-This is the beginning of the end. Do not stray.-
"Uragiri, wake up!"
Your mother shakes you vigorously awake with the aid of the vibrant sun beaming inside, right onto your eyes. As much as you want to keep your eyes closed, you hesitantly and reluctantly open them to see your mother's wooden eyes staring worriedly.
"Uragiri, you slept before dinner again. What is wrong?"
You groggily try to reply, but nothing comes out. Everything she is saying sounds a bit muffled, its blurry without your glasses, and to be honest its really too early to wake up - at least on a Sunday, you think.
"We made your favorite last night too.. Father is very disappointed in you."
Its time to answer since your happy slumber finally had broke. Thanks mom.
"Fine," you say aggressively. "I've been-"
Quickly, you're cut off by someone banging at your front door. She looks at you worriedly as you squeamishly jump from your bed and clench onto her arm, squeezing the dear life out of her bony flesh. Your mother begins to pet your head, messing up your already messy long strains of blue-black hair.
"Open the fucking door," a man with an intimidating voice behind the door screams as he bangs it again.
This was most likely a customer of your mother's again, given by his voice and how your mother was dressed: a thong, her brown hair in a bun, covered by a translucent skimpy robe that only barely covered her nipples. There were even the bruises on her legs, the cuts on her thighs, blood seeping down under her breasts. This was no different to her though, it was simply her job.
She always described her role being a wilted flower with thorns, except the thorns seemed to inject into her own skin by the recent customers. Every day, every year, a petal fell. You wish your father were here for these moments to defend her, but the darkness that brought her back to the life of being enslaved to a ball, chain, and men was a fight he always seemed to avoid. Avoiding that, and multiple, multiple men.
"Hide," you whisper to her.
She shakes her head.
"Don't worry, your mother will take care of thi-"
BANG BANG.
You slap her.
BANG BANG.
"Hide, the closet, where my books are. He can't find you there," you say in a softer tone to her as tears stream down her long and tired face. "Do it now or he'll fuck you and me up too."
She goes into the closet and quietly closes the door, fading into the darkness where she had succumbed to too many times. The banging continues on your door, and suddenly his voice booms out once more.
"I'm telling you, I'm not going to fucking leave until you give me what I paid for you cunt!"
Quickly, you drop your warm pajama pants and underwear, and then you walk to the door reluctantly. How many times have you done this already to help her? Way too much. Unlock the door, open it slightly, and put your cock in your hand. And then like that, wear your mask and speak.
"Can I help you," You say in a daze.
The man looks at you confusingly. He looks vampire white, most likely 5'11" since he's towering over you. His hair is dyed, looks like a punk, and his eyes have that lazy tone to it. It would explain his accent as well- a rich Irka. He lacks any abs and he's most likely just a fat tourist looking for some ass. Unfortunately, out of all the ass in Elika, he chose your mother's ass. What an ass.
"I thought that whore came in here," he replies as he scratches his head. You take advantage of his stupidity.
"You don't look like you are from here," You blink. "Go back to your resort illya. I'm busy, okay?"
His tough attitude comes once again as his eyes squint at you. You can't tell if he's trying to make fun of you or be serious.
"You're hiding her, aren't you little prick? What the fuck is a 'illya' anyway?"
You begin to smile at him, and it gets wider and wider until it engulfs half of your face. Your green eyes widen quickly as your pupil shrinks for a moment, and soon resorts back to its normal form. His shoulders begin to raise, and it seems as if he is drawing a fist.
"Don't you know that it's a food? I'm hungry. If I had a woman here, I'd eat her out right about now."
"S-stop playing with me now," he says like a temperamental child as he clenches his hands into fists.
"I'm not playing. If I find that girl, I'll be sure to tell you. Now, would you kindly let me finish what I started? I'm starting to get pretty turned off."
He turns silent and looks down at his dick for a moment.
"Same," He replies.
You sigh and then raise your voice.
"Leave."
And with a slam to the door and the lock clicking, the man leaves you alone and waltzes around the other corridors, trying to find your mother. You groan, hearing his steps loudly as you go to the corner of your room and turn on your CP laptop. Its a shitty laptop, can't play any games on it, but its pretty good at playing music – especially with all the basses and speakers you have in your room. You turn it on, go to a random music file, then begin to play it to drown out the sounds of his steps.
"You can come out now," You say normally now with a smile, going back for your underwear and pajama pants.
You also get your hand sanitizer, because let's face it, you don't want to hug your mom with a hand you just put your dick in. Slowly and quietly, she comes out of the closet and closes it behind her, and the more she comes closer to you, the more you notice the never-ending blood trail following her.
"Jeez mom, it looks like you're on your period," You laugh.
"Thank you," She laughs back nervously and sighs. "You know, he had nothing on him. I checked last night- not a single omn, just a credit card that has 1,000 omn on it. I'm not that cheap." You raise an eyebrow at her.
"So mom, what did he want this time? Also... do you want a shirt or something?"
She looks down at herself and then to you, nods, and sniffles.
"Do you have a bandage too?"
You nod your head for a second, then shake it.
"The bandages are in the bathroom," You mutter to yourself.
"He's out there too, isn't he?"
You nod your head to her and go to your closet. When you open it, you try to find the biggest thing you have: a jersey you got when you visited Nork, when that existed... You never saw the baseball game in the stadium, but the colors of the jersey were rather cool: blue, white, and orange. You got it when you were 190 pounds as well, so the size was pretty large. The thing can't fit you anymore, but it was a good memory.
Before closing your closet, you check to see if you have anymore spare bandages or towels to try to dry up the blood. No luck. You slam the side of the closet with your palm angrily.
"Shit," You scream out as your heart begins to stop and your breathing halts for a moment.
"Dear," Your mother says in that passive-aggressive tone of hers. "No cursing."
Your heart begins to work again as you collapse to your knees and take a breath in. "I'm...I'm sorry. I just..."
You look at her once more, the blood transforming into tears frolicking down her beaten body. How she deals with it, you will never know. The madness of this makes you feel as if you're 30- but you aren't.
You're 17.
You're a teenager.
You shouldn't be seeing your mother in a state like this, and you shouldn't be the one to detour a fucking stranger in the house. Your patience can only last so long, but you aren't mad at your mother. You're mad at the perverts, at the father who never is there anymore.
"Mom. Here."
You look down to your feet as you give her the jersey. There will be blood on it once she puts it on, and it'll be hard to make it come off. In a sense: there goes that memory – until the blood comes off, that is. She takes it from your hand and bows her head, then proceeds to take her robe off and jumps into the jersey. You go to look at her, and it's baggy on her. At least you can't see the scar on her stomach from when she had you, or her bleeding breasts.
"So, as we were saying," She hums as she puts the robe on over herself. "Why are you bothered?"
You give a smile filled with all the lies in the world as words slip through your mouth.
"Its nothing, mom."