"Well, you got where your going, Girlin'", the American said with a southern twang.

Amaya walked up the stairs of the ship with one hand on the railing. She was so long in the dark that even the City light strained her eyes.

So, this is Ireland, she thought as she stood beside the American's tall bulk, looks small to hide a person in.

"A long way for a little lady to travel for such a small city", he placed his palm upon her shoulder, "But you come with me, and you can be earnin' a lot of money for a little' bit a' work."

"I'm good,but thank you for your offer".

She walked away from the smell of his sweat and towards the star shimmerin' water. The air hung humid and heavy across her sweaty skin. It crawled along her drying throat, laboured in her weaken breath, and drew her reek up her nostrils. The stink of sweat, vomit, shit, and blood coating her body was all the more repugnant in this fresh air.

The cold lap of the water lured her with its call. The fall was but a moment before she smacked into the water. It stank of diesel 'n dust, but it cleansed her from head to heel. The salt grained away all the sweat on her body, the ache of her muscles and the memories in her mind. For a moment she revelled as the cold kiss of the water rushed along her body.

But the job she had could not wait. Releasing the feeling of the cleaning water with a sigh, she swam towards the wall leading up to the car park before the apartments. Her arms ached, her lungs heaved, and every joint in her body burned as she used weakened muscles. But she pushed away the pain, and strove towards the wall.

Gasping in lungful's of air; she gripped the stones of the wall and let her body float. The months being travelled from Japan, crowded cheek to cheek with all sorts of women, had left her tired and weak. The first night had been a time of fear, and minor disputes. As the journey started, as the food ran out quicker than they thought, they came to blows. The first was a fight for a space in the corners and left a woman bleeding. The second was a fight for a nudge in the back and one of the women was shanked in the side. The third fight was for nothing but dominance. A woman had stepped up to Amaya and demanded her food. When she had said no and walked away, the woman had dived upon her back and tried to sink her teeth into her neck. To be true, she was expecting it, and as the woman's weight fell on her shoulder, Amaya turned with it and slammed her to the floor. She gripped her attacker's neck with her hands and choked her until her face turned pale and afraid.

I couldn't kill her or her corpse would've stunk up the place. Coughing, and tasting sewer in the back of her throat, she flexed her fingers and prepared to climb.

Pushing up with her legs, and gripping with her hands, she clawed her way slowly into this City. Every movement creaked across her shoulders and knees. By the time she had reached the pavement, she had to pull herself up with shaking arms and slowly roll over the side.

The shaking in her limbs just would not stop, and so she lied there and waited for it to stop. E This is a strange city, she thought as she looked at the wide open spaces, the odd looking buildings, and the can of beers and bags and cigarettes surrounding her. Before that trip, she would have shuddered at the dirt atop the pavement, but now it seemed natural to her. But she couldn't stop her nose wrinkling at the smell of sewerage. For such a small city, it certainly has a large stink.

Before her trip, Amaya had been tall, and limber, with a narrow waist, defined hips and bust. Her dark eyes had looked below long lashes in her oval face, and her black hair had flowed down to her shoulders. Now, her face stood stark and grey, her arms were reduced to bone, and, while she still had hips, they were pushed out against her skin. She came to fight, she came to kill, but she wasn't sure she was up to either.

But my love is waiting for me. The stars glimmered so invitingly, and even the dirty pavement was softer than the road she had to follow. But it was not so soft to her pushing palms that trembled like a new-born doe, as she levered to her feet. Her legs trembled, her stomach groaned, but she stood all but straight.

Through this lamp lit street, with the house-lights lookin' down below the stars, a voice gusted from around the corner, "And he said to me, sure everybody does it up the bum".

A group of young men and women preceded that pronouncement. The lamplight lit their laughing face and froze them in its contortion. Their pants and shirts were ironed, their hair styled, and their skin immaculate.

Amaya watched them pass, and when they were a few steps past she heard one of them mutter, "Tinker".

Another spoke up, "Ah, sure we're all going knacker drinking."

"Heh, guess what knacker ridin' is?"

The third finished it with a voice as harsh as winter wind, "In the bushes."

Oh, how they laughed as they continued on and joined the crowed. Amaya stood too tired to care, and too weak to do anything about it, but a flicker of unease started in her belly.

The bag upon her back clinked with a heavy clack as she stepped across the concrete. Spying a man with a raggy coat, a bent back, and a heavy beard, she walked up to him. Foreign sweat curled her nose, and his own face mirrored her reaction as she asked, "You know any place I can find a job?"

Those blue eyes, rimmed in red looked her up and down. He shook his head and turned away, "I got nothin' for you."

