![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
I WILL GIVE YOU CHOCOLATE IF YOU READ THIS POST
Well, if I can, anyway. Another short story, pretty radically different from the first one I guess, and more complicated. Read at your own risk because it gets pretty violent. Fourteen pages.
Masaru growled, his intimidating height filling up his bedroom doorway, “You’re honestly going to leave me and run off with some dyke?”
The girl in front of him shrunk back, soft black eyes turning worried as she fidgeted with the hem of her oxford shirt.
“You don’t like me, anyway.” Her hands slid down to the cream-colored wall. “You think I’m stupid.”
Masaru’s anger slipped into a smirk. He’d heard that one before.
“You are stupid, Jiro. But I like you…” He slipped a large hand behind her head, his sharp features pulling invasively close to her face. Jiro could make out the scent of blood from inside his mouth. “You only do all right when you listen to what I say. How long have you even known that girl? She'll get bored very quickly.” Masaru’s smile faded, and he turned a sour glare to the wall. “All women are like that.”
Jiro shook her head minutely, not wanting to upset him by disagreeing. She’d had enough bruises and scars. “Sano’s different, Masaru, she—”
“Will abandon you. Don’t try to defend her, Jiro, you haven’t even been with a woman before. You’re bland enough to men; do you honestly think you can hold the interest of some flighty female? She’ll abandon you.”
Pain flashed through Jiro’s eyes, her hands unconsciously feeling for the front of Masaru’s jacket, his collar, something solid. Masaru’s sourness eased away, and he slowly regained his smoothness.
“If you walk out on your Masaru now, I won't take you back.”
The girl’s worry wavered into hope when she saw him smile. “You mean…you want to keep me?”
Simple, Masaru thought. Very simple. She was practically clinging to him now, she wouldn’t let go. His smile extended, but it was softer than the triumphant smirk he had intended.
“Have I ever said otherwise?” He became warmer as he drew closer, his long limbs soaking in heat where they touched her.
Uncertainty clouded her simple face, and her little white teeth dug into the small ring in her lower lip. “Are you lying…?”
“Of course I’m not.” Of course he wasn’t lying, idiot girl. There would have been no reason to bother, otherwise. He reinforced his words with a kiss, as tender as he could manage, slipping awkwardly into the guise of protective lover. She sighed, relaxing in his arms, and, for an instant, everything was safe.
There was a sudden thumping on the front door. The impatience and urgency of the sound woke the girl from her trance, the kiss jerked apart, and the warmth depleted into the winter hallway. Masaru caught a glimpse of Jiro’s apologetic smile as she slipped out from under his arm, irritatingly eager to meet an intruder. An intruder whose mission, apparently, was to break all the paint off his apartment door.
Masaru straightened up, his face composing into a glare. He took his time in following her, thinking perhaps that the visitor would have already left if he took long enough to catch up, but there was no such luck. When he finally caught up with Jiro at the front door, she was chatting animatedly with possibly the worst example of the female gender he had ever seen. Fire-engine hair in a matted ponytail, large stocky frame, the kind that gets fat easily. She was wearing a stained jean jacket and shorts, both of which obviously belonged on a boy. If she had any figure to speak of it was impossible to make out, as her unsightly clothes were so baggy she more closely resembled a pile of dirty laundry than a female. She wasn’t wearing socks.
“You dumped the bastard, then? I don’t want to hang around – what a prissy apartment!”
“Yeah, I know, he—”
“This is your girlfriend, Jiro?” Masaru didn’t need to make an effort to express his disgust.
Jiro’s eyes turned downwards, sheepish, like a dog caught chewing on something unsavory. “Not yet…this is Sano.”
The girl behind her screwed up her face in a crude parallel of Masaru’s own revulsion. “Jeez…I thought you would have had taste, Jiro.”
“I was just thinking that. Are you going to have ‘Sano’ leave, now?” Masaru’s voice felt like steel in his throat.
There was a loud stomp from the dyke’s tattered shoe, her rage filling the room remarkably fast. “Hold up, asshole, she’s coming with me!” Her confusion then rounded, unguarded, on the smaller girl. “Jiro, didn’t you say anything to him?”
“Yeah, I did…but we were talking, so he…” Jiro tried to become a barrier between them, feeling the temperatures of aggression pile heavily on both sides.
“Talking? This guy is shit, Jiro, you told me that yourself! He orders you around, hits you, he doesn’t care about you!”
Masaru’s breath hissed as he spoke, his initial impression of Sano being driven home by her obtuse judgment. “To clarify, I don’t care about her so little as to let her run off with a filthy carpet-chewer.”
“Don’t you call me a—” With a small yelp, Jiro grabbed hold of Sano’s waist before she could start a melee with her sadistic black belt boyfriend. Sano knew her way around street fights, but that would make little difference here.
“Look, don’t freak out, okay?” Jiro grabbed her hand tightly, pulling her in close so that their faces were barely an inch apart. Masaru’s eyes narrowed.
