"Do you even realize how much shit you're in?"
My handler Rafael presently standing at my bedside woke me with his statement. I shot up and yelped from the panic of the unannounced intrusion, and before I could even take a breath, Rafael threw the covers off me in a harsh whip. I scooted back from him; the original panic now turning into fear.
I tried to make my breathing steady and my heart beat slowly. It would be difficult because I had just woken up and had no time to mentally collect myself, but it had to be done. I had to feign an impassive demeanor if I had any hope of ending this quickly. If I let myself yelp again or cry from what was about to happen, he'd learn just how much of a terrified person I really was beneath my cold stare, and he wouldn't hesitate to utilize that against me.
Quickly, Rafael seized my forearm—his grip so tight it easily cut off circulation—and pulled me off the bed. I tried to get up and walk, but he ended up throwing me against the floor before I could do anything. My hip hitting the wooden floor felt like a hammer hitting a rock; the direct point of contact didn't hurt yet, but it sent vibrations of pain that radiated through my pelvic region with no remorse.
Before I could even sit up from my sprawled position on my side or address my hipbone, Rafael kicked me right in the stomach—sending the back of my head to meet the metal frame that elevated my mattress. The air that smashed violently out of my lungs erupted from my windpipes in a gurgled cough. Immediately he went in with another kick to my gut, and I feared that with how close he was to my ribcage he'd kick the lower bones in. After five more vision disgruntling kicks, he paused as I coughed up the thick saliva that formed from his action.
"You were doing so fucking well, Kiteyama. For you to tell one of our highest paying clients to fuck off…were you drunk?" The immigrant asked amidst my hacking.
I tried to think up of an acceptable explanation during my coughing. If I were to tell him that Shinji was straight up pissing me off, he'd beat me even more. If I were to tell him that he himself said I was 'off for the night,' he'd remind me of my status with a beating. Either way bruises and cracked bones seemed like my only option.
I saw the boots I wore last night next to where my head rested on the wooden floor; a business card of the Diner partially stuck out from the inner pocket.
…That was it.
"It was…for an asset," I managed weakly.
Rafael kicked me again.
"Speak up, Kiteyama!"
"It was for an asset!" I shouted back.
Rafael paused to listen and I continued.
"There was this guy at the Dive that seemed like he'd be a good recruit. I decided to put him to the test by using Shinji as his opponent. He fell for it and intervened—he's strong. I have to evaluate further, but he seems like he'd be fit for the job." I explained as I propped myself up off the floor.
He stood there taking in my explanation. The excruciating seconds that passed ignited my anxiety, and my heart beat loudly in my chest without my consent.
"What's his name?" He asked.
"I didn't catch it." I replied immediately.
I don't know why I did it. Something about giving Rafael his name just didn't feel right to me. If I was caught lying to Rafael, what he just did to me would've been child's play compared to what would be in store—and yet I lied about the entire thing.
"I gave him the card to the Diner; he said he'd come by. If I can observe him more, I can give you a more adequate answer." I quickly added.
Rafael sighed after another few moments, and stared down at me in a one-sided gaze through his sunglasses.
"Although your reasoning is acceptable, and I expect you to follow up—your actions are still inexcusable."
He started unbuckling his belt.
Rafael had a sick tendency of treating his whores as if we were his daughters; his belt as his number one punishment of choice.
-x-
Three hours into my shift went by, and my hip was literally killing me. I had a good amount of tables today, so there was plenty of striding back and forth. Involuntary yelps from time to time happened when I held more than three plates—it was ridiculous. Nevertheless, I pushed my way through the pain; the money was a necessity and I literally had to nut-up-or-shut-up.
"Kiteyama, go take your smoke break." My supervisor Sayuri said as I approached the bar top.
"All right, sounds good. Table 16 needs refills and 17 wants to place their order. Everyone else should be fine for now." I explained as I made my way to the back break room.
"Got it; have a good one." She said before grabbing a tray and walking off.