A voice thick and strong and filled with the flavour of chilled wine came from behid her, "I reckon I've got something you're lookin' for?"

The homeless man looked behind with narrowed eyes before turning his back on the scene to walk into the shadows. Amaya turned at the voice, but felt a cold firm hand fall atop her shoulder. She tried not to shiver as he patted her shoulder and stepped in front of her.

A white dress shirt contrasted with black suit pants and led down long legs to firm and soft leather shoes. His eyes sparkled blue and grey, and with sick sort of gaiety as they looked upon her own. Black hair came down his forehead in a triangle, and hung in straight lines before his ears. His lips were so red, his skin so white, and his malevence so pungent, that it repulsed her to her very marrow.

"Just off the boat", his grin showed a slip of teeth, "You lookin' for work?"

"You got any?"

"Aye, I reckon I do. You a cop?"

"No. Do I look like one?"

"No, but you look like some chink of a boat. I might have a bit o' work."

Amaya hid the frown that started along her lips. He thinks I'm a chink? "Yeah, I'd be into some quick dough."

"Hopefully not too quick", he said underneath his breath, "Well, I'll be askin' the boss. Now, you stay here and don't say a word to no one."

Amaya blinked, "Here."

"Yes, right fuckin' there until fuckin' morning comes.", he turned and his shadow stretched far behind him, "Sure see the sights of the City."

He faded into the darkness of this small city, with its wide open spaces, and crossed lattice lights.

The wall pressed against her as she heard shouts and screams somewhere in this city. Shadows crisscrossed into lamp circles and latticed their centre, the opposite shops hunched towards her, the speckled sky stretched unending, and deep wells of darkness lurked beyond the light.

She swallowed, and looked at the ground where she would lay for the night. It was dry, at least, but the dirt of yesterday lay upon its surface. Amaya slid to the floor and tilted her head to see a wide open sky filled with stars.

Her clothes stuck and rasped against her flesh as they dried in this humid heat. The salt grained and rubbed, the heat pulsed atop her, and her throat dried with every bit of sweat she lost. The dizzy-sick feeling in her throat grew as the night when on. Though, she sought sleep, the air was too thick, her throat and stomach too tight, the shouts too loud, and the smell of sewerage too humid.

The little light made her paleness more pronounces, her cheeks were dry slashes of crimson in the wan light, and her head whirled with the harsh sounds of this tiny city. The sewerage faded to the smell of perfume and the feel of a woman's soft breast beneath her cheek. Familiar finger stroked her hair to draw her closer to that body that she knew so well.

Through the sick feeling of her current hell, she heard a harsh voice say, "Would you look at the sh-tate of her."

Another voice laughed and said, "Let's put this silly cow on Facebook"

This heat choked, but the woman's warmth made her want to draw it all the closer. Their breathing was but one rhythm, their hearts a twin pulse within their breast, and their aching lips tingled for each other's kiss. Amaya brushed the woman's nipple to kiss those soft fingertips. The rasps of her oddly callused fingers were points of pleasure, her palm an engulfing warmth, and her wrist a flood of perfumed flesh. She kissed, nipped and tongued that smooth forearm and revelled in the soft sighs that whispered on her neck.

That is, until, the scar tissue caught at the corner of her mouth. She opened her eyes to see needle track marks all along her Lady's arm. As she watched, the bruises spider webbed as they tore through that skin. Amaya's eyes rose towards her lover's neck, her dusky skin, her coffee lips, and almond eyes, and felt wetness soak against her lower body…

…As she woke up in another person's piss. For fuck sake. She stumbled to her feet and felt her head spin with vertigo. A group of cleaners passed her and threw her a contemptuous eye, and the rarity of an early rising college student laughed and shook their heads.

Not ever, not even in the long voyage from the east to the religious west, had she worn another person's piss. It's just nasty. A scowl twisted across her lips. But she'd rather down than go this meeting smelling like piss.

She ended up at the bus station. Men with broad shoulders and big bellies opened up the doors. She walked past one that rubbed his eyes and sipped from a coffee cup to hide his wince. Triangular flags adorned the ceiling of the ante-chamber. Two ticket machines stood atop the tiled floor and faced the stand of coffee. She passed a glass door and the woman at the help desk threw her a look as though daring her to come for help. Amaya wrinkled her nose as the piss preceded her through the green doors. The early guard cast her eye, but let her by, to walk into a long tunnel. It led to light at a half-circle exit and beyond loomed that clear-blue sky. Bird-shit speckled netting covered the ceiling.

