Wow, her bed felt comfortable. When was it ever this comfortable? Junko pulled the blankets tighter around herself, enjoying the warmth and sense of safety they gave her. Exhaling softly, she turned her head to nuzzle her pillow.
Her strangely squishy pillow.
She jerked upwards, and gave a small cry when her side objected to the movement with a bolt of pain. Gasping for relief and blinking rapidly to relieve her dry eyes, she pushed down on the pillow.
Several things were noticeably wrong. The pillow she slept on at the geisha house wasn't white. Nor was it as big or soft. That let to one conclusion; she was definitely not at the geisha house.
Still sluggish with sleep, she propped herself up with an arm and tried to make sense of her surroundings. Where the hell was she, and how come she had no memory of crawling into this bed and falling asleep?
Just then, her body decided to make her aware that everything everywhere hurt. At the same time.
With a distressed groan, she fell back into bed with a quiet thump. She felt like she was going to fall apart if she moved. Had she actually managed to bruise her entire body? It sure felt like it. She wasn't sure if moving would ever be painless for her again. Even lifting a finger was uncomfortable.
Blankly, Junko stared at the ceiling, too confused to fall back asleep but in too much pain to want to move. Her head throbbed, as if protesting at the barely-held back panic it had to contain.
She drew in a slow breath, trying her best to ignore the pain in her side. Calm down, calm down. Once her mind was clear, she would be able to figure everything out. Then she would find a way to get out of this mess.
Okay, first things first: where was she?
... No idea. All she could see were a few dimmed lights. She groaned. So much for figuring things out.
Right, then. Moving on. Next on the list: how did she get there?
Junko chewed on her bottom lip, thinking hard. She knew this one, or at least she knew she knew. The answer was just momentarily escaping her mind.
An object on the bedstand caught her eye. Squinting, she rolled slowly until she could reach it. Once she got it, she stared at it.
It was a folded piece of paper.
Curious, Junko unfolded it with care and looked at the neat writing. "There's Tylenol and ointment in the bed stand drawer," it read. "Swallow two Tylenol pills with some water and apply the ointment to your skin. DO NOT EAT THE OINTMENT OR RUB THE TYLENOL ON YOUR SKIN." At the bottom, it was signed with simply, "Tommy."
Tommy. Junko flopped back on the bed. Tommy... oh, yeah, that Tommy.
The events of last night hit her with the force of a tsunami, making her gasp and her head spin. The awful feeling of the knife going in... in... him, and the numbness she felt afterwards when she realized she had killed him. Then... then... fighting, when her fear turned into adrenaline and she reacted on pure instinct.
She almost chuckled. At least that explains the soreness.
The memories became clearer every second. She remembered riding on Tommy's motorcycle. He had heard distant sirens, and even though they were very late and likely for some other crime committed in the city, he decided not to risk it. Junko had to answer about a dozen questions regarding whether she felt dizzy, or if she had enough strength to hold on, or if she was certain she wasn't going to pass out on the back of the motorcycle. After receiving an answer to every question, he reluctantly got on the motorcycle and tilted it to make the mount easier for her.
The memories stopped there, fading from her mind. She must've fallen asleep at that point, or - worse - she had passed out and fallen from the motorcycle. Panic flared briefly in her chest. No, wait - that couldn't have happened. As much pain as she was in, she didn't seem to have road rash.
With a bit of effort, she stretched herself out in an attempt to bring back some mobility to her stiff limbs. Grimacing, she forced herself upright, despite her side adamantly protesting the action. Good grief, she couldn't remember being in this much pain since... since...
She shut that particular memory out. No use grieving over a father who had been dead for six years. Even memories of her most painful training sessions with him made her feel depressed with longing.
Standing up hurt a little less than she had expected. Encouraged a bit, Junko fumbled for the ointment and painkillers before slowly making her way around the room.
After each light source was turned to full brightness, she looked around. The room was... actually quite nice. It had a two-person bed, a dining table, a bookshelf, a few chairs, a couch, and a small kitchen in the corner. Only the lack of windows and the staircase to her right leading to a door tipped her off that this wasn't an ordinary dwelling.
