Dirty, Dirty Liars [Mature/Editing]

[1] 一

Tokyo seemed like the perfect place to start a new life. I didn't know it would be the place my life ended.

My whole life before then had been in Georgia. In a town outside Atlanta, my world was small and familiar. Everyone knew everything about everyone, or so they thought. When my OnlyFans pictures and mugshot played all over the evening news, everyone quickly learned how little they knew about me. But we'll get to that later.

After the stories came out, I changed my name and moved to a different state, but the reputation preceded me. Everywhere I went, every new job I got, I was always five minutes away from the rumors, the jokes, those same unbearable looks of judgment. I wanted to — needed to get as far away as possible.

When I saw the open position for a traveling nurse, I still hesitated. For someone who had never been on a plane or outside of a tri-state area, it came with so much unknown, so little permanence. But anything seemed better than staying.

I jumped in with both feet and found myself working at a hospital on the outskirts of Tokyo.

It was eye-opening to be thrust into a world I knew nothing about, and it was liberating. Walking with the dense flow of people in the train stations, watching tiny kids walking by themselves from school, having food everywhere. It couldn't have been more different from what I left.

Wanting the full experience, I opted to live in an off-campus apartment in Shinjuku, a quick train ride away from the hospital. It was a 130 square feet studio, no bedroom or real bed, placed on a street bustling with shops, one million restaurants . . .

And him.

On the opposite side of the alley was an exclusive restaurant run by the Yakuza. IT commanded attention with its grand stairway lit by red neon signs. People would spill out at night, laughing and stumbling after enjoying a plethora of drinks, their distinctive tattoos peeking out from beneath their collars and sleeves. No one discussed it, but it wasn't a secret, not even to the local cops, which confused the hell out of me.

I could see it from my window, glowing red all night long, welcoming me home early in the morning when I got off work. I was obsessed with it — the seedy nature mixed with the innocence and fun of its surroundings — and I was dying to know more.

Four men took turns standing at the entrance during all open hours, which started in the evening and lasted past my time on the second shift. Bouncers, it seemed. They looked like cousins in a family photo in their black suits and white button-front shirts, pretending to be more intimidating than the average salarymen with their ponytails, jewelry, and down-the-nose glares at unknown guests and passersby. But one differed from the rest. He caught my attention immediately and never let it go.

Handsome wasn't the correct word to describe him. He was equal parts beautiful and frightening. Delicate, vulpine features, hardened by a scar across one brow, and dark, melancholy eyes. He was tall, tan, and strong, but had a softer air about him. He reminded me of a real fox. That desire to pet it, even though it would likely kill me if I tried.

We made eyes at each other for weeks, communicating without words. A mutual appreciation of each other's presence, appearance, maybe more. Eyes turned to smiles, and smiles to waves.

While I was a clear outsider in a place as homogenous as Japan, the people were polite and welcoming. To an extent. I could see the hidden stares, catch the people taking photographs of me, and note how the music often changed to hip-hop when I walked into stores. 

But he didn't look at me like a foreigner or some unfamiliar spectacle. It felt as if he saw me.

. . .