She cast her eye from end to end and found the signs for toilets. She walked into a dirty yellow tiled room and picked the door with a picture of a lady in a dress. The floors gleamed yellow, muck curled in the creases, water leaked from God knows where, and she saw the mirror cracked as if at a blow. How is this small City so dirty? She walked into the cubicle and closed the steel door with a hollow bang.

Writing marred the walls of this steel cage. Obscenities screamed in lurid white from her right, and a black marker had been used to scrawl I fucked my niece. A shudder rippled along her body and her mouth twisted. She couldn't stay here, not with that on the walls, and she showed the door open to lean trembling atop the sink.

She needed to breathe, she needed to think, and she needed to smell something that was not piss. She needed to see something that was not vile, and feel something that was not close. She needed…her love. And for that, she needed calm. She needed to travel through this city of muck and find the innocent at its centre.

With that, she closed her eyes for as long as it took, and drew in as much air as she could manage. When she was done, her heart had stopped trembling. Her face was serene as she left that place.

She got pity off a bus driver and he gave her some clothes from the lost and found. And so she went back to the street clad in a dirty tracksuit.

She found the man in the street where she used to be. The bright sun had drawn sweat patches on his cheap shirt, had reddened his face, and frizzed his hair. He squinted at her and put his weight on one leg and then the other as sweat trickled down his face. "I told you not to move."

"Would you stay with piss soaking into your pants?"

"No, but I fuckin' told you to stay. Come on", he grabbed her arm, "You'll get the meetin' you want."

She winced audibly, but it was only until he had frogmarched her to the restaurant that he loosened his grip. He opened the red door into a shadowed room and pointed, "Get the fuck in."

She kept her face cool, but as she stepped into this room unease trickled along her spine. And it only increased as the lock snapped shut. The air crackled like cotton across her fingers as she stepped forward.

Tables bedecked in white lay in orderly rows, the walls had pictures spaced two metres apart, the ceiling fan curled a bit of hot air around the sluggish room, and the smells of sausages and fried eggs seemed an invasion in this vacuum of sound. In the exact centre sat a woman with silver hair down to her shoulders, a pale round face, onyx black eyes, and lips the colour of dried blood. Those lips smiled, her slim hand beckoned, but those eyes remained opaque.

Amaya only noticed the man at her shoulder as she was about to take out her seat. He stood with his head down and his darting to Amaya. A black ratty hoody, and faded grey tracksuit bottoms contrasted with the supple, and gleaming, surface of his more than sufficient running shoes.

She sat and the cold wood pressed into her back and pushed her too much across the table. She sought to shift her weight back, but the chair remained immovable, and when the Lady caught her eyes, she couldn't escape its gaze.

"I hear you're looking for work", she said and sipped her tea, her Japanese flavoured words flowing like caramel.

"Yeah, I've got no job-"

"And I also hear you're looking for one of my employees. Amy, is it?"

"Yes Mam, sir", said the man beside and shifted the weight on his feet and his eyes away from Amaya.

"-, but I'm willing…Wait, what?"

"Your Father's a subtle man. But even he could not arrange for his daughter to follow her girlfriend, without us noticing. So," she said and when she sipped her tea, Amaya saw the curl of black tattoos along her forearm and the fingertips missing on both her pinkie fingers.

"I don't know-"

"Don't lie to me."

She licked her dry lips, "I came for my girlfriend…and I'm not leaving without her"

The woman exposed her neck as she lifted her head and laughed, "I like you. You have to admire a woman who speaks her mind. But what right do you have to this woman?"

"More right than you.

"Really? She owed us a debt for drugs, and that would give us ownership over her, body and soul."

"You don't have any right-"

"And you have no respect. One more word…and you will lose your tongue. On your rights over your woman's body, does a lover have a right? Have you ever expressly asked for her consent? We have gained her consent at every proposition."

Amaya opened her mouth, but closed it at the threat of losing her tongue. But the woman smiled and said, "You may speak."

"You have no right to her consent. She is an addict, and she's hooked on your product. She is not in her right mind to give consent."

"Yes, she is an addict. She does not love me, you, or any ideology. Her only love is the thrum of a needle through her flesh. She will lie, cheat, steal and kill for that. So, yes, she's hooked on our wares, but we did not force them on her. And we have never forced the clients onto her. She has as much choice as you, and I, and every living breathing person on this planet. So, you speak about right and obligation? My debt is long gone and you do not have right as her lover. So, shouldn't she be owned by her own autonomy?"

Amaya's face paled around her twistin' mouth. She just couldn't hold it in anymore and her words exploded out of her like vomit, "You are raping her. You're not holding her down, but you are forcing this on her as much as if you had. How can you, a woman, live with yourself?"

