Souvenir

Disclaimer: Just own the words, not the folks.


The Play


I don’t know what to do now.

I needed that money to extend the post office box another six months. Now Mokuba won’t be able to find me. And I don’t even have his pictures or letters to cherish anymore.

I pull my hand away from the cut on my side. It’s still bleeding, but it’s not that deep. I would have gotten away, if there hadn’t been so many of them. I wasn’t even supposed to be in that neighborhood, but the bus broke down.

I guess I should have thanked the driver for calling the cops, but if he had let me stay on the bus, I wouldn’t have needed them! So I didn’t smell "petal perfect"! He could have let me sit in the back until the next bus came.

I knew I was in trouble when that blonde dog approached me asking for a light.

At least the cops gave me a ride. And at least the ER is warm.

“Mr. Koizumi,” the nurse calls. Hn. I’ve only been here an hour. That’s pretty quick service.

Several stitches and a worthless prescription for antibiotics later, I head back out into the snowy afternoon.

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Gingerly, I pull my frozen hand away from my side. I’m sure it’s not supposed to hurt this much. It must have gotten infected when I stayed at that flop-house a few days ago. My instincts told me to avoid that place, but I was so cold…

I still don’t know what the hell those bugs were on the blanket. I’m just glad I woke up when I did and they were only on my body and not in my hair or face yet. I shiver at the remembrance of scrubbing my skin raw in the surprisingly clean shower to be sure they were off of me. I think that’s when I tore my stitches a little.

At least the police aren’t out tonight. Wrapping my arms about myself, I lay down on the park bench, hoping to ignore the pain and the cold just long enough to get a few hours of sleep.

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I don’t want to be here, but this is where the police took me, the psych ward of Domino Memorial.

All I wanted was the money I was promised for picking up her trash. That’s it. Her idiot boyfriend had to step in and decide that I wasn’t worth paying because I was just ‘some homeless guy.’ A nobody.

A nothing.

She wanted to pay me, had even offered me some clean clothes and a hot meal, but that asshole had to ruin things.

I’d have left him alone if he’d have just stopped taunting me. Calling me ‘lazy’ and ‘worthless’ and ‘stupid’…

He knew nothing about me! And I told him that. I would have walked away. I would have let them take advantage of my disadvantaged state and walked away in the cold. My side was killing me and I’d still picked up her trash! And he had the nerve to call me lazy!

I would have walked away.

But he made the mistake of touching me. Grabbing my arm and tossing me into the pile of trash I’d just picked up.

I’d only managed about an hour and a half of sleep in the park, which had been my first rest in nearly three days before the cops showed up and chased me out. And I was so hungry. And my side hurt. And I really needed to sleep, but without a safe place, I couldn’t take the chance. Then it snowed again. Heavily. I stayed up the rest of the night, wandering around.

The following day proved just as hellish as the days and nights before it. I’d planned to curl up in the alley behind the apartment building, letting the pain and fatigue claim me, and deal with the consequences when I woke up.

Until she saw me huddled there. She spoke with kind words, offering me money and food to clean up the garbage behind the building. I complied, though I could barely stand, because she seemed nice.

But that asshole…

From my place in the trash, I watched him push the woman away and then start laughing at me. And I had to hurt him.

I don’t remember wrapping my hands around his throat or how many times I slammed his head into the sidewalk, but the next thing I knew, three bystanders and two policemen were holding me down on a stretcher and I was screaming that I’d kill him.

Then I woke up here. I’d been brought in on a 72-hour psychiatric hold.

The nurse who came in last night told me I would be here until they got rid of my infection.

At least the bed is warm and clean and my side doesn’t hurt as much.

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That week in the hospital felt like a stay at a resort.

I pluck at what’s left of my shirt under the warm coat they gave me when I was released. It’s really rancid and needs to go. Looking up from my place on the grate, I see that crazy homeless guy from behind the convention center.

And he’s eyeing my coat.

Great.

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They always want to kiss me. This one’s no different. I turn my head and his lips find my cheek leaving a sloppy wetness. I feel the smirk against my neck before a harsh bite. His hands play with my nipples in the misguided attempt to stimulate me. Only my body responds.

