One Morally Questionable Man Helps Girl Poorly Cope With Past Trauma by Way of Very Bad Coping Mechanisms
CW : past CSA mention
She curled further into the corner she'd claimed, and kept her eyes locked on the man who'd brought her here. Nerves frayed already, she found it hard pressed to be more unsettled, yet she couldn't help but feel out of place. Even on her best days, she was no match for a place like this.
Why he'd chosen somewhere so… high end, was beyond her, but much of Kenshi was. Certainly the place had a dress code, yet here she was, in space cat pj pants, a clingy tye-dye tank top, and old beat up slip on shoes of indeterminate color. Her worn sherpa hoodie was currently acting as something of a security blanket, her fidgety hands picking at the fluff.
She certainly looked no match for the dashing gentlemen and stunning ladies more standard to a place like this. All carefully curated and glittering in the night glamour.
Amazing what money could do, she laughed internally.
She watched him work his magic, charisma cranked to eleven, speaking to who she could only assume was the manager, gesturing in her direction, finding that flawless balance of authority and sympathy, smoothing over her presence as his guest.
Absently she wondered if anyone here knew him. What they'd think. Probably be good for his reputation she imagined. Good kind Kadokura, taking care of this poor distraught young woman, who'd clearly been through something just ever so terrible.
Or maybe they'd think the worst. An older man plying a vulnerable woman in distress with strong drinks and charm. She snorted at the thought, sure he could charming but he had no interest in that, and certainly not with her.
The internal laughter took on a note of hysteria, spiralling out her control again
The shaking still hadn't stopped. She wondered if it ever would. It was starting to ache, the constant tensing from the way her muscles trembled. Her head was spinning again, and she couldn't focus, suddenly Kenshi seemed miles further than he just had been.
Her chest tightened, heart fluttering and it was getting hard to breathe. Why was it so hard to breathe?
Startling as a glass slid into her view, she looked up from the colorful drink to the man she'd turned to, half begged to help her, his calculating, and perhaps a bit cautious she thought, look pinning her in place.
"I want to talk about it. I don't know if I can."
She felt all at once smothered by it, and like she would burst with it, yet a strange sense of impending doom took hold the moment she thought to open up.
Even Daigo had had to mostly put it together himself, reading the court transcripts and what little she could say.
("I was the first, I- I was the first.")
"Few more of those, and I'm sure you won't have any trouble at all."
She reached for it then, sliding it across the table top towards herself, but hesitated to lift. Her fingers still trembled and she didn’t want to spill any.
With a put upon sigh, Kadokura produced a straw, dropping it in her glass with a distinctive metal on glass clink.
“Do you have any idea, the look the bartender gave me when I asked him for a straw?” the glare he shot her was betrayed by the tilt of his lips, faux-irritation playing across his face.
“I’m sure you’ll survive,” she mumbled back at him, taking a sip, and humming at the taste.
Overly sweet, excessively fruity, sugar and tartness likely masking something far stronger than one would expect. He knew her taste, or rather, distaste for alcohol. It wasn’t surprising he’d pick the perfect thing for her.
She’d sucked down about half the glass, the first of several she was sure, before she slid her phone over from where she’d sat it. Unlocking the screen and navigating between tabs, he watched her, relaxed, but vigilant. Most people would likely have quailed under the scrutiny, but she found some strange comfort in it. He was cataloging her every tick, and deciding the best way to react. It was calculated. It was careful.
Staring at the screen, something haunted and pained in her eyes, he still waited, more patience than he’d give most people. A deep shuddering breath, and she passed him the small device.
“Ah, so this is what Daigo meant,” he noted, tilting his head, eyeing her over the phone.
“I. It’ll make it a little easier? Maybe? I think. If you already have some context. I can’t. I don’t know where to start. To explain everything. If you already know something…” she trailed off.
He hummed and focused on the page she’d left it open to. A court transcript. Easy enough. He cocked a brow at the 126 consecutive year sentence. It wasn’t the longest he’d ever heard, but was still fairly impressive. His face shifted into displeasure, as he continued reading the details. He was by no means a moral paragon, not that he ever bothered to concern himself with morality at all, but even he found these sorts of things distasteful. He wasn’t above using threats of such to manipulate people, but the act itself was… Beneath him. To each their own, he supposed. As long as their own didn't effect him, at any rate.
“Did you know the girls?” his first assumption. It would make it seem something of an over reaction but it was an easy enough explanation.
Shaking her head, she chewed her lip, fingers tapping against the glass. A few tears slipped over her cheeks and she took a deep shuddering breath.
“Was it my fault?”
Well that wasn’t what he’d expected at all. And was also a bit confusing. He was trying to puzzle out how any of what was described could have anything to do with her, much less be her fault. He turned the facts he had over in his head, before settling on a conclusion. Daigo’s rage seemed to be the key here, to understanding what she wasn’t giving him.