I quickly went into the back room to grab my purse and pea-coat. It was cold today, and the stupid required uniform was a damn dress; I'd freeze my ass off if it wasn't for this coat. Quickly, I took out one cigarette and my lighter before proceeding to the restricted lot behind the building.
As I stood there inhaling the comforting smoke, I wondered just what would happen now with the situation I stupidly put myself in. I wasn't counting on Shinji calling the handler to tattle-tale on my actions—what a little bitch that guy was. I knew that I probably should've attempted to swoon over him like he wanted, but I was just so damn tired and just wanted to eat to forget about that other hairy bastard. That's what I get for being a human I guess—beatings for my basic necessities.
At least Rafael was nice this morning and stopped after twenty lashes rather than the usual fifty. This morning was just a warning at the most when I really thought about it. Is it wrong to beat people regardless? Yes. Does it make it better that it wasn't as bad as it used to be? Hell yes. During my days where their trust in me was hesitant, any move that looked like an act of defiance would result in extreme consequence. Now after all the hard work, they finally trust me and give me more freedom than ever.
Only a few of us have our own apartment and are trusted to search for possible assets. After 5 years of spreading my legs to any 'Tom, Dick, or Harry'—as the Americans phrase it—I fucking deserve to be where I am. That damn whore house they kept me in was absolutely disturbing on nightmarish scales. It was like all of us were abused animals; kept in a small room that hardly allowed any open space to rest, only allowed to shower twice a week, food only at designated meal times, the fucking use of the bathroom only at designated times. Heaven forbid one of us had our uterus take it's monthly revenge on us. The smell of the others bleeding through because it wasn't the designated time for the bathroom is something I don't think I will ever be able to carve out of my scent bank.
Although I didn't believe in an actual Kami, and mostly utilized his name since it just rolled off the tongue during my use of colorful vocabulary; I was thankful to whatever divine power helped me get out of that Hell hole.
Which brings me back to last night.
The fact that I would risk all the luxury I have now is so beyond me that I can't even comprehend. I was glad that I was able to at least come up with a decent excuse, but the last part of it still bothered the absolute shit out of me. Was it because I actually was grateful to Hitsugaya for pulling Shinji off me, or was it because I hadn't met anyone who's made me laugh like that in years?
I thought of Miyuki and frowned.
I didn't have the option to let myself be an emotional wreck anymore. What happened, happened, and there's no changing the past.
I sighed, and took another drag of my cigarette. I looked at my watch; 16:48—two hours and some change left before I'm out of this day-time dump. I really hope I'm not contracted tonight; a salt soak to soothe this morning's bruises sounded amazing.
I let the cigarette fall from my fingertips and let the breeze push it forward gently in front of me. I quickly stomped on it like it was a bug attempting to crawl away. I pivoted the ball of my foot over it with unnecessary force to make sure my surfacing thoughts of Miyuki died along with the remnant embers.
Once I felt satisfied with my childish behavior, I closed my eyes and leaned my head up to the sky. I took a deep breath of the cold air I took comfort in, and exhaled slowly.
"Let's get on with it." I whispered through the exhale.
About 17 more tables with only four crying children, three drunken men, and two beggars urinating on the side of the building later, and it was almost time to leave. I had about 15 minutes left, and honest to Kami could not wait to go home and take a bath. If I had x-ray vision, I'd imagine my hip bone probably looked like a cracked sidewalk after a car crash with how much it pained me at this point. There's no way in Hell I didn't have a nice, splotchy bruise with purple as it's base color as it outstretched into hues of green and yellow. Hell, the work of art from said spot upward ought to be photographed and hung up on a wall with all the mesmerizing colors I'm sure it was. But Kami, only 15 more minutes until the comfort of salted, almost-boiling water was mine at long last.
"Oi, Kiteyama!" Sayuri broke my train of thought.
I was right in the middle of throwing some dishes into the sink while lost in my own thought-process to hear her the first time evidently—the woman practically shouted at me.
"Yes?" I called back as I made my way out of the back.
"I had to let Minata leave early; you have one more table to tend to." She said upon my approach. As I grimaced, she pointed over to the toward Minata's section. "Stay until he's done and then you can go."
