The one called Omocha

"Omocha," she rasped when Albert asked for her name.

It had been two weeks since he found her. And from that day he first visited her, he made it a daily habit to go to the hospital to see her. On visiting hours, of course. He was still not sure why he did it, but he just went along with it.

She had the neck brace removed that morning, though her vocal chords were still healing. She had been choked, too, after all.

He didn't want to imagine why she had been choked but still left alive.

He offered some soft fruit he had brought for her. She took it and ate it slowly. Her face wasn't swollen anymore, but the bruises were still there. Sometimes, he used a wheelchair to walk her around the hospital and get some fresh air.

It did seem boring to be locked up in a room with nothing to do. He helped relieve a bit of that boredom.

Thanks to his demon boss being overseas, nobody was working over-time. Their boss was the one that kept them working until 6pm when they were supposed to get out at 4pm. They were paid for those extra hours, but still...

"Omocha? That's not your real name, is it?" She shook her head.

"Satchiko…" She grimaced from the exertion. Albert wanted to tell her it was not necessary to speak so soon, but she insisted. "Been called Omocha since I was fourteen…"

"That means… doll in Japanese, right?" She nodded. He thought it was kind of strange, but he wouldn't judge her as she must have come from another kind of world. "Why are you called Omocha?" He was curious.

She looked around. When she spotted the only belonging she had on that torrential day: a purse, she took out some make up from it and spread it on the bed. Without any other words, she began to apply it, making a miracle by covering her bruises.

The process was a bit long and complicated, but he was still mesmerized by it.

Finally, she messed up her hair, and with some pins, she adjusted the hospital robe to look tighter and adjust to her body. She, then, stood up, balancing on one foot because of the cast in the other one, and made a pose.

Omocha…

That's what he thought when he saw her. She really looked like a doll. Really pretty. Only then he understood her nickname. He realized he had been staring too intently when she smirked. He felt a bit ashamed to be attracted by her after her transformation.

But, with those looks, who wouldn't feel like that?

She sat back down and kept looking at him, as if waiting for something. Maybe something more than his quaint reaction, perhaps a comment. She waited, yet nothing came out of his mouth.

"And? You not gonna say anything?" She asked after he remained silent for too long. "That was my best pose. All men fall for it," she pouted. Then, she started coughing. He reached for some water and passed the glass to her.

When she stopped coughing, and the mood from before had disappeared, he inquired: "What do you mean by 'all men fall for it'?" Perhaps his tone was too serious because she looked down a bit embarrassed. He regretted having asked that.

He was not interrogating her or anything. If she didn't feel the need to share what happened to her it was fine by him…

"Guess it wouldn't hurt to tell." She said, halting his thoughts. "I don't think I'll ever go back…" She sighed. She sipped more water to moisten her throat and continued.

"I used to work in a drinking house with 'extra service'. For so long, I was never touched by any man. I was thankful to the owner for that. I even thought I was her favorite."

She drank the last of the water. "He was waiting… Waiting for the right man with the right money to sell me off. And, a man finally appeared. I refused to go with him. That made the owner mad, and that's how I ended up in that playground."

He once again remained silent, just peeling the apple he had decided to give her. His hand mechanically did the job as his mind was blank. He had no idea how to feel after being told what happened to her.

Like, he had been curious, but now that he knew, what should he do with that information? Also, her being called Omocha since she was fourteen meant she had been working in a club since that young age, right?

Where were her parents?

"How old are you?" He suddenly asked. He hoped she wasn't still a minor.

"Twenty-one" She replied, then she widely smiled. "Don't tell me… you're flirting with me?" She asked, excited. The man who had been taking care of her was not so bad. His looks were mediocre, but his gentle disposition made her warm all over. "You told me you are twenty-five, so don't worry, we can date," she winked at him.

"No, that's not what I meant…" He flustered at her sudden mischievous side. "It's just that you have been in that drinking house for 8 years. Don't you have parents?" Her smile vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He once again regretted asking something that he should not have.

"My father was the one who left me there in order to pay for his debts. My mother, she abandoned us when I was still a baby," she shrugged.

"I'm sorry," he lowered his head.

She looked at his defeated appearance for a second.

She felt uncomfortable, angry, and something she couldn't explain. But, that's what made her grab his head, lift it, and stamp a kiss on his lips. He froze, and she took the opportunity to burrow in his chest, hugging him.

"Don't be sorry, never be sorry for me. I hate it when people pity me. At first, I thought you were an angel sent by the Heavens to help me out of the abyss I was in. But now, I see you are just a man. And, I like that better since we cannot love angels," she whispered.