Battle Royale Fan Fiction ❯ Stupid Girl ❯ Stupid Girl ( Chapter 1 )

Disclaimer: I don’t own any characters recognizable from Battle Royale. All characters are owned by Koushun Takami, et al. I also do not own the song “Stupid Girl”. It is owned by Garbage, their record label, et al. I don't own the song “She's So Heavy”, either. That belongs to The Beatles. I make no money off these words. No copyright infringement intended.
Author’s Notes: This was actually inspired by the scene(s) of Mitsuko from the Battle Royale Vol. 1 manga, but the movie had some influence here as well. And of course, “Stupid Girl” by Garbage inspired me, as well, for this. I also have the 15minuteficlets community on Livejournal to thank as well, since this started out as a small drabble for word #109. The dialogue in the beginning of this is taken straight from the manga. Liberties have been taken, especially with my description of the scene from the manga, but not too many. Breathe easy.
Dedication: To Steph, who doesn't know anything about Battle Royale, but was open to the story and gave me her honest opinions on it.

  ———

Stupid Girl
Stupid Girl
Can’t believe you fake it
Can’t believe you fake it
Stupid Girl, Garbage

———

He accused her of being a child, a sniveling little brat who didn't really know the world. Now, she had him on his knees, begging. One peek of what she had to offer beneath her school uniform, and he was reduced to a quivering, crying baby. Who's the kid, now? she asked him silently, inching the hem of her skirt higher and higher along her legs. She hadn't been a kid for quite some time, if she'd ever been a kid at all.

“There you see? It's all a matter of perspective, isn't it?” Mitsuko said, pulling her skirt up to reveal more of her red silk panties, a gift she'd bought herself with money from one of the other men she entertained. She'd never owned anything silk before, and the first time she slipped on the panties, she thought that was what pleasure really felt like. “You like?”

He nodded at her eagerly in response. She could see his fingers just itching to reach out to touch her, and she took a step backwards, teasing him. Come to me, she said to herself, as he moved forward on his hands and knees. Make him beg. That was a long-standing philosophy she used when it came to all men.

“Do I look like a kid to you? A kid?” she said, letting her voice flair a little for dramatics.

A pretty pout graced her face for just a moment before she was smiling at him again. He shook his head “no,” but he wasn't looking at her face. His head moved back and forth to the sway of her hips, his eyes following the red of her panties, hypnotized, like a bull in the bullring. And she was the matador of all his desires, stringing him along until she finally went in for the kill.

“How much do you like, little man? Mmm?” she asked.

Now was the time to find out if he was willing to pay to play. She didn't fuck for free. She no longer slept with men to feel like someone really loved her for just that moment. Those days were long gone. If he wasn't willing to pay, she'd drop her skirt and walk away from him like they'd never met. There'd always be other men. If he was willing, well, something could be arranged between them.

“Name your price! I... I...” he stuttered, unable to finish his sentence.

He was willing. Good. She'd always like dealing with older men. It'd always been her experience that they usually understood that they couldn't just take and not expect to give something back. She had something they wanted. They had something she wanted. And they understood that all parties could leave happy with an even trade. Boys her age didn't understand that. They liked to take and take and never give anything back. You'd be fortunate if they spit on you and called you a whore before leaving.

“A peek... just a peek of pink... Tell me!” He was babbling now, and she was pleased.

Even a “peek of pink” was going to cost him and cost him dearly. And he was so anxious like a kid in a candy store whose eyes were bigger than his stomach. She could only imagine what he'd give her, just for a little peek of what she had to offer under the panties. And if she let him touch, he just might die a happy man... as long as he paid before he keeled over.

“Tell me and it's yours. Anything! Please!” he pleaded. And for the first time, her smile faltered in earnest.

His voice was little more than a whine, reminding her of someone else, someone she wanted to forget. In her head, she can hear a song from her past, sang by a group of English men from eons ago. “I want you. I want you so bad, and it's driving me mad, and it's driving me mad...” Those words had bounced through her head, as the springs in the mattress screamed mercilessly, and she'd looked at the ceiling, humming the song to herself, praying for it to end. “I want you. I want you so bad...”

Her heart beat hard against the memory. She breathed deeply one time, two times, and finally, she was able to regain her sense of self. She turned her attention back to the man on the ground. This was here and now. She had no time for forgotten memories; she had to keep putting on the play. Her impish grin crawled back across her face slowly. “So. We understand each other, eh, little man?” she said before beckoning him to come off his knees.

Her body was a tool, an instrument, that she used to her advantage. Sometimes you had to use what you had to get what you wanted. Nothing—no one—comes for free. And sometimes, you always had a part to play, no matter how much it disgusted you. She learned that a long time ago.

Take virginity for instance. Most men didn't care about something so trivial as virginity, as long as they had a warm, young body beneath them, but some men fed on the thrill of being the first to taint a girl, of being the first to make a girl a “real woman.” If that's what they wanted from her, if that's what they needed from her, she was more than willing to pretend to be as untouched as Noriko.

She could flit around inher school uniform pretending to be so pure, if that's what they wanted, the wanting virgin who couldn't wait to feel the throb of a man between her thighs. The virgin-whore complex. They wanted her to be pure, but at the same time they wanted a whore in the bed, a girl who would do all the things their wives, lovers, and girlfriends wouldn't do.

She'd lost her virginity five times on three different occasions. Twice with the same man, who took to the bottle so much that when she whispered into his ear the second time that she wanted him to be the first he'd been too drunk to know the difference. Afterwards, he petted her on the head like a puppy while she tried to forget the taste of his stale breath. Good girl. And she smiled prettily and held out her hand waiting for her reward.

Things would be no different with this man. They never were. This was one thing she could depend on to be predictable unlike so many other things in her life. She knew she would go wherever he wanted to take her – his home, a seedy motel, the back of his car. She would let him sweat all over her and listen to him grunt like an animal while he groped her. “You like that?” he would ask her, and she would give a pretty convincing moan and say “yes,” but she wouldn't feel a thing. She'd sing to herself inside her head and wonder if she'll do her homework or even go to school at all.

When it was all over, she would dress herself quickly and hope that he didn't say something stupid like, “That was nice,” as if they'd just gone on a date or did something sweet and fun. Then, she'd take his money and his promises that “they would have to do that again sometime,” and she'd go home where she would sit in her room for hours staring at nothing, not even noticing the time slipping away from her.

Sometimes she cried during those times. Hot, fat tears would stream down her face, and she wouldn't even notice until she touched her fingers to her face and realized it was wet. Other times, she would rock and shake from a coldness only she could feel, while she pulled at her hair, roughly, chanting, “Stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Then, she'd promise herself that was the last time until someone new came along with more promises and she found herself playing the game all over again.

Make him beg.

It was what she did best.