Please Take Me Home

Smears.

That’s all he could see in his left eye.

That’s all he could see when he looked at himself.

After that night in the shower, nothing was the same. Days passed, and the pain didn’t dull. Vision didn’t fix itself, and his eye lost all sense of guidance. When he walked, he could feel it shifting in its cavity, as wounded ligaments and connecting fibers failed to hold it in place any longer.

When he dared to glance at himself, what he found would terrify him. What had begun in the shower had never fully ceased. Though he did not fall through floors or pass through surfaces, he was somehow fading from reality. On more than one occasion, he’d looked at his leg or hand and seen nothing but the surface of whatever was beneath him.

Feeling was still there, but physical presence wasn’t. Something had shifted, and now he was never fully corporeal. Even when he took the train and moved through crowds on his way to Warm Embraces, he would fade in and out of ‘being there’, but none seemed to notice or care.

None of it mattered to him, though. A new form of sadness had permeated his every waking thought. As July’s malicious sun scorched the urban sprawl, pushing the summer rains away and replacing them with oppressive heat, Masaru continued to stumble towards his confinement every day.

This would be his life.

However much of it was left, it would be this hell. This place. This condition.

Whatever was happening to him, it didn’t feel like it could be stopped, and at that point, he wasn’t sure he wanted to anymore. Enough tragedy and trauma had occurred to convince him that there would be no respite or escape for him. This was the lot he’d been given in life, and even after decades of trying, hoping, praying, and dreaming of something better, he’d finally simply given up.

Once, he was content with only ‘being there’, but now, he would not even be ‘there’. Murahachibu’s wrath had cut into his very soul, and now he was condemned to be so thoroughly ignored that his soul was resigning itself to fade to oblivion.

Three days after the shower, he returned to Warm Embraces for another shift. The cleaner had been able to scrub away nearly every sign that there was once a meter-wide puddle of blood in the lobby. Now, it was merely a sea of red, darkened carpet once more. Smiles from the laminated imagery of available call girls continued to shine out from glossy posters.

Once white walls were still stained in sepia. In the corners, paint chipped and gathered darkened blotches that only further removed the clarity of where angles met. The space was beginning to feel like it was bending any time Masaru entered in silence.

The day passed just like the two before. Time gathered instead of passing. His mind was becoming as threadbare as the carpet. There weren’t any more whimpers or screams. Air conditioning still inhaled and exhaled. And as much as he hated to do it, Masaru had returned the patch to his eye.

It was partially to hide his shame, but it was also to help relieve the newfound pain that came from a heightened sensitivity to light. In light of not being able to tolerate light, working night shifts was suddenly more appealing. Warm Embraces’ darkened halls were becoming a refuge for his ripped body.

Hours remembered they were supposed to be transient, and the shift made its way through its cycles. Halfway through the night, the door opened.

After everything, Masaru was no longer scared or concerned about who might enter. Even if the animalistic screams returned, he didn’t care. They hadn’t in recent days, so he wondered if they were gone. All that mattered was doing his best to ignore the hidden cameras. Whatever happened in those rooms, barring anything horrific, was none of his concern anymore.

Footsteps echoed in the silence as a man’s voice carried unrefined sounds through the walls. A feminine voice answered him in a mutter, but it was almost imperceptible from within Masaru’s dungeon. He simply turned his back to the screens and placed his head in his hands as he waited for the next hour to pass.

Minutes held their quiet negotiations with sorrow and loneliness, but they failed to win their arguments. The hour felt long. Far longer than he would have liked. But eventually the hour did pass.

Behind him, the screens flickered.

Footsteps returned in a slow, unashamed cadence.

Soft clops of wooden heels striking matted carpet helped Masaru gauge how far the guest had before reaching the door. At least eighteen meters to go. Maybe fifteen if their stride was long enough. Step by step, they made their way through the cursed hallways and over the cold spot in the center of the lobby where the elderly woman had died. Then, only six or seven more steps, and they were out the door.

Creaks sounded as the door’s hinges begged for lubrication. A slam alerted him that he was likely alone once more.

Masaru’s hands slid down his face as his hallowed cheeks drooped against their resistance. He waited for his allotted time buffer to pass before leaving the cave. By now, he was reduced to measuring his life by ventilation cycles. When the humming stopped, he decided it was safe to exit.

It was time to inspect the room and prepare it for a reset. Basic cleaning could be done, and supplies needed to be replenished. Forgotten undergarments would be discarded. Lost jewelry and wallets would be held in lost and found, just in case anyone returned searching for them. That was all that he could do.

