The Victim's Stories
Yosuke

AN: I'm sure a number of you have probably guessed what will happen in this chapter if you read the previous one. Things started getting a little dark and it's about to get worse. The stuff involved in this chapter aren't necessarily things you'd see in the actual manga/anime, I'M AWARE DON'T NAG ME. But I've given sufficient warning: If you don't like mean things happening to Misaki in fanfics, then you best turn back now. For those of you that are sticking around, I love and appreciate every single one of you.

This chapter contains slightly dark themes for Junjou Romantica. Last warning.


Usagi never found out that I was aware of my assailant's identity, though I had been foggy myself on some of the details. I was happier to have a face behind my soreness, but Usagi would stay in the dark, and that wasn't something I was too proud of. I'd asked why he hadn't involved the police and he said it was to keep the media oblivious. He'd also said that when the police had initially asked why I had been so doped up, he'd told them I'd been out at a popular rave club when someone had slipped something into my drink. Thanks to Usagi, I wouldn't wind up in jail over the whole thing.

No, I was in jail over something else completely different.

My cell is, oddly enough, starting to feel kind of cozy. I would like it if it weren't so chilly, but I imagine the amount of oxygen they pump in here is to help clear disoriented criminals' heads doesn't make the temperature feel like a summer beach house. The bench is terribly uncomfortable to lay on, but my eyelids have been starting to droop and I sure as hell could use the rest. I shift around to lay on the awful thing, using my coat as a pillow, sacrificing my warmth for a shred of comfort.

I wonder if Takahiro has heard about this yet? It'll break his heart when he hears I'm in jail. I can't blame him, it'd break my heart if he ever landed in jail himself. And what about Usagi? He's probably so angry at me... I can't even imagine what I need to do to make this up to him. He's must be so disgusted with me.

Alright, I've covered the stories including the coat check ticket, the awkward cab ride, the cigarette vending machine... What's left? Oh, yes. The climax of the overall story, the pinnacle of this terrible rollercoaster ride.


[THE STORY OF THE UNREASONABLY STURDY UMBRELLA]


I was kept in the hospital overnight to ensure that I didn't have any additional reactions to the MDMA I had been pumped with, and once my health stabilized, I was free to go. Usagi didn't say much on the ride home, so I resigned to the sad silence, too confused and ashamed to try to delve any further into the unfortunate series of events that had happened over the past couple of months.

I suppose after I had been harassed at Usagi's award party, after my coat had been sent to me gutted like a terrible low-budget reenactment of a horror movie, after I'd been threatened in a cab by a very rich woman with a lot riding on the man I was apparently "distracting" and "confusing", after I'd been abducted on the street, knocked unconscious, drugged, and who knows what else while I was out of it, I should've been more prepared for the next step in my stalker's plan.

Stupid me.

We'd arrived home late in the afternoon to find a package at the foyer door. From past experience, I immediately grew concerned and offered to take the box and examine it, but apparently Usagi was also on edge, wary of the circumstances and suspicious of the package. I had tried to convince him it was for me, considering it had no return address, but once we saw that it was labeled for Akihiko Usami, I couldn't much fight it anymore.

Grinding my teeth, I stepped back and let him handle the package, then was far too overcome with embarrassment over what it might contain and quickly flew up the stairs to the bathroom, feigning illness.

I stayed in the toilet room for about twenty minutes, sitting against the door and praying. Surely whatever had been in that package hadn't been too bad, right? I didn't hear any noise coming from downstairs, and last I checked, all of my belongings had been returned to me. Ms. Sakurabi couldn't have stolen anything and destroyed it like she had my cashmere coat.

Perhaps it was just an actual package for Usagi, from an adoring fan, though he did have a separate mailing address for his fan mail... Oh, it was driving me crazy! What was in that box? One of my brother's ears packed on ice? Sakurabi was pretty crazy, as much as I had seen.

Swallowing against my dry throat, I stood and walked back downstairs. Upon reaching the first floor, I saw Usagi on the phone, talking very quietly into it. I held my breath to try and hear what he was saying, but he was off the phone before I could really catch any of it.

When he turned around, his gaze was far off, angry, and disappointed. I didn't let my breath go. Whatever had been in that box had been the fourth part of Sakurabi's threat, and all of the pieces were starting to fall in place for my mentor.

With more bravery than I could ever imagine having in my life, I quietly asked, "So... Who was it from?"

