Author's brief note: I'm kinda blatantly making Osuzu and Shino one character because I don't have time to write what I had planned originally. Be on the possible look out for another chapter later this week!
"Y'know Jon…"
"Mm?" he was pretending to be asleep, but I knew what he was really doing. He had his ears trained on the bathroom, listening to Hana, showering.
"Hana almost gave you her real name."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, hookers and strippers have multiple names. There's the one they give out to Johns, the one they give to nice, regular guys and there's their real names."
"Hana isn't a prostitute."
"Call girl, escort, hooker, whore. She's a working girl, believe."
He stood up, voice lowered. (Can't believe Fuu slept through this.) "Hana is NOT any of those, those things."
"You ever actually meet a prostitute? Other than some married gold digger?"
Just sitting there, fucking bristling and perfectly still e was definitely madder than I'd seen him before.
"Hana. Is. A. Hooker. I'm not trying to put the bitch down—" and he hit me. Not like he did before. This one felt different. It's stupid to say but this one felt like hate.
He moved to hit me again; swinging southpaw, but I caught his wrist. I held it hard enough that I heard his bones shift.
He kneed me in the gut just as the bathroom door opened. Stunning hooker Hana stood in the steam, dressed and cleaned up, but still wearing fucking make up.
I was hunched on the bed, wanting to puke til my brains leaked out my nose, breathing hard. Fuu was still sleeping. What the hell is her deal? How does she do it?
Jon held her wrist. It wasn't like what I had done to him. No, he was treating her like she was precious, made of silk and he would ruin her if he was careless.
"Hana," I choked out. "You're a hooker, ain't you?"
She looked at Jon and nodded, just once and damn quick. He wasn't looking at her. Jon was looking at me.
"We're leaving." And I heard the door slam, the engine turn over. He was gone.
Hunched over the toilet, I finally did manage to puke.
My mind flipped over and over like all my thoughts were snapshot. My life was made of short little sentences.
I wasn't part of the 'we' in 'we're leaving.'
Cough-heave-choke-rinse-repeat
I wasn't with Jon and I should be.
Tasting bile now
He loves her more than me, (which became) He doesn't love me.
Done, please God of shit let me be done
Fuck. Why do I keep saying love?
I love Jon. I do and I fucking hate myself for it. That's why it hurts so much.
So I brush my teeth rough and quick and drink some mouthwash. And then I wake up Fuu.
She looks up at me, sleepy and soft. She looks at the clock, and following her eyes I see a little orange bottle of Valium. I don't care and I kiss her.
And she kisses me back. I'm on top of her, my head, my ribs, don't even hurt anymore. She moans and it's all too real. What the fuck am I doing is what I should be thinking. I force myself not to, thinking why the fuck didn't I already do this, instead.
I get up and she gets up. We don't talk, cuddle or sleep. I go out for a smoke. I guess she maybe showers of takes a Valium or something.
I walk away from the room a ways, thinking my life over. And I keep walking. I realize, soon I got my surplus duffel, shoes, wallet booze, smokes, clothes money, etc. all with me. And I keep walking.