OUTCAST ── .✦ satosugu

08 ROTTEN MOVIE STAR

WARNING, BEFORE YOU READ:
This chapter isn't mandatory to read. You can skip it if you find it triggering.
Also, I am NOT glorifying what's happening in this chapter. I am doing the exact opposite!!!

(France, June 2011):
It was a lazy Friday afternoon. Satoru was working while Megumi was playing with the movie props. Usually Tsumiki stuck around too when she and her brother were invited to the movie set, but today she was at cheer practice with Suguru.

"Crap", said Satoru. "I need to go to my interview at 6. Megumi, you're independent, can you wait here? I'll be back in 20 minutes or so. The cast will be here with you, is that alright?"

"Yeah, sure. When is Tsumiki coming?"

"If you want, I'll go pick her and Suguru up on my way back."

"Okay."

Satoru left. Megumi sat on a sofa among boxes and racks full of costumes.

"Hey, Megumi." Said a man of the cast. "Can you help us with something?

"What is it?"

"We want to make a movie, but we need a kid. Wanna become a superstar?"

"Hmmmmm... Sure!"

"Great! Come with us!"

A group of men from the cast led Megumi to a big bedroom from the movie set. It was prepped with tripod cameras and fresnel fixtures.

"Where's my scenario?" -Asked Megumi.

"You don't need one! Just...interpret!"

"Oh, okay..."

"Lock the door. Alright - lights, camera, action!" -Yelled one of the men.

Another man pinned Megumi to the bed. What was happening? What was his "superstar" role? The camera flashes blinded him as he felt two rigid hands crawling under his shirt. What did he have to interpret? What was going on? The man's hands felt like a void creeping up his body. His pure, innocent body, infected and stained down to the very depths of layers of his skin and flesh. He was still blinded and lost in fear - his head ponded in pieces as he caught a slight glimpse of the man upon him - he looked like the devil. He didn't know what the devil looked like, but he would definitely look like this man, a man dirty of his massacres, whose body was engraved into his fragile body, forever. The dirt will never leave.

MEGUMI'S POV: (ohh, I'm crying)

Why are your hands on me? On my skin? My body? My soul? It's eating me up. So many questions buzz around my heavy mind. It's as if your fingerprints are still stained on my brain, like I remember them as steps in a dirty, dirty dance. You stole something that was mine. I'm left with a pit of self worth missing. My dignity, gone. I feel your heavy breathing heating my neck, but I am cold and numb. I cry for help but my voice submerges into your fingers, keeping me silent. In my head, I cry.

After God knows how much time, the touch lessens until it disappears. But the stains are still there, like a print on my cloth - like I am just a shirt that he can wear and toss away and stain me with his sweat and smell. Even though his weight isn't against me anymore, I lay still on the bed, like I'm enchained, even though I am free; I'd rather die that feel how my body will move after what you did to me.

"It's a shame your sister wasn't here too. But you're good enough, I guess. You'll make us some good money."

"Is that what I am? A money making machine? You insert yourself into me and I give out money? And after all you've sacrificed me, I am utterly 'good enough'?  And you could've done that to my sister too?"