His icy glare was still there, but with what I could only call foolish hope, the glare was not directed at me. It was slightly relieving, but the mortification was starting to settle in. The box's contents were very likely incriminating against all the lies I'd been telling and things I'd been hiding from my lover. Whatever it was would be very embarrassing and foreboding for me.

Usagi took a few steps forward and handed me what I assumed had been in the package: a digital camera. I was terribly confused, never having seen that particular camera before.

"Misaki, I wouldn't normally let you see this, but I think it's important if we're going to figure out who did this to you." He looked so remorseful. "If you can remember anything by looking at these, then I can help. I've already got a lead, but it's not much right now. Does anyone in those photos look familiar?"

I was still thoroughly perplexed as I took the device and switched it on. Within moments, clarity hit me and my stomach sank to the floor.

Eighty-two pictures of me on a floor in an unfamiliar room with at least three other people, and they were all... doing things... to me.

I don't know what force kept me on my feet then, but my jaw did fall open as I started skimming through each photo on the memory card, my knees shaking and the sick feelings I had experienced while under the influence of the psychoactive drugs returning almost full-force. Each photo was mortifying and completely revealing in the most humiliating ways. Each of the room's occupants were men, the same general build and appearance, more like evil henchmen than random rapists.

Sakurabi's "assistants".

Within the span of eighty-two photographs, they each took turns using their hands... and mouths... and that other part of them I was suddenly revolted to know had touched me in some way... violating me in a way I'd only ever let Usagi do. And in each picture, my eyes were open, my stare glassy and lifeless, and my body seemed to be reacting however they wanted it to. I couldn't believe it... I didn't remember any of that! I didn't remember seeing any of them, I didn't remember them pushing into me or putting their mouths on me... Oh, god! This photo, one of them is in my mouth...

My gag reflex hit me harder than I'd ever felt as I dropped the camera and ran to the kitchen's trash can, heaving into it harshly and desperately. I wanted them out of my body. I didn't want a single trace in me that I'd ever had one of them down my throat, let alone inside me in other ways.

By the time I was done, my fingers were clutching the sides of the trash can until my knuckles were white, and my shoulders were shaking violently. I pulled myself away from the bin to slump onto the floor, tears from the heaving running down my face and my breathing heavy. Within moments, I felt a large hand running down my back soothingly and I almost started weeping right there. How could Usagi still stand me at that point? He'd seen me at my lowest point, in the most humiliating light, knowing that other men had seen me in ways, had touched me in ways that only he had ventured. He couldn't possibly stomach touching me anymore. I was filthy, I was contaminated. A dozen showers wouldn't wash the evidence away.

I wiped my face off on my sleeve and rested heavily against the kitchen cabinets by the trash can. "Usagi, I'm... I'm so sorry... I didn't know... I don't remember any of that happening... I wouldn't have done any of that had I known..."

"Hush," came his soothing voice, far more understanding than I deserved. His hand kneaded my shoulder. "You didn't know. It's okay."

"No, it's not," I whimpered out. "Look at the pictures, my eyes are open. I must've known but just not have-"

"Your eyes were glazed over. You look dead in those pictures, Misaki. It was the Ecstasy. You didn't have any control over the situation. If you did know, wouldn't you have put up a fight?"

"Of course I would have!" I looked at him then, my face beet-red and my cheeks wet.

"You put up enough of a fight as it is with me," Usagi said quietly, brushing my bangs out of my face, his gaze calm and loving. "I would imagine you'd fight off anyone else who can't even come close to pleasing you like I do."

My face was red for a completely different reason then, and I had to turn away. "I feel like calling you a pervert right now would be severely misplaced."

"The only real perverts here are the guys in these photos." Usagi pulled me to my feet and handed me the camera again. "You have to try to remember anything you can. I know you don't want to look at these, but we have to figure this out."

I'd already figured it out. They all worked for SDI and had probably made fat paychecks off of defiling me. Ikuko Sakurabi was an evil woman indeed. But Usagi couldn't know, or his business with SDI and his job would be in a stranglehold, so I had to play dumb. Humoring my mentor, I took the camera back and stomached looking through the pictures again, Usagi a few feet away so he wouldn't have to look himself. I could easily see the tension in his frame, how badly he wanted to punch someone. I was just thankful that someone wasn't me.