“Are you just going to lie there?” he moans, sliding his arousal against my thigh.

I don’t answer.

He continues lightly touching me all over. I close my eyes and, as always, try to picture anything but Gozaboro Kaiba. Perhaps because this one is being so gentle, I succeed, placing myself in a wide clearing, watching a four-year-old Mokuba play tag with an errant butterfly.

Questing fingers at my entrance yank me back to reality. I force myself to relax as his slick fingers enter me. I’m pleasantly surprised to feel a condoms sheath as he enters me a few minutes later. Most don’t bother. I steer my thoughts from that track and focus instead on my legs being lifted to his shoulders.

He’d originally wanted a basic blowjob, until I made a counter offer. He liked my terms. I spent a luxurious 20 minutes in the shower. For dinner, we had ramen, something simple but welcome as I hadn’t had anything at all for the two days prior. The promise of a warm bed later entices me.

I gasp as one of his hands encircles my half-hard organ. He’s very considerate, but it’s not going to happen; I won’t orgasm for or with him. I can’t.

Giving up on further stimulating me, his hand returns to tightly grasping my waist as his thrusts accelerate and his breathing becomes erratic. With a groan, he bites into my shoulder, shuddering now with how close he is. In moments, I feel the throb of his release emptying into the condom. When he gets up from the bed to dispose of it, I head for my pre-arranged place on the couch to sleep.

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People are so wasteful.

But I suppose I should be glad of that

Just this week I’ve had beef filet and lobster. After I scraped some of the other garbage off, they didn’t taste too bad. There was also a donburi still in the carryout bowl.

A new place just opened down the block. They advertised something called ‘cajun shrimp.’ I’m sure I’ll get a taste of it soon.

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‘Protect and serve.’

Right.

I’m sure what’s happening here has everything to do with ‘protect and serve.’

The guy was already dead. Those Yakuza made sure of that. He didn’t need his wallet anymore. I should have just dropped the wallet and run, or at least not fought back when they grabbed me, but I panicked.

I should have done anything not to wind up here.

The one behind me picks up his pace as a hand grips my hair and I know they’ll be done soon.

“Swallow,” the owner of the hand commands.

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Gods, Mokuba, I’m glad you can’t see me now. I don’t recognize myself anymore, so I know you wouldn’t know me. The things I’ve had to do just to stay alive out here…

I hope you never find out about them, Mokuba. About me. About what an animal I’ve become. Maybe I should have just stayed with Gozoboro. At least I had somewhere to sleep and food to eat and only had to worry about dealing with one rapist a night. And at least I got to sleep more than twice a week for a few hours.

What am I thinking? I couldn’t have left you in that hell. At least you’re safe. But I’m just so tired of this life, Mokuba. So tired.

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I really miss Mokuba. I hope he’s still happy and that the Ishtars are taking good care of him.

I don’t remember when I last slept. The park isn’t safe anymore since the temperature warmed up, too many people around wanting to hurt me just for fun. No matter how hard I tried, no one at the orphanage believed I’m only 17. I’d just found a good corner in the subway down the block when the attendant had the policeman kick me out. And I’m still not welcome at the shelters.

I just need a few hours. There has to be somewhere I can go…

Stumbling drowsily, I find an opening in a quiet, familiar place and slump to the ground.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but I find myself awakened by a hand shaking me vigorously.

“Hey! Hey!” The man calls. “C’mon, I can’t let you sleep here.”

“Please,” I beg, “Please just leave me alone.” I feel tears of exhaustion running down my face, but I can’t stop them. I’m just so tired. Why can’t he just let me sleep for a few hours? It’s been so long since I’ve found a safe place to sleep. Here under the overhang is perfect. I just need a few hours.

“Please,” I sob. I feel him retreat and think that my ordeal is over. Instead, I feel a pair of strong arms lifting me a few moments later. I want to protest, but I can’t find my voice between the sobs.

“He’s a bit ripe, Yami,” the man carrying me asserts.

“I know, Raphael,” the one who woke me retorts, “but I can’t just leave him out here. Please take him up to my room and hold him while I run the bath.”

“I’ll definitely support you cleaning him up,” the big man quips. “But maybe a shower would be better.”