“How am I supposed to not freak out? You’re telling me you’re just gong to stay? With that? He looks about as comfy as a bed of nails.” Jiro smiled and pressed her cheek against Sano’s shoulder, more than grateful for the defense on her behalf.
“That’s not what I was saying at all…”
“Jiro,” Masaru had seen more than enough idiocy, and he was starting to feel distinctly nauseated. “What exactly are you doing?”
Jiro turned to him, and this time her eyes were convicted, voice wavering, but final. “We’re breaking up, Masaru. You say mean things to me all the time, and…well… you won’t miss me, anyway.”
Hearing that inspired nothing but sharp contempt in his chest, Masaru was sure of that. His voice shifted from steel to ice. “You understand, then, what the consequences will be.”
Sano couldn’t resist. “Consequences? There’s us, and then there’s you, alone. That’s it, you fuck.”
Jiro’s hands scraped at the doorframe, stumbling backwards as she tried to keep the larger girl under control. “I don’t understand…” Worry rippled through her voice, and Masaru’s stomach twisted a little more at how completely dense she was.
“You don’t have to. Get out.”
Whatever noises were made as the two girls made their way down the stairs of the clean apartment building sounded like badly-transmitted static to Masaru. His thoughts were blanketed by white noise, and he made his way to the winter in his window without a sound, clenching his hands tightly on the cold painted aluminum of the windowsill. He watched the patch of walkway he could see from the second floor until the girls spilled out. They were laughing, linking arms, pressing so close it was as if they were attempting to merge, like droplets of water on a windowpane. It was hard to remember if there was any other time he had seen Jiro so happy. There was something in that brutish, lumpy girl that made her smile, and the image of her joy held him transfixed until she was finally out of sight.
Masaru could hear his own pulse in his throat. He studied the angles of his knuckles, twined together tight enough to turn white, and ignored the dull protest his thighs gave for having his elbows dug into them. Just this morning there had been no reason to be dissatisfied. He had gone to work, like normal, dealt with his incompetent co-workers, like normal, and returned home exhausted and irritable, like normal. He’d told Jiro to stop bothering him, but her stupid speech just couldn’t wait. Now this. He tried to remember how idiotic she had always been, a useless piece of female baggage. He tried to remember just when, exactly, he had been planning on getting rid of her himself. Of course he’d rid himself of a girl who couldn’t make conversation without stuttering, a girl who smelled like cream and blueberries. She read children’s fiction and littered his pristine couch with construction paper. She used up the last of her paycheck to buy him the wristwatch he was wearing.
“Because you like it, right? It’s the old-fashioned kind, with the gears showing. You once said you liked it when you could see how things worked.”
She’d belonged to him, worthless, but his, his own. He couldn’t forgive her for walking away.
There was a shallow creak as the front door swung open, apparently never having been adequately shut. Masaru looked up from his seat on the stiff armchair, hoping to see something less disturbing than the knot of his own fingers. Ken was standing just outside the doorjamb, scruffy face and heavy boots outlining his casual, muscular frame. He was pulling a cigarette up to his mouth, but when Masaru looked up he quickly flicked it down the stairs instead.
“You were smoking.” Masaru’s deadpan disapproval earned him nothing but a grin and a shrug.
“Nah, I wasn’t, I confiscated it from some bastard who was. Honest to god.”
“You’re also a terrible liar. Why are you still standing out there?” Welcoming nature at its warmest. Ken accepted by making himself at home on the white sofa.
“It’s not like I was really trying. Oh, and I saw your girlfriend kissing another chick on my way over. That’s pretty sexy, but I didn’t think you actually condoned that stuff yourself.” Ken’s grin lasted for a melting moment before it dawned on him that something was wrong. “…Don’t tell me you got dumped.”
“That’s not what happened.” Masaru made a noise of disgust, his broad shoulders hunching defensively, head lowered so that his reddish bangs fell in front of his eyes.
“Really? So what did happen?”
Masaru scowled at what he deemed an obvious question. “What do you think? She ran off to become a lesbian. It’s a wonderful, liberal world.”
“Ouch. I can actually hear your pride breaking into pieces. The chick she was with, that her new love of the life or something?”
Masaru nodded curtly, getting to his feet, starting to feel rather restless. “That one’s despicable. Dirty. Spat out a lot of nonsense while they were leaving.”
“Right. Still hot, though. Wonder if she’s any good in the sack.” Masaru face finally cleared into a smirk. Ken had no taste, but he did have the right idea.
“I’m sure you can find out.”
The wristwatch faded from his mind.
Two hours later, the two men were outside a dusty apartment building, squinting up at the second-story windows and trying to figure out if the lighted panes were what they were after.
“Your kids are late, aren’t they? Isn’t this the address they gave you?” Ken shuffled his feet in the shallow patch of dirt that was trying to grow a tree, unimpressed with the gray landscape and the gray buildings.