I nodded reluctantly before Sayuri walked away to go tend to something else. This could literally take up to an hour, and I was just a stone's throw away from being off—Kami-dammit. I walked over to the counter the menus were kept, and grabbed one along with some napkins before marching over toward the section. I looked around the restaurant to see that there was still a fair amount of people left, and mentally thanked Kami I only had this last table.
I didn't even look up to the guy until the end of my usual spiel.
"Welcome to Izumi's, would you like some water to start off with today?"
Those damn aquamarine irises met mine as soon as I set down the utensils and napkins. He didn't say anything, and I couldn't help but let up the corner of my lips in a smirk.
"Well if it isn't Romeo. Here I thought you wouldn't stop by after your first run-in with my harsh banter." I handed him the menu.
Seeing him in the light allowed me to really take in his features compared to last night when I only had the dim lighting of the Dive and the moonlight. He was wearing a deep-burgundy long sleeved shirt today and a black tie that hung loosely around his neck. His facial structure was sharp; etched slightly on his cheekbones and jawline. My guess was that this guy was someone in his mid-late 20's since his face didn't quite screech 30. He had broad shoulders that didn't leave more than an inch of wiggle room in the fabric—my guess was that this guy worked out. The sleeves weren't too tight either, but made for a comfortable fit while still accentuating his features. Not gonna lie, the guy was actually good looking…although I'd never admit that aloud.
"I was in the area," he replied.
"Lucky you." I promptly replied back. "Well, what would you like to eat? I'll buy you a beer as promised."
I took out my miniature notepad and whipped out the pen I stuck through the high bun I tied my hair in.
"That won't be necessary," he replied as he continued to look over the menu.
I let out a half chuckle.
"Don't be modest—it's on me."
"I appreciate the offer, but I'll pass."
An adult male refusing free beer—that's a new one. I shook my head.
"If you say so. Want a water then?"
"Green tea if you wouldn't mind."
"You got it." I turned on my heel and made my way back toward the kitchen.
I'll be damned—he actually showed up. What a card this guy was. Was he really in the area, or did he purposely come by to try to catch some snatch? Then again—if the later was the case—he would have already tried last night when he walked me home. But then again, he was into the whole 'Prince Charming' charade—maybe he wanted to try that storybook romance card and wait 'til at least the third date?
I paused as I filled the pre-boiled water into the teapot.
Wait a minute. Date? As in courtship? Was that really what was going on here? Was this guy actually interested in me as a person rather than a warm, moist cavern? The very thought almost made me bust into hysterics. I shook myself out of the thought before the water overflowed. I poured some out—since due to my lack of attention, it was filled to the rim—and then stirred in some matcha extract into the teapot.
"How juvenile." I mumbled aloud.
In this day and age, relationships and courtship was such a joke. All men wanted one thing, and one thing only—they'd do whatever it took to get it. The fact that I even let myself think of a relationship completely unrelated to sexual courtship wad beyond me. I had let my wall creep open a fraction of a crack, and now all these thoughts of innocence trickled in as if I'd placed an entrance sign out in front—it was ridiculous.
I made it back to the table and set down the tea cup in front of him. I poured him some tea as per regulation as I spoke.
"Any idea what you'd like to eat?"
He closed the menu and looked up at me as I set the teapot down.
"Meal #4 please."
"You got it."
He handed me the menu, and I took it after I jotted down the order. I walked away without another passing glance, and lost myself in the disarray my thoughts left me in.
His food came out quickly, and I walked it back over to him.
"I'm curious; what is it exactly you do?" I asked as I took the plates off my tray and set each plate in its designated area as if placing pawns strategically on a chessboard.
"On-Call work." He responded, taking a sip of his tea.
It took all of my power to not deadpan at his response.
"You mentioned that last night; I meant what company and/or profession?" I countered, holding my breath so I couldn't retort in a sarcastic slew of dry vocabulary.
He hesitated for a moment; taking the time to savor the taste of green tea extract. Once he swallowed down the substance, he looked down toward the meal with his reply.