The crinkles at the corner of her eyes tunnelled as she smiled, "With the utmost comfort and sophistication", she turned to the man beside her, "Bring her outside, kill her and cut out her tongue. Before or after, and the amount of pain you put her through is entirely up to you."

His eyes widened as he looked from Amaya to the woman. His mouth opened and closed, "Mam…"

"Do it now", she said. His face turned queasy, but the warning in her voice settled the matter.

"Look…come on and get up", he gripped her upper arm, and though she struggle, his grip was too strong. As she passed the woman, sipping from that china cup of fragrant tea, she heard an equally flavoured voice say, "Perhaps you'll see your lover in heaven?"

The fire exit opened with a click and the cold wind snapped at her eyes. She had to think, she had to act, but she had no idea what to do. His sweaty hand was callused and firm with muscle….but he kept such a distance from her. Why? He had little to fear. And why did he avoid her eye? Why the hesitation when the lady asked him to kill her? Why, why, why and more whys.

He threw her to the ground and her knees burned, but she forced herself to turn.

The gun in his hand stood steady. His eyes stared at her hairline. "Please…", she said and his long lashed blue eyes met her own, and she saw them filled with an adolescents naivety. If she could just make him pause, as every second he didn't shoot, it would be harder for him to shoot.

"Look…I can't, she'll fuckin' kill me if I don't kill you."

"Can't you bring a message to my love?"

"…Go on."

"Please tell her that I love her, and I will always love her, no matter what she was forced to do. And tell her that the only time I felt whole was when we held each other's naked body together in candlelight."

His face went red at the mention of her sexuality and he rubbed the back of his neck. He glanced away from her tear filled eyes, "Right…look, I'm sorry for you and your…girlfriend, but I'll make it quick."

"Will you make it quick for her?"

"What are you on about?"

"Will you kill her too. Better that than being raped for the rest of her life."

"Look, she gives her consent-"

"While addicted to your drugs. It would only be worse if she was high at the time…", his eyes skittered away from hers, "Good god, you're practically doing it yourself."

"I'm no-"

"Do you have a mother, daughter or a sister?"

"Wait, what? Yeah, of course."

"Do you love them?"

"I love me old mam, and me young sis'."

"And what would you do to a man who is doing what you are doing to my love?"

The gun wavered from her and his face turned ashen, "I'd fuckin' tear him to bits." The gun slowly fell down to his waist. "I'll say whatever I have to say, but just get the fuck out of here."

"My legs are too weak…can you please help me up?"

"For fuck sake", he said and bent down to help her up. She felt the hardness of a knife in his pocket, and she twisted his wrist and sent an elbow to his nose. The gun fell to the floor, her fingers grasped the knife, and as he fell it settled into her palm. She continued the turn and stabbed downwards with the blade, but her arms were weakened and he had enough time to roll out of the way.

He stood with a red face and laboured breath. "You fuckin'-"

He didn't finish as he came at her swinging. The air around her throbbed with his punches, but not one landed on her flesh. She was slowed down, but not that slow. But her eyes were not so quick to follow the angle of his movements. When she saw the gun at his feet, her eyes widened as he bent to pick it up. She had no choice but to fling all her fragile weight at him and drove him to the floor.

She fell atop the cold steel of his gun and her knife slash landed at his neck. Her eyes met his and he hesitated. Amaya didn't, and the blade clawed a ruby ruin in his throat. She tensed to move, but the gun fell away as he lowered his arm.

Blood bubbled from his mouth and his young eyes looked into her own, "Guess I'll never make a gangster."

"Then you shouldn't have tried", she stood up and kicked the gun away from his hand. The blood gushed from his throat, her eyes watched the door, and that great big sky spread above them both. When he had died, she picked up the gun and felt its weight in her hand. One down.

The young man's blood ran with the rain, and tinted the whole courtyard a ruddy red as it trickled into the gutters. She stood and let this rain kiss away the heat of her skin and the other man's blood. But it would not come off. So, she had to go with another man's gun and the only armour his blood.

The door eased open without a sound. The room stood empty, the plates cleared, and the space a vacuum where one voice floated through. She recognised it as the man in the dress suit, and it drew her like a fly to honey, with her knife so ready.

"If he's got a fever, put him to fuckin' bed", she stepped into the kitchen and saw him washing dishes at a stainless kitchen sink. Everything was steel, to the walls, to the long table in the centre, to the fridge, and even the gas pipe that snaked along the wall.

