𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄𝐒 (𝓖𝓸𝓳𝓸 𝔁 𝓑𝓵𝓪𝓬𝓴 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻)

Torn

word count: 1,082

Y/n forced her hesitant feet to move around the entrance area, drowning out the idea of Promise with the retrieval of a record player perched on the front desk. She quickly placed the first vinyl pressing she saw and set the needle in place. A steady drum and vocalizations flowed from the speakers.

Death and Taxes.

It was quite ironic. There was a time she had faith in Promise. It manifested her pain and fear in a way that she deemed was... fine.

Surely my sins have found me out
God rest my soul, but show me out

The thought of the sculpture didn't torture her, in fact, she thought that it would quiet the nightmares and for a while it did. It became a twisted fantasy for her, almost like her mind was trying to convince her that what they had was a love she'd been too stupid to understand.

Surely my sins have found me out
Spit on my grave, but kiss my mouth

But then... Satoru... Satoru happened. He worked that charm- his true charm, not that artificial act he thought she would fall for in the gallery many moons ago.

Her faith in that sculpture diminished, writhing itself into a doubt and a twisted hatred. She didn't know to thank him or despise him. That was the funny thing about it. She didn't know many things after that, yet one thing was certain.

Surely we'll live to see the day

She hated it.

When all of our problems, they fade away

She hated how well received Promise was,

I see your heartbreak

She hated it's origin...

and I feel your pain
It's funny how heaven and hell are the same

She hated how it halted her ability of deeming herself as enough... making Satoru wait... it made her reel in anger.

Come walk with me, I don't play those games
I live in the real world, I've lost my faith

That's what it was! That feeling of rage, of rebellion when she'd escaped. She had felt like one who had forsaken their religion from years of forcing their minds to believe that this falseness was true.

The pain would melt away if she could cherish this. It would meld itself into that strangely warm feeling she felt for Satoru.

Surely we'll live to see the day
When all of our problems, they fade away

Y/n furrowed her brow, determined. Is this what Jiro meant when he spoke of listening to her heart? The exhilarating confidence made her feel as if she could go through with the exhibition, while still being able to hold that oddly peaceful anger, to let it burn in her hands, fueling the fire even more until-

the door opened with a cold jingle. She glanced at a neighboring clock. It wasn't even five am yet.

Three figures. Three male figures entered and stood in the doorway. Y/n froze. She had put a little distance between them since she was on her way to the back as they had entered. Maybe, the optimistic part of her hoped, they were interested in purchasing something and didn't realize the inappropriate time. Yeah, right.

Only two things in this life that are sure
Of that I'm sure

The room was dimly lit, so she could not quite make out their faces even when she squinted.

They simultaneously raised their chins, each one of them holding a familiar disposition she did not want to name. A trail of goosebumps ran across her arms.

Only two things in this life that are sure, of that I'm sure...

She pushed her weight onto the metal rack beside her, trying to ignore her shaking breaths.

"I-I'm sorry, we're closed," she managed to say as kindly as she could. Her tongue seemed to stumble across itself, her knowledge of Japanese seemingly fleeting from her mind. "You're welcome to come back at 9 am."

They ignored her.

Only two things in this life that are sure, of that I'm sure...

Without a word, the men pushed past her, deeper into the studio, to the back.

"Hey-!" y/n gasped out, following them. The further they went, the harder it was to see their faces.

"I don't know who y'all think y'all are but you need to get out!" It came out feeble and strained.

She wrung her fingers together, her chest thumping violently.

Her anxiety rose as they began to survey the different pieces, carelessly touching them like they meant nothing. One of them- the center- chuckled at a commissioned piece, lifting up the figure by a delicate arm and swinging it. The two pieces detached and the torso went clattering to the table.

"Stop it!" Y/n shouted, trying to ignore her shaking. She reached out and snatched up the man's wrist.

He stayed quiet, but the others laughed.

"This is what you been doing?" the man on the left snickered.

The man in the center tilted his head at her as the opposite gave her a scoff.

"I need you all to leave. Now. I'll c-call the authorities."

"No need to give us that language shit," the one on the far right said in English. "Speak right, aight?"

"Nah man-" the left man said. He was the tallest, bending mockingly at y/n- "I think it's cute when you don't know what that slut's saying."

Her stomach dropped at the familiar voice. Almond eyes, clean dreads... No.

She stumbled back, her breath become shortened and suffocating. It was that man. The one she'd slept with two years ago at that party.

What was he... then who...?

Her e/c eyes enlarged in terror, the realization of what was going on crashing down on her.

Surely my sins have found me out

No. No. No.

Y/n's mouth grew dry in realization, in familiarity to the wrist she held tightly. With wide eyes, she looked downwards to see what she prayed she wouldn't:

A pattern of expertly done tattoos on the back of the palm.

Only two things in this life that are sure, of that I'm sure

The same palm that had struck her oh so many times. The same hand that would cradle her moments later before asking for bodily favors.

Death and taxes...

Her blood ran cold as her gaze trailed past that firm body, past that bruised neck, up to a painfully bright smile she used to adore.

Death and taxes

"Hey, y/n," a pleased LeRoy murmured. His breath reeked of those same cigarettes from years ago.

"Did you miss me?"

--

<a/n: there's always time for more pain sorry kljsdjflfioe>