Fear began crawling along her skin again and she stumbled up the stairs. She grabbed the doorknob and tried to turn it; it didn't budge.
She was locked in.
Junko muttered curses as she worked the doorknob more. Oh, nononono. This was not a good situation to be in. She had heard horror stories about girls kidnapped and held in cellars by male captors who raped and tortured them. Although the room she was in was a thousand times better than the living conditions described in the stories, it didn't stop her mind from imagining all sorts of scenarios.
Her hand flew to her abdomen as dread pooled in her throat. Shit. What if the deed was already done? It wasn't unlikely - she'd been out for hours. There was no telling what Tommy had done to her during that time.
She felt sick as she carefully prodded her stomach. She supposed that if she had indeed been violated, her thighs and abdomen should feel sore. The problem was that, as the result of last night's fight, everywhere felt sore. And she wasn't exactly an expert on the effects of a physical union. She had extensive knowledge on the art of flirting and making a man desire her, but that was it; training didn't include knowing how to please a man in bed. Geisha are artists - not prostitutes. Men come to geisha houses to get their egos boosted, not to satisfy physical cravings. Those who expected the latter got kicked out.
She gave up after a few minutes. There was no way to tell - not at the moment. With that unpleasant thought tucked away in the back of her mind, Junko wandered around the room, still exploring. A little surprisingly, she found a knife in one of the drawers. Taking it with her, she peeked into the remaining door.
How convenient. A bathroom, complete with a shower. After inspecting the door and realizing it locked - thankfully - from the inside, Junko stepped into the room.
There was another note was on the counter. This one read, "Go ahead. Take a shower. Just remember to lock the door. Bandages are in the medicine cabinet. Be sure to redress your wounds once you come out." The note was signed, as expected, by "Tommy."
Junko set the note down and looked into the small mirror provided. She almost flinched. She looked like the ghost of a murder victim. Her hair was a mess, with parts of it still held to her head by pins. Her white makeup was smeared all over the place, and she was still wearing her bloodstained, tattered dress. The image made her want to throw up. After quickly locating the bandages and triple checking to make sure the door was locked, she stepped into the shower.
Tommy entered the room, locking the door behind him before descending the stairs. He could hear the shower running; looks like the woman was up and about. That was good news, he supposed. At least she wasn't curled up in bed, staring off into nowhere.
He set the bags down on the dining table and began emptying them. The Arashikage had simple rules about staying at safe houses: leave the place cleaner than when you arrived, and restock the food and medical supplies in case the next occupant is forced to stay low for a few days. In Tommy's case, it would have been preferable to stay out of sight for a day or so, but the previous occupant had been a complete idiot and decided to restock the entire food supply with instant ramen. So, Tommy had to do a bit of grocery shopping. He resolved to give the clan a review of proper survival food at some point.
Just as he placed a can of tea leaves in one of the cupboards, the shower turned off and the door swung open with the faintest creak. Wisely, he kept his back to the bathroom. There was a high chance she didn't know he was here, and the last thing he wanted to do was to be looking at her when she finally noticed his presence. Startled people did weird things, like dropping whatever was in their hands. In her case, it could be the towel. Not good.
Turns out, it was the right choice to make. The woman gave a short shriek, then there was the sound of awkward fumbling and an elbow hitting the door frame, followed by a shaky, "T-Tommy!"
"Good morning, or afternoon, since it's three o'clock." He pulled a bottle of honey from the last bag and set it on the table.
"H-how...?"
"It's hard to hear in the shower, so it's not surprising you didn't hear me." The bags were rolled up and placed in a bin. "I just came in. You had a restful sleep, I hope?" He looked over his shoulder.
His breath caught a little. The woman standing a few feet away looked almost nothing like the shaking mess he saved the night before. Gone were the white make-up, hairpins, and dead gaze, replaced with a youthful face, long wet hair, and a shocked expression. After a second, he decided that she was pretty. Not surprising, considering her occupation, but pretty nonetheless.
He almost chuckled. His twenty year-old self would have gladly taken his place if it weren't for the preceding events.
