Chapter 2: Emotions Are For The Rich, Kid.
The train rattled on, still carrying them toward the tired sprawling suburbs they both called home. Akari, the girl, sat beside him with muscle locked tight and her head slightly bowed. She was quiet but the sheer force of her controlled trembling made her feel loud.
The fluorescent overhead lights were sharp and looking all aggressive now.
Elijah glanced sideways at her. Her profile was sharp with all clean lines and that unmistakable Japanese face card, twisted tight with pain and a hatred she couldn't afford to handle. When she felt his gaze, her hand crept down, tugging at the hem of her grey school skirt like she could somehow drag it back to cover her thighs. It was a tiny pathetic attempt to shield a dignity that had been stripped moments ago.
Stupid, maybe.
"Useless," he muttered. He didn't bother looking at her when he spoke. "You're trying to fix something that's already broken. You should've thought about the skirt back at the designer's shop when you decided to design it that way, way before you put it on."
Akari flinched but she didn't bother to respond, a tear escaping to trace a path through the grime on her cheek. She smelled almost like salt mixed with the faint sweetness of cheap shampoo. She just pulled her hand back and fixed her gaze on the filthy floor.
Her silent defiance annoyed on him, but it didn't surprise him either. He hated wasted energy, and her lingering trauma was just that—wasteful and inefficient. She was a liability now: prone to hysterics, maybe a suicide attempt or a report that could connect him to the scene, even if he was only an uninterested witness.
The train lurched hard around a bend which made her pitched sideways, her shoulder crashing into his arm. She jerked away at once, flinching like she'd touched something burning making Eli roll his eyes. Under the harsh lights, he saw the red mark already blooming from his slap, stark against her pale skin.
"Look at me," he said.
When she didn't, he grabbed her chin between his index finger and thumb. Not rough, but with that cold steady pressure that said resistance was pointless, forcing her face up until her swollen, red-rimmed eyes met his.
"Don't waste my time with that victim act. It's pathetic. You survived. Good job. You think I care about the rest? No. You were quiet and cheap which makes you predictable. If you keep looking like that, someone's going to notice, and then we will both have a problem." He let go of her jaw. "What's your name?"
She stared at him dazedly but her lips moved faintly to whisper. "A-Akari."
"Akari," he repeated, testing the sound. "Nice name though. And you're Eleventh Grade. See? Simple. Now, stop being dramatic. Tears won't pay for the dry cleaning, and they sure as hell won't change what happened." He leaned back, letting his words sink in.
"You need a somewhere to crash, don't you? Like a place quiet before you have to face your parents with that look on your face."
She sniffed, trying to find her breath, but her answer she gave tilted the whole situation. "I… I live alone."
Elijah paused, raising an eyebrow in puzzlement. Alone. That simple word changed the equation entirely. No parents meant no immediate inspection, no witnesses to her state and no awkward explanations to an authority figure.
He leaned in a little, "Living alone," he echoed softly, his gaze sweeping over her torn uniform strap then back to meet her gaze. "Perfect. Means tonight doesn't belong to anyone but you." His voice crept lower, turning more intimate. "Unless you want it to belong to someone else."
A predatory and utterly self-interested sense of calm settled over him. "Well, that complicates things," he said, his tone shifting from abrasive to strangely considerate, like a doctor discussing a prognosis. "A girl like you, small, alone, looking vulnerable—it's like putting a target on your back in this part of town. You're asking for trouble, Akari."
He paused again, letting the weight of the statement sink into her isolation. He watched her eyes dart around the carriage like she was seeking escape routes that wasn't there.
"I'm going home." He went on, " It's a full house with good people I guess. All noise and better security, if you want to be practical about it. You should come with me."
Her glare snapped up, fueled by raw survival instinct. The fact that the bastard didn't care about her plight hadn't surprised her but the fact that he'd launched into this bizarre sales pitch for his home did. The look she gave him was sharp like that of a trapped feral animal assessing a new predator scenting blood.