“They’re not late, you’re just an idiot. Look behind you.” Masaru taught Karate as if it were a casual hobby, but only some of the gang approaching Ken’s back were his students. Anyone would do for this sort of thing. He counted five boys, sluggish, wiry creatures reeking of alcohol. He was mostly sure the one calling out and waving to him was named Leo.
“Sensei! Strange for you to gather us all up, you’re usually so cold! You got beef with that bitch Sano or what?”
“Something like that,” Masaru said, hands planted firmly in the pockets of his trench coat, “but, apparently, all of you are scared of her. Something about her making powder out of a guy’s balls?” There was a wave of weak, nervous laughter from the small crowd, and none of them made eye contact.
He turned a questioning eye on Ken, who just grinned. “Hey, if there’s no risk, where’s the fun? Besides, you’re my friend in need, and all of that.”
Masaru turned again to give the boys a disdainful look. “There’s no need for the rest of you cowards to worry, then.”
The rabble gave a grunt of stupefied laughter. The ones who knew him were familiar with Masaru’s unforgiving way of speaking, and the ones who didn’t were quickly reassured. Leo made a juvenile whooping sound and the crowd surged up the gray stone steps, squeezing enthusiastically through the sharp and narrow hallways. Ken followed them at a more respectable pace, and Masaru brought up the rear, mask set in a glare, drinking in the violent sounds of wood tearing and voices screeching before he was even close enough to witness the scene.
As Masaru entered the suddenly ravaged apartment door he could see Ken holding the more eager teenagers back a step, Jiro’s pale face faintly visible behind the red-haired Sano, who paced back and forth in the cramped sitting room.
“Not another step, you pieces of shit. Get the fuck out of my house!”
Ken gave her an easy smile, the tattered remnants of her doorknob dangling from his fingertips, arms spread out in an imitation of peace.
“Sure we will, sweetheart, we’re just going to have a look around first.” He took a moment to glance over at Masaru, and Sano took that moment to attack, unadulterated rage ripping from her throat. Bad move, Masaru thought, Ken’s at his best when he’s pretending to be distracted. There was a blurry image of limbs swinging and grasping, and Sano choked, her bare feet scuffing to a stop on the hardwood floor, both arms pinned tight in Ken’s fists behind her back.
“Not that impressive after all,” Ken murmured, leaning in close as the boys spilled towards Jiro, “didn’t you want to protect your little girlfriend?”
Sano’s eyes widened, the first sign of real fear entering her expression. “Jiro—ahh!” Her attempt at breaking free was cut short, and Masaru heard a hollow sound as Ken jerked her arm from its socket. He vaguely registered Ken dragging her out of his way, his attention traveling smoothly to Jiro instead. The boys had backed her into a corner past the ratty couch, obviously roused by the violence, and a few of them were looking over at him as if for some kind of signal.
“What are you waiting for?” His voice was metal, and his eyes bored directly into Jiro’s terrified face. “Don’t hold back.”
As the gang moved forward, the scene seemed to mute itself, the murky brown colors of the little apartment and rough humidity from the crowd of overexcited boys fading into the background. He stayed perfectly still, his arms crossed and his posture rigid, doing nothing but watch. Jiro’s skin stood out as the only clear fragment in the dirty surroundings, milky as if it were glowing. He watched the entire scene with conviction, righteous anger in his belly. Her actions were nothing in the face of what he could do to her. He was the one with the power to make things happen. The rough hands handling her pale belly and breasts left slippery red gouges in her skin. Her hips jerked when they fucked her, one or two at a time, entering slickly and leaving trails of blood on her legs. Watching her face was the most rewarding; her desperate expression made disgusting by the tears and mucus running down her face, cheeks flushed red and bruises rising fast when kicks or punches were the only answer to her protests. When the fight in her eyes went out and her body began to sag, Masaru let the world into his senses again, and finally stepped forward.
“Move,” he muttered, pushing one of the assailants out of the way with alarming gentleness, “I’m going to take her from here.”
Jiro’s head lifted slightly at the sound of his voice, seemingly unsure if she should be looking at him right now. Masaru pulled his trench coat from his shoulders, wrapping it around her body before peeling her from where she sat, blood and bodily fluids dripping generously from her thighs. The boys stumbled about as he carried her into the tiny bathroom, some of them trickling from the apartment while others took longer in recognizing their cue to leave. He clicked the door shut, isolating them in the closet-sized space, and let her body down on the surface of the sink. The light quality went from murky to soft yellow, and everything outside of the small door felt distant.
“Bastard,” she whispered, voice hoarse and strained, “why did you…”
Masaru let the silence perpetuate and pulled a small blue washcloth from a ring by the door. He soaked the towel in warm water, mopping her soiled face with a practiced tenderness he didn’t like to feel.