“How, exactly, would any of this be your fault, Kimi-chan?” he rode a fine line between patience and condescension. A note of ‘I think you’re stupid but I’m willing to walk you through how and why’. It was a tone he often took with her, when she came at him with her absurdity.
“I. I was the first,” her eyes were somewhere between vacant and distant, her voice quivering.
He knew what she meant, and he didn’t like it. It wasn’t a mere implication, that would have been kinder. Easier to pretend. It grated, how difficult she made it to pretend to be unaffected and careless. Some part of him damned her some days, for worming her way in.
“It was nearly 20 years ago. I was seven. I think. Around then. I don’t remember that time very well. Snippets. Random things that happened. But it was all kind of a…” she trailed off for a moment, “a blur I suppose. A nebulous ‘early elementary school years’ idea.”
She was babbling. She did that when she was upset and having trouble articulating. He’d gotten good at parsing through her nonsense to get to the core of what she was trying to say.
And he still didn’t like the core of what she was saying. Decades past regardless, she was his now, and he didn’t like people damaging his things.
“I still fail to see how that has anything to do with this… man’s, actions.”
“I could have- I should, have said something. Maybe then-” she cut herself, speaking in fits and starts now.
Her condition was worsening, and Kadokura tapped at the table in agitation. Not with her, mind, though it may have been easier to just blame her and move on. There was no quick and easy solution to this. He couldn’t just fix her, and that grated.
“Would it have made any difference?”
Her eyes shot up to meet his, wide and somewhere between confusion and distress. At least she was present again, he supposed.
“Wha-”
“Would it have mattered? Who could you have told? Who would have believed you?”
“I- Mom would hav-”
“What could she have done? Really?”
She worried at her lower lip, brow furrowed and breath hitching.
“It’s awfully self absorbed of you to think any of this had anything to do with you.”
He stabbed right through and she nearly choked on a gasp. She held his gaze, her pain meeting his neutrality. He wasn’t being careless, she could see it in the lines of his body, his agitation. Irritation. He was being blunt. Forward and matter of fact. He wouldn’t let her carry her “silly” delusions. There was no logic to her thoughts, and they both knew it. The unfeeling truth may not fix it, but at least it cemented it.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what? Why are you apologizing.”
There was something in his tone that read more demand than question.
“I don’t- For- I just-”
“Don’t. Don’t apologize for nothing. Drink. Drink until you can’t feel, and you can figure out what you want to do, tomorrow. That’s what you wanted isn’t it?”
She clutched at her glass, and stared into the unnatural color, shoulders trembling.
He seemed tense, somewhat uncomfortable, before settling. He pried one of her hands loose, and gave it a firm but gentle squeeze.
“Let go. Get completely wasted. I’ll make sure you get home.”
Waving a waiter over, he ordered her another, and the rare moment of tenderness passed.
He may not be the best at showing it most of the time, but he cared, in his way.
She knew with a certainty she couldn’t explain, that he meant it. She could trust him. He would keep her safe for the night.
Polishing off the first, she plopped the straw into the second and started on it right away, as Kadokura slowly sipped at his first for the night. One of the few he’d allow himself while “babysitting” the distressed girl.
Her face was interesting to watch. Micro changes to macro ones. She was fascinatingly expressive. Pain flittering into frustration, morphing into confusion, settling into regret. Anger and sorrow and grief and shit, she was so terribly human.
The trembles picked back up, and her eyes faded into something, somewhere, distant, absent. He tapped a knuckle lightly under her eye, on the ridge of her cheek bone, ignoring the way she jolted, eyes suddenly wild, before refocusing and her whole being relaxing, just barely.
“It's. I’m. I hate this,” she ground her teeth.
He cocked his head at her, “Very articulate, Kimberly.”
She bristled, “Do you have t-” she cut herself off, “I’m trying ok!”
“Sorry, sorry,” he held his hands up in surrender.
With a deep shuddering breath, she held the straw aside, and chugged down the drink. Even with the sweetness, the alcohol was still certainly present, and she grimaced. She tugged the straw out and slid the glass aside. Kadokura absently waved at one of the bartenders, eyes never leaving her face.
Tears welled and overflowed, “Why is this so hard? I don’t- I don’t understand why I can’t just- How fucking hard is it to just say! Hey, my father sucked and didn’t keep me safe and his best friend’s kid molested me and I wouldn’t- couldn’t- say anything because I thought it was my fault, and I felt so ashamed, and so gross, and years later when I could at least logically acknowledge that was wrong even if it still felt like it, I thought hey he’ll grow out of it, it was a one off, he was just a teen, and now he’s done this-” she gestured violently at the phone sitting to his side, “and I- I know you think it's dumb but I blame myself and I don’t know how to be ok.”
Her breathing was labored, strained. She hadn’t raised her voice like he’d expected but rather slid into a rambling hysterical whisper. He’d pieced the broad strokes together earlier, but now he could start filling in the finer details.
“Feel better?” “No.”
An elbow on the table, he rested his head in a hand and eyed her. She fidgeted slightly under his hawkish stare.