“He’s in no condition to stand, Raphael.”

“Then let him sit. I’ll grab a folding chair from the back on our way. Your shower’s big enough to hold it.”

I drift off for a few minutes and open my eyes to find myself lying prone on a bathroom floor and slim fingers unbuttoning my shirt. A larger hand pulls at my shoes. I want to resist their hands removing my clothes, but I’m too tired to move and this floor is almost comfortable.

I don’t know which of them scrubs me down and washes my hair, but it’s the big man who lays me down in the bed after the smaller one dries me off and towels most of the water from my hair. The feel of the soft, warm bed is intoxicating. I barely feel the robe wrapping around me as I collapse into sleep.

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I awake with a start, barely able to catch my breath.

Just a nightmare. Gozaboro can’t harm us anymore.

I move to sit up and frown when I realize that I don’t know where I am. Was I drugged again? If so, how long was I out this time? Gingerly, I move to get out of the bed, expecting soreness, if not outright pain to greet me, but nothing hurts. In fact, I feel very well rested. But where am I?

I make use of the adjoining bathroom before peering out of bedroom to view the rest of what must be a suite of rooms at an expensive hotel.

Looking cautiously around the door frame, I spot two men seated at a round table talking and eating various breakfast foods. One of them is a rather large blonde. The other is mostly hidden behind a pillar, his voice the only identifying trait at the moment.

My stomach grumbles loudly at the sight and smell, reminding me I haven’t eaten in days.

I must have come back here with them for the night and fallen asleep after I bathed, though I don’t remember any of that. I wish I could sit down and eat with them, but I’m sure they’ll want some form of payment for the use of their shower and the bed.

Running my fingers through my overlong hair to give it some sense of order and opening my robe suggestively, I casually make my way over to them, meaning to offer myself to the hidden man first. He had to be smaller than the blonde since the pillar could hide him. If I had to take on both of them, the smaller would be easier for the first round.

But as I step to where I can see the other, I stumble back in surprise.

“You!” I exclaim, knowing the man by sight and also instantly where I am. The colorful spikes and crimson eyes of the man who took me in, fed me and even had my clothes cleaned and mended were burned into my mind forever. How could I forget the only person to help me without payment in more than two years?

Suddenly ashamed, I pull the robe around me tightly, just like I did that day and head back to the bedroom.

“Wait!” he calls out. “Why don’t you join us? There’s plenty of food.”

“I-I’m not hungry,” I lie, almost running away. I don’t know why. It’s not like I have anywhere to go. And even if I did, I have no idea where my clothes are. Closing the bedroom door behind me, I sink dejectedly onto the soft mattress, inexplicably shaking. I guess he’ll be expecting payment this time, so he won’t lose face.

A soft knock at the door startles me.

“What?” I snap.

“Listen,” he begins calmly, “Raphael’s gone, so if you want to come out and eat now, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“What about you,” I smirk.

“What about me?” he counters.

“I can pay you now or later,” I assert, “It’s your choice.”

There a long pause before he replies.

“Are you still doing that,” he questions evenly.

“I have to survive, don’t I?” I snap.

Another long silence.

“Would it be alright if I came in? This conversation is awkward enough without having to yell through the door.”

“It’s your room,” I shrug, forgetting that he can’t see me.

He opens the door and takes a seat in the chair near the window.

“How old are you?” he frowns.

“Does it matter? As long as you get what you want, you should be happy.”

“I told you before I’m not after that,” he snips, leaning toward me.

“Then why am I here?”

He sits back, exhaling forcefully.

“I couldn’t just leave you there,” he offers as explanation.

“Yes you could. Anyone else would have.”

“Well, I’m not anyone else.”

“What do you want from me?” I yell. His show of concern is making me uncomfortable.

He stands with a sly grin.

“Right now, company for breakfast. And since I know you’re starving and you can’t go anywhere dressed like that,” he gestures at the robe I’ve been inadvertently clutching to my body, “you might as well join me.”

“Fine,” I mumble, heading out of the bedroom.

I’ll get something to eat, have him buy me some new clothes, pay him and be on my way. He acts concerned, but I know he’ll expect something in return for these ‘kindnesses’.

I just hope it’s something I can afford to give him.