“Consequences, Jiro. You weren’t listening.” She was often an obedient girl. She had listened when he had told her to start dressing like a woman, forgoing her favored wardrobe of t-shirts and jeans. She had listened intently when he described his mechanical inventions in detail, even though she didn’t understand a word of it. She had been listening, pressing her ear to his chest when they were both in bed, and counted his heartbeats in a whisper, not knowing he was still awake.
“Listen to me, Masaru…you don’t make any sense…” She was holding the coat tight around her body, her body and face both wracked with pain.
“Don’t I?” Masaru hissed, “After this is over, that girl will want nothing to do with you. No one will. You’re tainted, Jiro, marked, and you’ll end up completely alone.” Jiro’s eyes welled with tears, but Masaru didn’t see the despair he was expecting. A voice started to penetrate the bathroom door, and the barrier of it seemed suddenly thin and transparent. Sano was calling Jiro’s name.
“Masaru,” Jiro whispered, her small hands reaching shakily for the front of his rumpled shirt, trying to ground him, “don’t be scared—”
Masaru struck her across the face, knocking her pathetic figure onto the tile floor, taking too large of a step backwards and slamming awkwardly against the bathroom wall. Sano’s shouts were getting more insistent. He ripped the frail door open, stalking outside of the dirty and useless place. He tried not to remember that he didn’t know how these things worked.
Masaru was watching his breath hover in the air above him, his head tilted up against the cold stone of the gray, senseless building. He was sitting in the alleyway outside the apartment building, letting the damp from recent rain soak into the fabric of his wool slacks. He was sitting, he thought to himself stonily, because he just couldn’t be bothered to stand right now. His fingers clasped, cold and brittle, over the face of his wristwatch. He didn’t want the gears to mock him. Heavy footsteps made their way to his side, and Ken’s face came into view, hovering between him and the gray cloudy sky.
“Why do you look like shit?” His joviality had vanished, and Masaru spotted a black eye and claw marks on his neck. Sano’s reputation wasn’t for nothing after all.
“I don’t.” He managed to croak, letting his head fall forward, “I was just getting old, waiting for you.”
“Say that when you don’t look like a drowned frog.” Ken sat next to him heavily, a little bit of his smirk returning. “Aren’t you cold?”
Masaru ignored the question, hand unclasping from his wrist as he composed himself more respectably. “I just got tired of the game. What happened after I left?”
Ken raised an eyebrow, quietly doubting what did or did not motivate his friend to leave so suddenly. “It was kind of disgusting. Mushy, you know? The redhead nearly threw herself on her, and they were both crying and holding each other. I’m not sure that’s what you were going for, but they’re hurt all right.”
Ripped apart, weren’t they? No, that wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right.
“It’s…pretense. It’s a matter of time before…hgkk—” Respectable posture suddenly forgotten, Masaru pressed a palm over his mouth, curling up against an onslaught of nausea. The images were giving him a blistering feeling in his eyes, and his stomach churned dangerously.
“Masaru…” Ken moved quickly, rough hands clasping on his shoulders, peeling him away from the wall and holding him steady. Masaru closed his eyes, forcing his body to stop responding to something he was refusing to acknowledge. The nausea subsided gradually, and Ken let go of him when he started breathing normally again.
Ken was used to seeing Masaru act cold and removed. All of the other times they’d partnered up for the sake of violence, there had been nothing but a simple appreciation afterwards. On the one hand, maybe all of it was starting to wear him down. Ken more strongly suspected that this time, it was touching on something. This time, there was something to lose.
“You’re one hell of a bastard, you know. Maybe we shouldn’t have come.” Ken moved closer experimentally before putting his arm around his friend’s waist, hesitant in case there would be any retribution for the sudden close contact. Masaru didn’t move, his gaze trained on the dirty gravel several feet into the alley. He was replaying Sano’s desperate voice in his head, the image of the two girls, arms wrapped tight around each other as they walked away from his apartment. He was seeing Jiro’s soft wet eyes congested with pity as she tried to comfort him for his own crimes against her.
The warmth of Ken’s arm slowly soaked through his thin shirt and pale skin, and he stared at him expressionlessly, expecting an explanation. Ken smiled just a little, face clouded by what might have been concern.
“Don’t want you to freeze, man. We’re in this together.”
Masaru looked away again, digesting Ken’s words slowly, gaze traveling idly over a piece of graffiti on the opposite wall of the alley. Pansy.
“I don’t want to hear that. It’s disgusting.” He didn’t make any move to remove Ken’s arm from his waist.
Ken’s voice lightened, his grip tightening in reassurance. “Nah, it’s just true. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
Masaru held stiff for a moment longer, then let go, relaxing just enough so that his weight was pressed against Ken’s side, his cheek resting on the stiff denim of his shoulder.
“If you ever do this to me, I’ll kill you.”
Ken was quiet, keeping his eyes down before chancing a look at the other man, only examining him once he was sure his eyes were closed. He was frowning, his body looking oddly restful in this rare moment of relaxation. His fingers were dug into the band of a pretty wristwatch he was wearing. Ken looked away again, feeling calm.