"Why does it matter?"
I set down the last plate and handed him a pair of unbroken wooden chopsticks in a sleeve of paper.
"It was just a question; no need to get your panties in a bunch, Princess." I grinned…actually grinned.
He didn't make any movement implying discomfort at my comeback, but I felt deep in the pit of my gut that he was refraining from an eye roll. He took the chopsticks and removed the sleeve before snapping them apart.
"You could say I'm a maintenance worker of sorts."
I couldn't help but cock a brow. 'Of sorts'? What does that even mean? I decided to let it slide.
"I see. An On-Call maintenance worker. I never would've guessed; you don't seem like the handy-man type."
"You also don't seem like the waitress type." He shot back with an added smirk.
"Fancy that; both of us work jobs that aren't suitable to our personalities—who would've thought?" I tapped the table with my two forefingers before turning around. "Enjoy your meal; I'll check up on you in a little bit."
I strutted toward the back room area, the grin etching my face out of the norm still present and on display. I don't know what it was about that guy, but my dry sense of humor being handed right back to me thrilled me for some reason. It was like he and I were playing an elaborate and strategic game that played off gestures, tones, and verbs, and I couldn't wait for another round.
"Woah, what's this? Is that a smile I see?"
Nobu leaned against the wall next to me; his arms crossed and one leg lightly placed over the other while a snake-like smirk spread across his face.
I narrowed my eyes subconsciously and took a damp rag to wipe down the stack of menus in front of me. He waited for any form of retaliation, and when he got none he continued.
"I didn't really think that a cute guy would be what it took for you to actually let up from your constant piss attitude, but looks like I was incorrect." He chuckled.
He was right. I shouldn't have let Hitsugaya break through my façade so easily. A rookie move on my end, really.
"Well, I can go from 0 to 100% pissed off in three seconds flat—wanna give it a go?"
Nobu chortled before standing again in an upright position.
"Nah, I prefer you with a demented smirk more than anything else; happy looks good on you." He grinned before winking and walking away.
Happy?
I blushed.
"Great. This is a fine mess I got myself into." I thought harshly.
I finished cleaning the menus and walked into the back room to grab another wet rag. I went back out to start wiping the tables and caught a glimpse of that white-haired trouble maker.
The fact that Nobu saw me like that was a clear indication that I had to stop whatever game it is I was trying to play. It could ruin my reputation and ultimately cost a great deal. From here forward it had to be all business with this punk. No more sarcasm, no more games.
"Kiteyama,"
My head snapped up from the table I leaned over, and I paused at the gaze of the devil causing all this mayhem. The way he pronounced my name…
I internally shook myself.
"Back to business, you cretin!" I barked at myself.
I straightened myself up, shook off the rag, then walked over to his table.
"Yes?"
"Sorry to bother you; would you happen to have any daikon?" He asked.
Oh man. He left himself wide open for an elderly joke. Must…refrain…
"Daikon, daikon…let me go check for you." I bowed for whatever reason, and walked back to the kitchen.
"Oi, do we have any daikon?" I asked one of the cooks.
"Daikon? Someone asked for daikon?" He questioned.
"Yeah, you're tellin' me." I retorted.
After a hesitant pause, the cook went to the industrial fridge to look for it.
"Try the spices; we don't have any fresh daikon." He shrugged and went back to the grill.
Great.
I dug around the spice rack, proceeding to take out literally every single spice in search of his damn dried radish. After a few moments, I finally found it. I checked the expiration date—since this spice was practically untouched—to see that it was still good surprisingly. I walked it over.
"We only have kiroboshi-daikon; I hope that's okay." I said as I held it out to him.
"What the Hell do you mean 'you hope?' Woman the fuck up."
He gently took the spice from me.
"This will be fine; thank you for taking the time to look—I appreciate it."
The way he spoke those few words to me, and met my eyes for confirmation of his gratitude—I was at a loss.
"No problem." I quickly responded. "Anything else you needed?"
"No, that was all I needed—thanks." He responded.
