strongly believing that my clothes were on fire."
Usagi was silent for a moment, his fingers stilling against my messy hair. I looked back up at him.
"I don't suppose you know what happened?"
Usagi looked morose for a moment, lowering his hand and leaning back in his chair with his eyes turned downward. "I don't know exactly what happened, but I had to lie to the police to keep them from sniffing around."
"Why?"
His eyes went serious, looking at me as if the whole thing had been my fault. Perhaps it had. I wasn't sure, I just wanted some answers.
Usagi sighed and rubbed his temple. "I found you on the sidewalk by the vending machines. When I got a good look at you, I noticed your pupils were the size of saucers. You were mumbling a lot and weren't making any sense. You asked me to have sex with you twice and kept mentioning potatoes." His face held a little bit of mirth, and I could feel myself blush.
"So I guess I was pretty out of it..."
"That's an understatement," Usagi said calmly, the mirth gone. "When the doctors ran some blood tests, they found MDMA in you."
I stared at him for a moment in silence, but only because I was confused. "Is that... bad?"
"You were drugged up pretty badly, Misaki. Someone doped you up with Ecstasy, a lot of it."
Now I stared in silent shock, unsure of everything at that moment as I tried to recall the previous night and everything I had felt. Ecstasy? Like the street drug? Someone had put that in me? I didn't remember! I didn't remember that at all! When had that happened? I recalled being struck on the head after I'd gone blind for those few moments...
"Does anyone know who could've had done it?"
"I was hoping you'd tell me," came Usagi's simple response, his fingers lacing together in front of him, and in that moment I felt like an errant child who'd been caught drinking at the school dance. I hoped as hard as I could that the whole night of events hadn't somehow been my fault. Usagi continued. "No one saw anything. I got worried when you took so long to get my cigarettes. The first time I went out to look for you, I didn't see you there. When I looped around the block, there you were, on the ground, staring at the machines." He leaned back in towards me. "Misaki... Do you remember anything? Any voices? What they looked like? Was it one person or a lot of people?"
"I..." I tried to recall as best as I could, but my mind was so groggy and every memory was clouded by what I could only assume was the effects of the psychoactive drugs I'd been riddled with. "I was pushed against the vending machine, and then everything went black. I think I was put in a car, and then someone hit me on the head." I rubbed my forehead as if that would somehow clear up my congested memories. "I remember wherever I was smelled clean, like laundry or something, and... a piece of metal."
"Metal?"
"Yeah, a little silver piece of metal being waved in front of my eyes."
Usagi looked skeptical, and I couldn't blame him. Nothing I said must've made sense to him, and I worried he wouldn't believe me.
"Usagi... I don't know what else to tell you... That's all I remember... I'm sorry for making you worry, and it's okay if you don't believe me. If there's anything I can do-"
"I do believe you, Misaki. You just..." Then he looked exhausted, like the time he must've spent awake looking after me had finally caught up to him. He stood and leaned over the bed, kissing me deeply, as if it were the first time he'd seen me in months. When he pulled back, his thumbs were stroking along my temples. "I was so worried when I couldn't find you. When I saw you laying on the sidewalk, my heart almost stopped. I was relieved that you were alive, but then I realized you'd been drugged... I would've died if it had been any worse. I almost did, just seeing you like that..."
He looked so pained, like he was taking the full burden of the night upon himself, and I fought quickly to stop his train of thoughts. I couldn't handle him taking the blame for it. I couldn't put that kind of pressure on him. It was too great of an inconvenience, too much stress.
"Usagi, I'm okay. I'm in one piece, so it couldn't have been as bad as you're imagining it. Maybe we can just focus on finding the person who did it. Why don't we have the police help? Why did you want to lie to them?"
My mentor lifted his head, his hands stroking me one more time before he let himself sit on the bed beside me. "The media would blow it up. The attack might've been against you, but everyone would see it as an attack at me. For all I know, it was an attack at me. No one else needs to know about that."
My heart sank. An attack against Usagi... It certainly wasn't aimed at him, it had most definitely been aimed at me.
I knew then who had assaulted me, who had drugged me and left me on the sidewalk by the cigarette vending machine.
Ikuko Sakurabi.
She'd finally made good on her threat. And she meant business.
To be continued.
AN: My apologies for such a dark chapter, but I'm afraid it's going to get a little more intense in the next one. If this one turned you off, I wouldn't continue reading after this. It won't stay dark forever, but enough to get us through the story's climax. Happy thoughts ahead, I promise! Just gotta get through the depressing stuff first. Thanks for hanging in there!