As I stared absentmindedly at each picture, not really focusing on them but just vaguely processing each humiliating snapshot of a night I had no memory of, something intriguing caught my eye. One of the men who was over me, my legs being held around his waist and his body bowing dominatingly over a lifeless version of myself, had a familiar piece of jewelry around his neck. It was a simple thin chain with a dogtag dangling from it, directly over my glassy eyes. The tag was a flawless metal piece, very shiny and dancing light from it.

Dancing... and shiny... It was the piece of metal I remembered, the rectangular piece of metal that had danced in my vision when I had no other coherency to cling on to!

Usagi seemed to notice my stiffness at the recognition and was at my side in a heartbeat. "What is it? Do you remember something?"

I bit my tongue, unsure if I should share the information with him. It couldn't have hurt, I supposed. It was just a dogtag. I pointed it out to him on the camera.

"Do you remember that piece of metal I told you about? The one that danced around in front of me?"

"The dogtag?"

"Yeah," I said quietly, giving him the device back. "That's all I remember. The metal was the dogtag. I guess when he was... doing it... it swayed back and forth right over my eyes."

He seemed to accept the clue, staring in pure contempt down at the picture before shutting the camera off. "You also said the room smelled clean, right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah... Like fresh linens. It was the only pleasant thing I felt at all."

Usagi remained motionless for a moment, staring into space in contemplation before turning the camera over in his hands a few times then setting it down on the kitchen counter. I worried then that he might've known something and wasn't letting on about it. I could only hope otherwise; if Usagi got stuck in the middle of that mess, a mess I was having too much trouble containing, he would be burdened with all of my problems.

Perhaps what Sakurabi had prompted wasn't such an impossible idea. She'd demanded I leave Usagi, to clear out of his life so he could continue working at his regular pace. I had refused because I just couldn't imagine my life without him, but since he was starting to get involved in my mess, this avalanche of problems... maybe stepping out of the way for a while would be in his best interest. Who was I to cause him such problems? Sakurabi was targeting me, and I was pulling Usagi into the line of fire by being selfish and stubborn and so childish.

I almost started crying right there. Usagi noticed, but I quickly brushed it off as another sick spell coming on and told him I needed some rest. He accepted that, and I moved back upstairs to clean myself up and hide away in my room, considering the very real possibility that I would have to leave the man I couldn't live without.

I skipped dinner that night, asking Usagi to order himself something. He wisely gave me my space as I confined myself to my bed, too disgusted with myself and the ways I'd been vitiated to let my tutor try to make love to me. I couldn't imagine his hands on me then after I'd been dirtied so. As much as I wanted, nearly craved Usagi's kinder touches, I feared more the look on his face when he would come to realize that the parts of me he would explore with his own mouth had previously been claimed with another's, like trying to eat an apple that already had a bite taken out of it. I was spoiled, tainted. Usagi wouldn't possibly have had any desire for me after seeing those pictures.

I feigned sleep well into the early morning, though within the darkness of my room all I could see within the shadows were unfamiliar faces looming over me, touching me, moving me at their whim and me having no power to stop it. I suddenly recalled the flashing light I had noticed while under the spell of the drugs. It had been the camera, circling me, catching every disturbing angle. The camera was suddenly in the room as well, and I could almost see those piercing flashes of light breaking through my disorientation to further my humiliation. It didn't help that it began to drizzle outside, the light drumming of rain against my window as distant, pathetic flashes of lightning just barely glimpsed through my curtains.

I wasn't sure at what time that night I made the executive decision to put all of the madness into proper sense, but it was sudden and very likely a bad idea. I had to at least try, though, or else I would be burdened with the impossible task of breaking up with Usagi. I needed to see Ms. Sakurabi, and I had a pretty good idea how to find her.

I threw my clothes on and tiptoed out the front door, grabbing one of Usagi's umbrellas with 'Marukawa Publishing' inscribed in the fabric, and making my great escape into the outside world. I was nervous as all hell, considering the last time I'd gone out at night by myself I'd been abducted, drugged, and raped. But this was the only thing I could think to do, and if I ended up on my back by the cigarette vending machine again, blitzed out of my mind, then so be it.

I walked along the familiar streets for a while, never looking behind me, never expecting anyone to show up but simply expecting instead to run straight into the woman I dreaded most right then. Sakurabi had been stalking me before, so why wouldn't she show up then? Especially after having been handed the fourth installment of her string of threats? She wanted me to be intimidated. Seeing me on the street by myself at night again should've made me an easier target than ever before.

Without really realizing it, I ended up walking a lot farther than I had intended, my focus drifting from finding Ms. Sakurabi to recalling the events over the past three months, starting from the party and ending with me walking through an icy drizzle in the wee hours of the morning.