“Unfortunately, you won’t ever be ok,” he used his free hand to make air quotes around the word, “None of us will. That’s not how things work.”
He threw back a larger swig than he had been, before relaxing again, “You’re a stubborn woman. You’ll keep going regardless. You don’t know how to do anything else. Drink. Keep drinking. Lose yourself for the night. Tomorrow we’ll start making decisions.”
“Decisions?” she furrowed her brow at him, never quite meeting his gaze.
“You have choices sweetheart. Options. It’d be my pleasure to help.”
Her mouth formed a soft “oh” and she considered what the breadth of options Kadokura Kenshi could offer would be.
He tapped her cheek again, “Tomorrow,” and slid the fresh drink her way, and she eyed it for a moment, unable to discern when exactly it had even arrived.
He watched her sway as she sipped, the effects of the drinks she’d already gone through inadvisably quick setting in in full. Once she’d hit about halfway through, he acted.
Sliding a finger under hers, loosening her grip on the glass, and lightly catching her fingers, hold just firm enough to manipulate her movements.
Giving a light tug as he himself stood, he pulled her into something vaguely resembling upright. The noise she made was somewhere between confusion and alarm and he shot a charming grin at her.
“Come on then, let's dance.”
“Dance?” she seemed startled, “I can’t dance for shit, you know this!’
Laughing he countered her attempt at a protestation, “You’re also very drunk, no one will know the difference. Lightweight,” he teased.
She gazed out uncertainly at the room, and then down at herself and her attire.
“You’re with me tonight princess, it doesn’t matter,” he teasingly mocked her worry.
It was then she noticed how the energy had changed. The people all seemed the same and yet… What once had been somewhere that felt elegant and cold, there was a seediness that had slipped in. People moved closer, and grander. Less held back. Straps slipped from shoulders, and noses seemed more powdered than before.
So this was why he liked the place. Pretty on the surface, and teeming with unrestrained indulgence underneath.
The music shifted, into something equally mindless, but heavier on the bass and a lot less refined. With a devilish grin, he gave her another tug, guiding her effortlessly through a twirl towards the floor, joining the other bodies gathering.
Had she been a bit less inebriated, a bit more aware, perhaps she would have noticed the tightness around his eyes, the calculation in his movements. He was agitated, but if nothing else, Kadokura was a damn good actor when he wanted to be.
And so the night continued. Kadokura, better playing the part of “Kenshi-Tenshi” than he would ever acknowledge, guided her about the club. For all appearances he was cutting loose and having fun alongside her, but never was there a moment he wasn’t vigilant. Never did she leave his perceptions. Sliding between anyone who approached her, keeping her on her feet and distracted. Empty and thoughtless the way she needed to be. He watched her sway and wiggle in her uncoordinated delight, laugh until she choked. Silently crying, arms aloft and jumping with the beat.
He watched her pain, cataloging every moment. Committing it to memory.
In a way, he hated her, for being so terribly strange.
It made her interesting, and he was a covetous man.
As the hours moved from late to early, he guided her out the back door and to a nearby lot, gentle but steady grip on her elbow, both to keep her up and at his side. He helped her into the back seat of a running car, one he’d called, nothing so banal as a taxi, and slid in after her. He rattled off the address of her apartment, as he texted Daigo that he was taking her there instead.
He knew she wouldn’t want Kichi to see her like this.
She slid down, flopping over to lean on him, and for once, he didn't protest. He'd let her have this one. It seemed too cruel even for him, to move her as she wept quietly onto his sleeve.
He let his head fall back, and watched the world go by as she babbled. Incoherent whispers and mumbling.
Pulling up in front of the building, he noted the soft light in one of the windows. Daigo was already here then. Good.
She laughed as he helped her stumble across the small garden courtyard, and what a fascinating dichotomy, her free laughter, even as she cried still. Up the flight of stairs, he managed to fish out the key and unlock the door with one hand as used the other to help keep her on her feet.
Daigo was already halfway across the room as he helped her through the entry and into the apartment. Delicately as he was able, he passed her off to her husband, the man's soft thanks heard but unneeded.
The younger man scooped her off her feet and carried her back to the bedroom, murmuring soft words Kadokura didn't dain to listen to.
He made himself at home, as he was wont to do, pulling down the good scotch she kept and pouring himself a glass, foregoing the chilled scotch rock in favor of expedience.
It was maybe half an hour, long enough to get the wreck of a woman rinsed off, changed, and settled, going by the noise, before Daigo reemerged.
"Is she going to be ok?"
Kadokura threw back the second half of the double pour, "No one is ever 'ok' Daigo-chan. Give me a call if I can do anything to help her."
"That's quite generous of you."
There was no accusation or suspicion in his voice, despite the words themselves. A mere statement. And a relatively fair one Kadokura supposed.
"She'd do the same for me."
And with that he made his way out of the quiet apartment, back into the waiting car, and across town to the hotel he'd never admit to staying in. Just in case.
She might need him again tomorrow.