I started to turn around, but as I did he stopped me.
"Kiteyama,"
I turned back around.
"Yeah?"
"You said you had a late night job; yet this restaurant closes in two hours. I'm assuming you have another job?" He asked as he continued eating.
Oh Kami, he's setting me up. But I have to remain professional. Don't do it, don't do it, don't do it…
"Why does it matter?"
Fuck. I replied mockingly anyway. Kami-fucking-dammit.
I cracked a smirk and he shot an almost deadpan face right back at me. I chuckled.
"I, uh, do On-Call work at night."
He took another sip of his tea.
"Near Mameha's?"
"Generally near that area, yes." I replied. "It could be wherever though, it depends."
"And what type of On-Call work is it?" He asked.
Generally, I had almost zero problem when it came to saying exactly what type of service I do. There's a variety of colorful titles I like to use, typically depending on the mood I'm in. There's the usual terms that are used broadly like Prostitute, Hooker, Common Whore, and so forth, but I typically like to use Succubus for a more edgy term. However, I just couldn't bring myself to tell him exactly what I was. Something about revealing that I'm literally a meat sack for pleasure just didn't sit right in this situation. I didn't know how else to phrase it to him.
"Entertainment." I blurted.
"Kami, I'm such a fool."
"Entertainment?" He questioned.
"Yes. A Doxy if you will." I nervously wiped the table in front of him.
"Doxy? I've never heard of it," he replied as he handed me an empty plate.
"Yeah, that's probably for the best." I borderline squeaked.
Kami this was so nerve-wrecking. What the Hell was wrong with me?
"Do you know if you're working tonight?" he asked.
Oh what the—
"I don't know, probably." I dusted myself off and took the plates he stacked. "I'm off from here after you're done eating. If you can wait for a few minutes, I'll give you some info." I prompted.
I placed a copy of his bill on the table and turned to walk back.
"The tea is on me; just shut up and accept it—I hate feeling like I owe anyone anything. I'll be back when you finish eating."
I walked to the back and put his plate in the sink.
Why did it matter to him whether or not I worked tonight? Was he trying to set up a date with me or something?
After a few more minutes of cleaning up the back area, I went back out to check on him. He was finished eating, so I quickly took the rest of his plates, wiped off the table and hurried to the back.
"Sayuri," I called.
"Yeah?" she responded from the back storage.
"I'm taking off here in a few minutes; I'll see you tomorrow."
"Have a good night!"
I grabbed my purse and peacoat, then went to Hitsugaya's table. He had exact change—thank Kami—so I walked it up to the cash register and completed the transaction as he came up to the front of the stand.
"You want a receipt?"
"No thanks,"
I slammed the cash register shut, and promptly whizzed by Hitsugaya out the door. I waited for him outside the glass doors as I searched for my cigarettes, and once I found them he was already by my side. I took out a blank piece of paper from my notepad and the pen from my hair, then jotted down Rafael's work cell along with his name on it.
"My services range from 15 minutes to an hour and a half depending on the type of entertainment desired. Just call the number on the card and he'll direct you accordingly once you ask for me. If you want something specifically, you have to request that ahead of time. That's all there is to it." I explained briefly.
Kami, I shouldn't do it—do me a solid and don't let me do it.
"Are you busy at 21:00?" I blurted; he hesitated as I looked away and took a drag.
"Akinoyo, you're a fucking piece of shit."
No. You know what? He was the one who originally asked if I was busy tonight. If anything, this was just business. It was all for business. I asked him to meet me later to discuss business. That's all it was. I'm smarter than I make myself out to be—I'm no chump.
"What did you have in mind?" He asked.
There was a look in his eyes that I couldn't quite make out. Could it have been hesitancy? He inspected me as if I were troubling him, like he wanted to say something that was on the tip of his tongue, but couldn't bring himself to formulate the words. Was I really that interesting of a person to him?
"Meet me at Mameha's in my booth. Let's get some beer—or in your case tea. Sound good?"
He nodded, and I turned my back to him.
"See you tonight, Romeo,"