Sweet Sick Teen 52

“You really should have done your research.”

“I didn’t know.”

“Not many people do. In fact, when I joined up, I made it a point to appear as masculine as possible so I’d be taken seriously. When our Leader - that is, my old Leader - found out, I thought for sure I’d be cast out. But he kept me on, and it became our little secret. Then things started getting serious between the two of us. After which, I became pregnant shortly after.”

The Girl had a sudden uncomfortable feeling which direction this story was going.

“I was then specially chosen to engage a suicide run on the very ONEs who’d been occupying us. I was in no position to refuse. It was deemed the best way to cover up our infidelity.”

“Your attack on the Ambassador - ”

“Conqueror.” the Martyr spat back. “My Leader gave his assurance that I and my unborn child would be happily waiting for him in the next world. When I came back still alive, I found our glorious Leader in the arms of another woman. I shouldn’t have been surprised.”

“Naturally, his first instinct was to discredit me, claiming that I’d been rejected for being impure, casually bringing up my pregnancy as a reason for my failure. Nevermind that he was responsible for that part. Funny thing about people - they respect women and babies more if they’re theoretically dead. As soon as I was around to represent the murdered and unborn, I became a magnet, drawing in people who’d been similarly affected. Particularly among people who’d been wronged by him. And he’d made quite his fair share of enemies along the way.”

The Girl rubbed her stomach area where the parasite kept moving involuntarily. “I can relate.”

“Your situation is not even remotely comparable to mine. I constantly carry the reminder of ferrying death with me. You carry the potential of life.”

“It’s not exactly something I’m enamoured with. Why tell me all this? For all you know, I could betray your trust very easily.”

“Three reasons. For one, you have no association. For two, you smell. And for three, you’re pregnant. Any of those by itself would be enough raise alarm, but all three at once put you above suspicion.”

That, and the Girl had a display of ignorance that was staggeringly incompetent, but the Living Martyr decided to keep that tidbit of information to herself. Also, most escorts in their line of work don’t keep working when they’re expecting.

Even still, the Girl felt insulted. “Well, maybe I’m not as harmless as you think! Maybe I orchestrated all these events just to get close to you at this very moment! You ever think of that?”

“If there was even the slightest threat emanating from you, you wouldn’t be here in the first place. Being underestimated shouldn’t be underestimated.”

The Girl looked confused. “But everybody thinks you’re a man.”

“People can’t make the correlation between my being pregnant and my sacrifice. And thanks to that, they keep sending plethora of Comfort Women my way. All in the hopes of trying to suss out my plans and catching me when my pants are down.”

The Girl could see the wisdom in these words. In the brief time she’d been with that gang of Comfort Women, she was ready to reveal the embarrassing details of her first experience to complete strangers. Their honest manner and frank talk of taboo subjects opened her up in a way no one else had. She’d been meaning to tell someone about her exploits, but in the absence of any relatable friends to share her experiences, had been unable to.

There was still something that didn’t make sense. “If the Comfort Women never see you, why do they keep trying?”

“They keep sending new ones because I never return them. I offer alternatives to those who seek a way out, desperate to make a living other than the only life they know. But those who try to gain my confidence with ulterior motives are harshly dealt with. I do not suffer betrayal lightly.”

The Girl didn’t have to imagine very hard. From what she could see, some like the Swollen Women had clearly been around the block more than once, having been shunted from one place to another on a regular basis.

“Wait, you find new roles for these poor women?”

“...if that makes you feel better, sure.” she responded, not really answering the question.

“Great!” the Girl replied, clearly missing the unspoken sinister overtones. “Any chance of finding one for me? I can be helpful!”

The Living Martyr’s voice took a sudden hostile tone. “Help? You are only here due to a happy coincidence, and you think to ask me for help? Don’t think that because you are privy to seeing me means we have passing familiarity. The point of the matter is, you came here expecting an easy way out. You have no courage of your convictions.”

“Okay, so I’m a coward, but cowards can still do outrageous things brave people are incapable of. I didn’t just come here to offer my body. I’ve got a drug that’ll help relieve your pain.”

The Martyr stepped closer, the blast radius threatening to tear the Girl apart. She impassively looked at the inconspicuous package. “You think I’m so weak that I need to be relieved of the torment that defines my every waking moment? My pain fuels me. It nourishes my soul. The anguish I suffer is a testament to - ”

A guard behind the Martyr leaned in close, and whispered in her ear, “No one’s listening.”

The Martyr snatched the package away from the Girl and whispered conspiracilly, “How does it work?”

“No idea,” the Girl said, quickly switching gears to the sudden shift in tone. “I was just told it’d make me feel real good.”

“And you decided to sell it to me?”

“What do I know about drugs? Besides, I figured if anybody would be willing to pay top price for something that’d relieve them of their pain, it’d be you.”

“What are you offering for this wonder drug?”

“Nothing less than the price of the cost of my freedom - a sandwich.”

The Martyr stared uncomprehendingly at the Girl. “A sandwich.” she repeated bluntly.

“I could’ve bought my freedom out long ago, but getting the funds to pay back my loan is taking me longer than I thought!”

“A sandwich.”, she repeated, chuckling lightly. The Living Martyr emitted a coughing fit that was cut short. “Please don’t. It hurts to laugh.” The reason for this was obvious - all her normal laughing muscles were centered around her stomach, which was currently in a state of constant disrepair.  She inspected the package. “And there’s more where this came from?”

“The Patron said he had lots.”

The Living Martyr regarded the Girl. “Something might be arranged at your place of employment.”

As the Girl dazedly walked away from the establishment, she realized all too late that she got caught up in the heat of the moment. She had just spoken to an incredibly powerful and influential person who could’ve punished her on the merest of whims. She regretted the fact that she sold out so cheaply - she could’ve held out for two sandwiches!