“Yeah, I know.”
Masaru growled, his intimidating height filling up his bedroom doorway, “You’re honestly going to leave me and run off with some dyke?”
The girl in front of him shrunk back, soft black eyes turning worried as she fidgeted with the hem of her oxford shirt.
“You don’t like me, anyway.” Her hands slid down to the cream-colored wall. “You think I’m stupid.”
Masaru’s anger slipped into a smirk. He’d heard that one before.
“You are stupid, Jiro. But I like you…” He slipped a large hand behind her head, his sharp features pulling invasively close to her face. Jiro could make out the scent of blood from inside his mouth. “You only do all right when you listen to what I say. How long have you even known that girl? She'll get bored very quickly.” Masaru’s smile faded, and he turned a sour glare to the wall. “All women are like that.”
Jiro shook her head minutely, not wanting to upset him by disagreeing. She’d had enough bruises and scars. “Sano’s different, Masaru, she—”
“Will abandon you. Don’t try to defend her, Jiro, you haven’t even been with a woman before. You’re bland enough to men; do you honestly think you can hold the interest of some flighty female? She’ll abandon you.”
Pain flashed through Jiro’s eyes, her hands unconsciously feeling for the front of Masaru’s jacket, his collar, something solid. Masaru’s sourness eased away, and he slowly regained his smoothness.
“If you walk out on your Masaru now, I won't take you back.”
The girl’s worry wavered into hope when she saw him smile. “You mean…you want to keep me?”
Simple, Masaru thought. Very simple. She was practically clinging to him now, she wouldn’t let go. His smile extended, but it was softer than the triumphant smirk he had intended.
“Have I ever said otherwise?” He became warmer as he drew closer, his long limbs soaking in heat where they touched her.
Uncertainty clouded her simple face, and her little white teeth dug into the small ring in her lower lip. “Are you lying…?”
“Of course I’m not.” Of course he wasn’t lying, idiot girl. There would have been no reason to bother, otherwise. He reinforced his words with a kiss, as tender as he could manage, slipping awkwardly into the guise of protective lover. She sighed, relaxing in his arms, and, for an instant, everything was safe.
There was a sudden thumping on the front door. The impatience and urgency of the sound woke the girl from her trance, the kiss jerked apart, and the warmth depleted into the winter hallway. Masaru caught a glimpse of Jiro’s apologetic smile as she slipped out from under his arm, irritatingly eager to meet an intruder. An intruder whose mission, apparently, was to break all the paint off his apartment door.
Masaru straightened up, his face composing into a glare. He took his time in following her, thinking perhaps that the visitor would have already left if he took long enough to catch up, but there was no such luck. When he finally caught up with Jiro at the front door, she was chatting animatedly with possibly the worst example of the female gender he had ever seen. Fire-engine hair in a matted ponytail, large stocky frame, the kind that gets fat easily. She was wearing a stained jean jacket and shorts, both of which obviously belonged on a boy. If she had any figure to speak of it was impossible to make out, as her unsightly clothes were so baggy she more closely resembled a pile of dirty laundry than a female. She wasn’t wearing socks.
“You dumped the bastard, then? I don’t want to hang around – what a prissy apartment!”
“Yeah, I know, he—”
“This is your girlfriend, Jiro?” Masaru didn’t need to make an effort to express his disgust.
Jiro’s eyes turned downwards, sheepish, like a dog caught chewing on something unsavory. “Not yet…this is Sano.”
The girl behind her screwed up her face in a crude parallel of Masaru’s own revulsion. “Jeez…I thought you would have had taste, Jiro.”
“I was just thinking that. Are you going to have ‘Sano’ leave, now?” Masaru’s voice felt like steel in his throat.
There was a loud stomp from the dyke’s tattered shoe, her rage filling the room remarkably fast. “Hold up, asshole, she’s coming with me!” Her confusion then rounded, unguarded, on the smaller girl. “Jiro, didn’t you say anything to him?”
“Yeah, I did…but we were talking, so he…” Jiro tried to become a barrier between them, feeling the temperatures of aggression pile heavily on both sides.
“Talking? This guy is shit, Jiro, you told me that yourself! He orders you around, hits you, he doesn’t care about you!”
Masaru’s breath hissed as he spoke, his initial impression of Sano being driven home by her obtuse judgment. “To clarify, I don’t care about her so little as to let her run off with a filthy carpet-chewer.”
“Don’t you call me a—” With a small yelp, Jiro grabbed hold of Sano’s waist before she could start a melee with her sadistic black belt boyfriend. Sano knew her way around street fights, but that would make little difference here.
“Look, don’t freak out, okay?” Jiro grabbed her hand tightly, pulling her in close so that their faces were barely an inch apart. Masaru’s eyes narrowed.