"Why?" The word came out cracked and barely audible above the train's rhythmic creaking sounds. "So you can finish what he star-"
He cut her off before she could speak the accusation. "What? You think I'm asking for sex?" His mouth curled into a humorless half-smile. "Honestly, Akari, I know you're a mess right now, but try to keep up. I'm not that guy." He let out a soft, mocking chuckle that never touched his eyes. "Besides, even if I was, it'd be for your own good."
She frowned, confusion battling the horror on her face. "What are you… talking about?"
"Relax. It's a technique," he said, leaning in slightly, "Trauma, especially sexual trauma, leaves a chemical imprint which turns into a grotesque memory. They say the best way to weaken that memory is to dilute the poison, which is to replace it with a new but caring, passionate experience right away. A positive counter-memory which helps to re-wire the whole show."
Akari's inhaled deeply, her trembling intensifying against the cracked vinyl seat as his predatory logic slithered around her fractured thoughts. She stared at his calm expression that had no empathy, just the dispassionate assessment of a mechanic explaining engine repair.
He let her process the twisted sophisticated absurdity of his statement. He saw the faint blush of shame and the deep confusion which was the desired effect. He had broken her instinctual defense by making the idea of sex sound like therapy.
Then, just as quickly, he dismissed it. "But don't worry, I was just joking. Dark humor. You know, to lighten the mood." He gave a slight, insincere shrug. "The actual invite is about safety. My home is full of people. I'm a student, a schoolmate."
"You're a looking for trouble living alone in this town, especially now. You come to my home, you get to have protection, you gain company, and you're off the street. Simple exchange. What are you so afraid of, Akari? That I might actually be offering you a practical solution?"
He knew that last line—practical solution—would burrow deep. She was alone, scared, and physically vulnerable. His house, even with his dubious nature, represented structured safety over solitary danger. Her exhaustion and the fear of repeating the last hour would do the rest of the work.
Akari stared at the stained floor for a long time, the rhythmic clack-clack of the train marking the time she spent calculating her risks. She wasn't consenting; she was submitting to the path of least resistance. Safety first. She looked back up at Elijah, a slow, grudging nod.
"Fine," she whispered, the sound thin and brittle.
"Good girl," Elijah replied, picking up the phone he'd stolen, already tapping at the screen. "Now let's talk about my math homework, Akari. I missed half the lesson today."
He rummaged in his backpack and tossed her a half-crumbled energy bar. "Protein," he said without looking at her. "Shock makes you stupid." She didn't move to touch it, so he ripped the wrapper open himself and shoved it against her lips until she took a mechanical bite. The smell of artificial chocolate chips mingled grotesquely with the coppery tang still clinging to her uniform.
The rest of the ride passed in a grim, detached conversation about school, utterly mundane topics overlaying the raw, sticky trauma between them. Elijah made her talk, made her focus, preventing the spiral. He was managing his asset.
The train hissed to a final, tired halt.
"This is us," Elijah said, standing up.
He didn't offer her a hand. Akari, still stiff and sore, struggled to her feet. The remaining cash, the payment from the man, was still on the floor, untouched.
"You left your money," Elijah noted, nodding at the bills.
Akari didn't look down. "You keep it. It's dirty."
Elijah only shrugged, picking the bills up. "Money is money, Akari. It just made people do all sorts of things back there. Same as always." He put the cash away with his own stolen haul.
He stepped out onto the concrete platform without waiting. Akari followed, a haunted, silent shadow, stepping out of the train's dead light into the colder, open air of the station. She was breathing hard, every step a painful effort.
The city waited, dark and indifferent.
Akari's breath hitched sharply as her bruised thighs burned with every dragging step. She kept her eyes fixed on Elijah's backpack—the frayed straps were safer than the hungry shadows pooling beneath the broken station lights.
Elijah didn't slow his stride, forcing her to hobble faster until she stumbled against a graffiti-smeared pillar. He paused, turning back with an expression like a bored clerk assessing damaged inventory. "You move like wet laundry dragged through the dirt—heavy and too slow," he remarked, plucking a discarded soda can from a bench. "Hold this. Looks less suspicious than clutching yourself."