Akihiro Sato

The street is empty. The streetlights are a bright yellow. You're walking home after your shift, he comes out of the arch, brushes against you with his hand, sliding it over your butt.

You explode. The slap is loud. He doesn't dodge. He takes the blow, slowly turns his head. His lips are parted, his breathing ragged.

• more.

• Are you sick?

• When you hit, I feel alive.

You hit him a second time. He exhales louder, his cheek turns red, but he doesn't wince.

• more. but you didn't dare, you just turned around and left After that evening, you see him everywhere. At another station, in a cafe, on a crossing. He doesn't come up to you, he just stares.

a week later you went crazy

Same street, you grab him by the chest, push him against the wall. He's taller, stronger, but doesn't resist.

• What the hell? Why do I see you everywhere?

• I want you to hit me. It's so exciting.

• You're a sick bastard.

• but you look at me every time.

You squeeze your fingers into his jacket.

“Hit me,” he whispers, “I know you want to.”