“How am I supposed to not freak out? You’re telling me you’re just gong to stay? With that? He looks about as comfy as a bed of nails.” Jiro smiled and pressed her cheek against Sano’s shoulder, more than grateful for the defense on her behalf.
“That’s not what I was saying at all…”
“Jiro,” Masaru had seen more than enough idiocy, and he was starting to feel distinctly nauseated. “What exactly are you doing?”
Jiro turned to him, and this time her eyes were convicted, voice wavering, but final. “We’re breaking up, Masaru. You say mean things to me all the time, and…well… you won’t miss me, anyway.”
Hearing that inspired nothing but sharp contempt in his chest, Masaru was sure of that. His voice shifted from steel to ice. “You understand, then, what the consequences will be.”
Sano couldn’t resist. “Consequences? There’s us, and then there’s you, alone. That’s it, you fuck.”
Jiro’s hands scraped at the doorframe, stumbling backwards as she tried to keep the larger girl under control. “I don’t understand…” Worry rippled through her voice, and Masaru’s stomach twisted a little more at how completely dense she was.
“You don’t have to. Get out.”
Whatever noises were made as the two girls made their way down the stairs of the clean apartment building sounded like badly-transmitted static to Masaru. His thoughts were blanketed by white noise, and he made his way to the winter in his window without a sound, clenching his hands tightly on the cold painted aluminum of the windowsill. He watched the patch of walkway he could see from the second floor until the girls spilled out. They were laughing, linking arms, pressing so close it was as if they were attempting to merge, like droplets of water on a windowpane. It was hard to remember if there was any other time he had seen Jiro so happy. There was something in that brutish, lumpy girl that made her smile, and the image of her joy held him transfixed until she was finally out of sight.
Masaru could hear his own pulse in his throat. He studied the angles of his knuckles, twined together tight enough to turn white, and ignored the dull protest his thighs gave for having his elbows dug into them. Just this morning there had been no reason to be dissatisfied. He had gone to work, like normal, dealt with his incompetent co-workers, like normal, and returned home exhausted and irritable, like normal. He’d told Jiro to stop bothering him, but her stupid speech just couldn’t wait. Now this. He tried to remember how idiotic she had always been, a useless piece of female baggage. He tried to remember just when, exactly, he had been planning on getting rid of her himself. Of course he’d rid himself of a girl who couldn’t make conversation without stuttering, a girl who smelled like cream and blueberries. She read children’s fiction and littered his pristine couch with construction paper. She used up the last of her paycheck to buy him the wristwatch he was wearing.
“Because you like it, right? It’s the old-fashioned kind, with the gears showing. You once said you liked it when you could see how things worked.”
She’d belonged to him, worthless, but his, his own. He couldn’t forgive her for walking away.
There was a shallow creak as the front door swung open, apparently never having been adequately shut. Masaru looked up from his seat on the stiff armchair, hoping to see something less disturbing than the knot of his own fingers. Ken was standing just outside the doorjamb, scruffy face and heavy boots outlining his casual, muscular frame. He was pulling a cigarette up to his mouth, but when Masaru looked up he quickly flicked it down the stairs instead.
“You were smoking.” Masaru’s deadpan disapproval earned him nothing but a grin and a shrug.
“Nah, I wasn’t, I confiscated it from some bastard who was. Honest to god.”
“You’re also a terrible liar. Why are you still standing out there?” Welcoming nature at its warmest. Ken accepted by making himself at home on the white sofa.
“It’s not like I was really trying. Oh, and I saw your girlfriend kissing another chick on my way over. That’s pretty sexy, but I didn’t think you actually condoned that stuff yourself.” Ken’s grin lasted for a melting moment before it dawned on him that something was wrong. “…Don’t tell me you got dumped.”
“That’s not what happened.” Masaru made a noise of disgust, his broad shoulders hunching defensively, head lowered so that his reddish bangs fell in front of his eyes.
“Really? So what did happen?”
Masaru scowled at what he deemed an obvious question. “What do you think? She ran off to become a lesbian. It’s a wonderful, liberal world.”
“Ouch. I can actually hear your pride breaking into pieces. The chick she was with, that her new love of the life or something?”
Masaru nodded curtly, getting to his feet, starting to feel rather restless. “That one’s despicable. Dirty. Spat out a lot of nonsense while they were leaving.”
“Right. Still hot, though. Wonder if she’s any good in the sack.” Masaru face finally cleared into a smirk. Ken had no taste, but he did have the right idea.
“I’m sure you can find out.”
The wristwatch faded from his mind.
Two hours later, the two men were outside a dusty apartment building, squinting up at the second-story windows and trying to figure out if the lighted panes were what they were after.
“Your kids are late, aren’t they? Isn’t this the address they gave you?” Ken shuffled his feet in the shallow patch of dirt that was trying to grow a tree, unimpressed with the gray landscape and the gray buildings.