"Nah, he can't go to school like that. The only thing is to wait for him to get better", he paused to listen to the phone on his shoulder as Sandra came closer, and the knife gleamed brighter, while the gun went darker, "Grand, I'll see you at home. And, you know, I love ya too. Right so. Bye…Bye. Bye. Bye"

The phone went beep and a small smile curled his mouth as he shook his head. "Women…" he stopped as the cold feeling of the gun pressed against the back of his head. She didn't give him a chance as every second gave him, and her, another option. The trigger pulled too easy and his brains fell into the sink before his face hit the surface. The phone shattered on the ground, and for a moment all it's the individual pieces shone in the light.

She turned at the sound of a toilet flushing, and the woman entered through a side door. The woman's old skin rasped as she dried her hands with toilet paper, "Didn't I tell you to get towels?"

When no reply was forthcoming, she looked up and blinked at Amaya, then looked at the sink overflowing with red water, "I thought he dropped a pan…"

She raised the gun and trained it on her five-nothin' figure. Those black eyes glittered, and those white teeth shone, as Amaya asked where her girlfriend was. The woman did not answer, but stood with that rictus smile, as the pull of the trigger was loud in that silence. But the click of an empty cartridge was all the louder.

The woman smiled and said with a voice as soft as a lover, "I always told him to check his bullets."

Amaya stepped back and her eyes widened. But the woman had already picked up a gleaming knife from beside the counter and came at her. She dodged the first, felt the second swipe away the sweat above her brow, and the third slashed fire all along her stomach. She stumbled back and pressed a palm to her side. The woman watched her eyes dart around the room, "You still don't give up, do you? Still searching for a way to save your woman, still searching for a way to save yourself… but you'll never find it. Even if you could kill me, the enemy you seek to defeat is burned into your woman's marrow. But, I'll give you this, you are some woman…"

She came at her and Amaya summoned the last of her strength to dodge. She passed the woman and felt the swiftly turning blade strike her shoulder with a hiss of skin. But Amaya passed the pipe and her own blade snipped a hole in it. Turning and smacking her hip into the table, Amaya picked up the lighter and held it as the woman paused in the gust of gas and said, "You wouldn't…"

Every second counts. The flame lit with a snap and, though the woman moved fast, the twirling flame caught the gust and set her alight from head to heel. The screaming flinched Amaya's head back, and her mouth twisted in disgust as the smell filled the air. She turned and the bile rose in her throat, and the water in her eyes.

The door opened onto stairs that already shimmered with smoke. She coughed and spluttered, and kept her weight atop the banister. At the top of the stairs, she passed empty rooms with dishevelled sheets. She came to a gleaming wooden door that opened at her touch.

The sheets were immaculate, the paint fresh, the drawers organised, and everything from the row of books on the wall to the needles on the dresser were clean and fresh. Her girlfriend sat in front of a mirror that shone with its own light, and combed that coffee hair with long, luxurious strokes. "Give me a minute, Anna, I want to finish getting ready and shoot…"

Her voice trailed away as she looked at Amaya, "…Oh, hi."

"Roma we need to go before the whole place falls down."

Roma's face puckered in confusion, but as the reek of smoke filled the room, understanding flowed across her face, "Amaya…what have you done?"

"I did what I had to do."

"But, I was happy? I had a clean place to stay, money, drugs and protection. I didn't need you."

"You were getting raped."

"I consented"

"While addicted to drugs."

"Did you save me for me, or for you? You tore down my home without asking my permission. You raped me Amaya, you."

Amaya took two steps back and her eyes widened. Her blood covered hands raised to her mouth, but fell down, and, seeing this, Roma's eyes softened. They stood there for a moment and sought to control their feelings. As smoke gusted under the door, sirens sounded in the distance, and the crackle of flame crept through the house.

"Amaya, I'm sorry", Roma stood up and raised her arms, "But you have ruined my life. I do love you, but…"

"I can give you a better one. Without drugs, without you debasing yourself, just come with me and I'll protect you."

"From myself? I have my drugs under my control. You either take me as I am, or you leave me be."

"Roma…"

"Decide now", she raised her finger and Amaya winced at the expression on her face, "Pick me, and all my parts, or don't, and lose every bit of me."

"Roma… the drugs"

"Choose"

Amaya stood silent and fretted her lip. Her eyes filled with tears and she shook her head at Roma, "I love you too much…I can't live without you. Please, just don't let me see it."

Roma's gleaming white teeth shone in that smile, as it lit her eyes, plumped her lips and drew an inadvertent smile on Amaya's face, "I love you too. Come here, girl, and give me hug."

She moved towards Roma's welcoming arms and pillowed her cheek atop that breast. Roma stroked her hair and kissed her head, but as Amaya listened to Roma's heart-beat, she couldn't get the image of another man's fingertips all across her lover's body.

"Don't cry, honey", Roma tilted up her face and gently wiped away her tears, "We have our happy ever after."