Down the hall he went.

The door to Room 106 was slightly ajar, telling him that the guests had likely been in those quarters.

Something tugged at his collar but he didn’t stop.

Whispers of teeth grinding began, then faded.

They’d never done that before.

Masaru paused and listened.

In place of the grinding, a soft, ambient cry kissed the edges of his mind. It was tragic, but it was somehow welcome and soothing. Whatever it was, Masaru found it to be peaceful, and the foreign sensation of calmness sent waves of heightened awareness across his skin as he opened the door.

The room was very dark, and his vision was poor. Smears fought with clarity as he inspected the floor. When the door fully parted, Masaru realized that the room was not vacant yet.

There at the edge of the massive polyurethane hand bed, a frail, exhausted young woman was sitting with her back to the door.

Masaru flinched when he saw her naked body, and turned to close the door without making a sound. But she’d already heard him.

“It’s okay…” she muttered.

thatvoice

Masaru froze as torrents of confusion cascaded into his chest.

heknewthatvoice

Though he did not fully understand why, Masaru stopped. The door stayed partially ajar as he waited in the opening and listened. It felt like she wanted him to.

Women’s clothing items lay strewn on the floor with abandon.

Her skin was pale. Bruises and burn marks lined her bony back. Each breath of hers sounded hollow and labored. A used needle was on the side table.

“Gods, I hate it when they… bring… heroin…” she choked.

Something was pulling him into the room. His heart was slamming in his ribs. A feeling not unlike hope or even joy was warmly spreading through his hands and throat, but it was being met with a heaviness that could only have been grief.

Soft steps led him fully into the room, but he still could only barely see her.

What he could see was fingers delicately rubbing along exposed shoulders, as the young woman held herself to keep her body from collapsing.

“Veins… veins… veins feel like… tissue paper havin’ steel… wool… pulled through them…” she exhaled as a shiver caused her to convulse.

He was close now. He didn’t even realize he’d never stopped moving towards her. Lacerations lined her ribs. Cigarette burns dotted the ivory flesh around her hips. Sobs came slowly as her nose struggled to pull in enough air.

Every atom of his being wanted to reach out and comfort her. Smears subsided long enough for him to see the streaks of red and purple in her matted hair. A simple white walking stick was lying against the wall.

HEknewHER

“What… day is it?” she asked.

“T-Thursday,” he whispered.

A sigh of totality collapsed from her lips as her shoulders dropped in release.

“Thank oblivion… It’s over…” she sniffled as she wiped her eyes.

They were only a meter apart now, but Masaru still didn’t want to dare to hope.

Not even when her hands began to blindly pat the bed in inquisition.

“I’m so sorry to ask this… but… but can you gather my clothes and set them here on the bed? You can even look at me while you do… I don’t give a shit. I just… I just… don’t want to have to crawl around on my hands and knees while looking for them…”

She was weeping now. Both of her eyes closed as she slumped forward and began to cling to herself in shame and desperation once more.

“I… I always ask them to set them somewhere. And they never do. They never do. They just leave them. Wherever they want. And it’s so humiliating. But they don’t care. They don’t care.”

Pale fingers wiped moisture away from skin, and he finally saw her face. An audible gasp escaped Masaru as his own eyes welled with tears.

“S-S-Sayane?” he whimpered.

His voice caused her to freeze. All she could do was spasm as horrified humiliation sent her caving into herself. A simple grunt of shame rose in her chest as she shook her head.

“M-Masaru?” she cried.

“It’s me… It’s me…” he whispered as he knelt to begin gathering her belongings.

A tattered sock. Stained panties. The same shirt and pants that she’d left the laundromat in.

“Oh gods. Oh gods,” she whimpered.

Sobs returned, and she collapsed into herself as he began to reach his half-formed hand towards her. Just as the partially erased appendage neared her back, he stopped himself. She sensed him nearby and flinched ever so slightly.

“Sayane, I… I was so concerned for you. Are you okay?” he asked.

“No,” she replied in a cold voice.

Masaru looked down at his vanishing body. Grief almost overpowered joy and relief.

“Neither am I,” he replied as he set her garments and cane beside her.

Sayane inhaled and covered her chest, but she forced herself to sit up.

“Please, I don’t think I want to be touched right now, but can you take me home?” she whispered.

Masaru scanned the wretched hotel and felt nothing but disdain.

“Let’s get out of here. I’ll take you home,” he replied.