“They’re not late, you’re just an idiot. Look behind you.” Masaru taught Karate as if it were a casual hobby, but only some of the gang approaching Ken’s back were his students. Anyone would do for this sort of thing. He counted five boys, sluggish, wiry creatures reeking of alcohol. He was mostly sure the one calling out and waving to him was named Leo.
“Sensei! Strange for you to gather us all up, you’re usually so cold! You got beef with that bitch Sano or what?”
“Something like that,” Masaru said, hands planted firmly in the pockets of his trench coat, “but, apparently, all of you are scared of her. Something about her making powder out of a guy’s balls?” There was a wave of weak, nervous laughter from the small crowd, and none of them made eye contact.
He turned a questioning eye on Ken, who just grinned. “Hey, if there’s no risk, where’s the fun? Besides, you’re my friend in need, and all of that.”
Masaru turned again to give the boys a disdainful look. “There’s no need for the rest of you cowards to worry, then.”
The rabble gave a grunt of stupefied laughter. The ones who knew him were familiar with Masaru’s unforgiving way of speaking, and the ones who didn’t were quickly reassured. Leo made a juvenile whooping sound and the crowd surged up the gray stone steps, squeezing enthusiastically through the sharp and narrow hallways. Ken followed them at a more respectable pace, and Masaru brought up the rear, mask set in a glare, drinking in the violent sounds of wood tearing and voices screeching before he was even close enough to witness the scene.
As Masaru entered the suddenly ravaged apartment door he could see Ken holding the more eager teenagers back a step, Jiro’s pale face faintly visible behind the red-haired Sano, who paced back and forth in the cramped sitting room.
“Not another step, you pieces of shit. Get the fuck out of my house!”
Ken gave her an easy smile, the tattered remnants of her doorknob dangling from his fingertips, arms spread out in an imitation of peace.
“Sure we will, sweetheart, we’re just going to have a look around first.” He took a moment to glance over at Masaru, and Sano took that moment to attack, unadulterated rage ripping from her throat. Bad move, Masaru thought, Ken’s at his best when he’s pretending to be distracted. There was a blurry image of limbs swinging and grasping, and Sano choked, her bare feet scuffing to a stop on the hardwood floor, both arms pinned tight in Ken’s fists behind her back.
“Not that impressive after all,” Ken murmured, leaning in close as the boys spilled towards Jiro, “didn’t you want to protect your little girlfriend?”
Sano’s eyes widened, the first sign of real fear entering her expression. “Jiro—ahh!” Her attempt at breaking free was cut short, and Masaru heard a hollow sound as Ken jerked her arm from its socket. He vaguely registered Ken dragging her out of his way, his attention traveling smoothly to Jiro instead. The boys had backed her into a corner past the ratty couch, obviously roused by the violence, and a few of them were looking over at him as if for some kind of signal.
“What are you waiting for?” His voice was metal, and his eyes bored directly into Jiro’s terrified face. “Don’t hold back.”
As the gang moved forward, the scene seemed to mute itself, the murky brown colors of the little apartment and rough humidity from the crowd of overexcited boys fading into the background. He stayed perfectly still, his arms crossed and his posture rigid, doing nothing but watch. Jiro’s skin stood out as the only clear fragment in the dirty surroundings, milky as if it were glowing. He watched the entire scene with conviction, righteous anger in his belly. Her actions were nothing in the face of what he could do to her. He was the one with the power to make things happen. The rough hands handling her pale belly and breasts left slippery red gouges in her skin. Her hips jerked when they fucked her, one or two at a time, entering slickly and leaving trails of blood on her legs. Watching her face was the most rewarding; her desperate expression made disgusting by the tears and mucus running down her face, cheeks flushed red and bruises rising fast when kicks or punches were the only answer to her protests. When the fight in her eyes went out and her body began to sag, Masaru let the world into his senses again, and finally stepped forward.
“Move,” he muttered, pushing one of the assailants out of the way with alarming gentleness, “I’m going to take her from here.”
Jiro’s head lifted slightly at the sound of his voice, seemingly unsure if she should be looking at him right now. Masaru pulled his trench coat from his shoulders, wrapping it around her body before peeling her from where she sat, blood and bodily fluids dripping generously from her thighs. The boys stumbled about as he carried her into the tiny bathroom, some of them trickling from the apartment while others took longer in recognizing their cue to leave. He clicked the door shut, isolating them in the closet-sized space, and let her body down on the surface of the sink. The light quality went from murky to soft yellow, and everything outside of the small door felt distant.
“Bastard,” she whispered, voice hoarse and strained, “why did you…”
Masaru let the silence perpetuate and pulled a small blue washcloth from a ring by the door. He soaked the towel in warm water, mopping her soiled face with a practiced tenderness he didn’t like to feel.
“Consequences, Jiro. You weren’t listening.” She was often an obedient girl. She had listened when he had told her to start dressing like a woman, forgoing her favored wardrobe of t-shirts and jeans. She had listened intently when he described his mechanical inventions in detail, even though she didn’t understand a word of it. She had been listening, pressing her ear to his chest when they were both in bed, and counted his heartbeats in a whisper, not knowing he was still awake.