Junko backed up into the bathroom and grabbed the knife she had found earlier. With caution, she slowly made her way to the bed. Even though the towel was big enough to cover her up decently, she felt extremely exposed and embarrassed. Her clients at the geisha house didn't see much of her skin; they were lucky if she let them see her wrist. To have a man, a stranger, see all of her shoulders, arms, and legs made her want to curl up into a ball and try to forget the entire encounter.
"Put the knife down." Tommy kept his back to her. "If I wanted to hurt you, I would've already done it. Plus, you're not even holding it correctly."
She froze. Then, with care, she set the knife down on the bedstand, where she could reach it should he suddenly change his mind. She slowly sat on the bed and started applying ointment to the bruises that were starting to appear over her arms. Great. I'm going to turn blue, she thought wryly as she concentrated on the motions.
Eventually, unpleasant thoughts began worming their way into her mind. Half of her was being dragged back to last night - back to the death of Hyata - and the other half was forced to stay and be wary of the man in the room she knew was capable of killing her if he wanted to.
Junko rubbed her face. She could feel a headache coming on. Despite the long sleep she'd gotten, she felt exhausted. Drained. Conflicted between wanting to look into the past and needing to stay in the present.
There were a few minutes of uncomfortable silence. Tommy had long since finished restocking, so he was now rearranging the canned foods and bandages to avoid having to turn around. More minutes passed, with not a peep from her, so he finally asked, "Do you need clothes?"
"Yeah."
Wow, her first coherent, calm word.
Tommy walked over to a shopping bag laying on the couch. "I don't know your size, so I just bought you a t-shirt and sweatpants." He tossed the bag towards her. It landed on the bed in front of her.
"Thank you." Junko took the bag with her back into the bathroom and locked the door. Breathing a small sigh of relief that made her wince as her side acted up, she began going through the contents of the bag.
There was a t-shirt and sweatpants, as promised, along with slippers, a pair of sunglasses, and a bunch of hair-ties. Mindful of her side, she painstakingly slipped into the clothes. The shirt and sweatpants were a little big, but there was nothing that could be done about that. After combing her hair with her fingers, she tied it back with a hair-tie and looked in the mirror.
She almost smiled. When was the last time she'd wandered around with lazily-made hair and oversized comfortable clothes? She couldn't remember - it was too long ago.
Tommy was lying on the couch with eyes closed when she emerged from the bathroom. So there's where he slept last night. She felt a little relieved, but at the same time skeptical. He didn't look like a rapist, but most men didn't. After the shower, she was pretty sure she hadn't been touched, but that didn't mean it wasn't going to happen.
She quietly made her way to the bed and sat down on it, looking at Tommy. He looked like he was asleep, but she couldn't be too sure. Still... he looked quite relaxed - peaceful, even.
Junko studied his face carefully. He looked to be about in his late-twenties, maybe early-thirties. There were faint frown lines on his face, along with a small scar high on his right cheek. He had a muscular build (she noted as she felt her cheeks heat up) and his right forearm was wrapped in bandages. An injury, perhaps, or a scarring he didn't want anybody to see.
A man with a risky job, she decided. Possible bodyguard. Maybe former soldier. She didn't have too much experience with those types. They usually couldn't afford to be entertained by geisha for the night.
Tommy cracked open an eyelid when the young woman finally moved from her position and headed towards the stove, where canned soup was being heated up. Her heart-rate had smoothed out a bit, which was good.
He closed his eyes again. For someone who had killed for the first time just yesterday, she had a surprisingly stable mind. Or it just meant she was going to have a mental breakdown later. He was fully expecting the latter. He had even bought tissues in case the breakdown included tears.
There was still no telling how she would do as a potential Arashikage trainee. She was handling pain well, for one thing, so she had that going for her. However, she was quite thin- almost all skin and bones. Building muscles was going to take some time.
He silently yawned and turned his head to the side before closing his eyes. He had only gotten three hours of sleep last night, having spent the majority of the time locating and bandaging her wounds.
A small nap wouldn't hurt. He needed it anyways. But before he drifted off, he slipped the key to the door out of his pocket and placed it on the sofa armrest, next to his head. After all, she had the right to change her mind and could be afraid to make that choice if he was awake.
But if she did decide to leave, he wanted the key back after.