I had been targeted at that party, eyed by every haughty spectator and dubbed a prostitute by people who hadn't even bothered to try and know me. Sakurabi had probably spread the rumor herself. I was looked down on, and Usagi had been put in danger of being criticized for keeping a "boy-toy" around. Sakurabi had been jealous of my relationship with Usagi. The lovely, expensive coat my lover had bought me had been stolen from me and returned covered in paint and torn to shreds. Sakurabi had performed the execution herself. I'd been stalked at school. Sakurabi had sent one of her men to follow me. I'd been pulled into a cab and one of the most painful conversations of my life, forcing me to consider leaving the man I cared about in order to save his job and my own hide. Sakurabi had threatened me, had made light of Usagi's dedication to his job by saying he was "distracted" and "confused" by some meager sexual wiles. I had been kidnapped, assaulted, drugged, gangbanged, photographed, and left to be discovered in my humiliation by the one person I would never want to see me in such a state. Sakurabi hired the men. Sakurabi arranged the whole thing. She'd probably supplied them with the drugs. And to top it all off, the pictures of my defiling, the most vexing moment of my life, a moment I'd been awake to experience but not nearly conscious enough to fight, had been sent to Usagi, to show him in how many ways I'd been torn and tormented, how many times I'd been violated and in what ways that had been accomplished. Sakurabi sent the pictures. Sakurabi. Sakurabi. It was all her. It was all Sakurabi.

And for what? For money, of course. And to build a gap between myself and Usagi, to make myself disgusting to my mentor until he couldn't stand me, to make me afraid of our own relationship so that she could swoop in with her perfectly-manicured talons and take Akihiko Usami for herself.

This was all Ikuko Sakurabi. She'd started this whole mess. She was destroying me.

The rage began to build then, and I had no way of stopping it. All of the facts falling into place, all the moments I'd recalled, all the pain and humiliation, all the feelings from being drugged, the ache in my bones, the memories of Usagi's angry face, his mournful face at having lost me if only for an hour to be spat upon by a group of faceless thugs... I lost it.

And that's when I saw her car.

I was as shocked as anyone else would be to wind up face-to-fender with the car of the woman I'd felt compelled to hunt down, and anyone in a sane state of mind would have taken a moment to consider that perhaps this might not be the actual car in question. Perhaps it was just a random rich person's car, same color, same style, same foreign emblem with that hard to pronounce name sitting pretty and shiny on the hood. A sane person would have walked away, or at least would've made sure beyond a reasonable doubt that this car was indeed the perpetrator's vehicle.

I was only willing to bet on it. My rage didn't have the patience to wait for another opportunity.

I wasn't sure what to do, and my sentient side was slipping away. I only saw red, only saw the pain and chagrin of my time at the unmerciful hands of that witch. I had been made to suffer, Usagi would suffer, all because of her pathetic jealousy.

Before I knew it, I was sitting on the curb of a recording company's parking lot, heaving in lungfuls of air, damp from the light rain and sweat, Usagi's umbrella in my hands, and the formerly-beautiful foreign car smashed in all the important parts, the car alarm filling the peaceful night air with agonizing turbulence.

Bits of shattered glass was at my feet, once belonging to a whole windshield, and to my right lay a defeated driver-side mirror, wires poking out lifelessly in a few directions. I absorbed each detail as if I was just then seeing it for the first time, which in all honesty was the truth. I didn't remember actually smashing the car. I just remembered my anger, closing my umbrella, and making the decision that this was Sakurabi's car. But seeing it like that, in glittering pieces across the asphalt, was hard to swallow, like waking up from sleepwalking after raiding the fridge, or having a split personality and finding a murder you committed upon awakening. The windshield wipers had been torn clean off, and the antenna was bent at a funny angle (I guess I hadn't been strong enough to tear it off as well). The doors and hood had several ugly dents and scratches, and two windows on each side were cracked and partially shattered.

I heard someone yelling from a building nearby, but I didn't even look. I was too shocked, too appalled with myself, like I'd been possessed by some otherworldly creature, and the last thing I thought before I was tackled to the ground by who I could only guess was the real owner of the car was...

... that umbrella was unreasonably sturdy.


AN: I tried not to get too mean with this by use of Misaki's modest narrative. I hope I didn't upset too many people. Don't worry, the worst is over. Positivity ahead, I promise!