“Listen to me, Masaru…you don’t make any sense…” She was holding the coat tight around her body, her body and face both wracked with pain.
“Don’t I?” Masaru hissed, “After this is over, that girl will want nothing to do with you. No one will. You’re tainted, Jiro, marked, and you’ll end up completely alone.” Jiro’s eyes welled with tears, but Masaru didn’t see the despair he was expecting. A voice started to penetrate the bathroom door, and the barrier of it seemed suddenly thin and transparent. Sano was calling Jiro’s name.
“Masaru,” Jiro whispered, her small hands reaching shakily for the front of his rumpled shirt, trying to ground him, “don’t be scared—”
Masaru struck her across the face, knocking her pathetic figure onto the tile floor, taking too large of a step backwards and slamming awkwardly against the bathroom wall. Sano’s shouts were getting more insistent. He ripped the frail door open, stalking outside of the dirty and useless place. He tried not to remember that he didn’t know how these things worked.
Masaru was watching his breath hover in the air above him, his head tilted up against the cold stone of the gray, senseless building. He was sitting in the alleyway outside the apartment building, letting the damp from recent rain soak into the fabric of his wool slacks. He was sitting, he thought to himself stonily, because he just couldn’t be bothered to stand right now. His fingers clasped, cold and brittle, over the face of his wristwatch. He didn’t want the gears to mock him. Heavy footsteps made their way to his side, and Ken’s face came into view, hovering between him and the gray cloudy sky.
“Why do you look like shit?” His joviality had vanished, and Masaru spotted a black eye and claw marks on his neck. Sano’s reputation wasn’t for nothing after all.
“I don’t.” He managed to croak, letting his head fall forward, “I was just getting old, waiting for you.”
“Say that when you don’t look like a drowned frog.” Ken sat next to him heavily, a little bit of his smirk returning. “Aren’t you cold?”
Masaru ignored the question, hand unclasping from his wrist as he composed himself more respectably. “I just got tired of the game. What happened after I left?”
Ken raised an eyebrow, quietly doubting what did or did not motivate his friend to leave so suddenly. “It was kind of disgusting. Mushy, you know? The redhead nearly threw herself on her, and they were both crying and holding each other. I’m not sure that’s what you were going for, but they’re hurt all right.”
Ripped apart, weren’t they? No, that wasn’t right. Something wasn’t right.
“It’s…pretense. It’s a matter of time before…hgkk—” Respectable posture suddenly forgotten, Masaru pressed a palm over his mouth, curling up against an onslaught of nausea. The images were giving him a blistering feeling in his eyes, and his stomach churned dangerously.
“Masaru…” Ken moved quickly, rough hands clasping on his shoulders, peeling him away from the wall and holding him steady. Masaru closed his eyes, forcing his body to stop responding to something he was refusing to acknowledge. The nausea subsided gradually, and Ken let go of him when he started breathing normally again.
Ken was used to seeing Masaru act cold and removed. All of the other times they’d partnered up for the sake of violence, there had been nothing but a simple appreciation afterwards. On the one hand, maybe all of it was starting to wear him down. Ken more strongly suspected that this time, it was touching on something. This time, there was something to lose.
“You’re one hell of a bastard, you know. Maybe we shouldn’t have come.” Ken moved closer experimentally before putting his arm around his friend’s waist, hesitant in case there would be any retribution for the sudden close contact. Masaru didn’t move, his gaze trained on the dirty gravel several feet into the alley. He was replaying Sano’s desperate voice in his head, the image of the two girls, arms wrapped tight around each other as they walked away from his apartment. He was seeing Jiro’s soft wet eyes congested with pity as she tried to comfort him for his own crimes against her.
The warmth of Ken’s arm slowly soaked through his thin shirt and pale skin, and he stared at him expressionlessly, expecting an explanation. Ken smiled just a little, face clouded by what might have been concern.
“Don’t want you to freeze, man. We’re in this together.”
Masaru looked away again, digesting Ken’s words slowly, gaze traveling idly over a piece of graffiti on the opposite wall of the alley. Pansy.
“I don’t want to hear that. It’s disgusting.” He didn’t make any move to remove Ken’s arm from his waist.
Ken’s voice lightened, his grip tightening in reassurance. “Nah, it’s just true. I’m not going anywhere without you.”
Masaru held stiff for a moment longer, then let go, relaxing just enough so that his weight was pressed against Ken’s side, his cheek resting on the stiff denim of his shoulder.
“If you ever do this to me, I’ll kill you.”
Ken was quiet, keeping his eyes down before chancing a look at the other man, only examining him once he was sure his eyes were closed. He was frowning, his body looking oddly restful in this rare moment of relaxation. His fingers were dug into the band of a pretty wristwatch he was wearing. Ken looked away again, feeling calm.
“Yeah, I know.”