My Yuri Harem 24 Anicrow

He was known as 'Angel of the sad'. A well-deserved t.i.tle, due to his habit of travelling and helping people out. After a successful venture as a doctor, Cardiologist to be exact, he indulged into something that could be referred as a doctor's nightmare.

After successfully operating on a child, he found out that the heart was not the right match. Somehow, the child's parents pulled strings and acquired a heart which didn't suit the child's body. That resulted in child's death couple of days later.

My father was enveloped with guilt. He had quite a fortune, which he ended up giving to the child's parents for their grief. My father was penniless, and thought it was good enough for him to start from a scratch. But it wasn't.

He thought a life couldn't be compensated through monetary means. At this time, The United Nations heeded to his thought and approached him for a new initiative they were launching.

"Vishnu Next Door" was launched six years prior to my birth. It was focused on any kind of unfair treatment of men, women or children of the world. It was much more focused on Asia, where the problems of discrimination and hatred was well doc.u.mented.

The project was an instant success, gaining allies in countries like Canada, U.S.A, China and Australia amongst others. Any country which needed a much-required change in their social structure was targeted. Not everyone welcomed the change, but results were pulled from every corner of the world, no matter how small.

Over the time, the project grew bigger, setting up centres in 181 countries across the globe. My father, after solving numerous issues in Iran, Saudi Arabia, Pakistan, Egypt, India and Thailand, was appointed as in charge in j.a.pan.

He lent hands to every individual that required that extra push.

Domestic violence victims, sick individuals, people living under minimum standard of life. 'VND' program helped them all.

Such one victim came through the door two years before my birth. She was accompanied with two cops on either side, both of them holding either of her arms. She didn't have any strength in her legs. The only thing holding her up was the cops. Her shirt and pajamas were drowned into her own vomit.

She had overdosed.

She was Naomi Honda, my mother.

Fair skin, black hair, red eyes, hanging tongue, unconscious.

I don't recall how my father saved her. or even if it was, he who saved her, but she gained consciousness three days later. The first thing she saw was my father. And the first thing she did was scratch her arms until they were red.

My father took it upon himself to beat her addiction out of her. She was under constant eye of my father. As my father described to me, it was a lot of unrest in his house for first five months.

She was tied to bed on numerous occasions. My father would feed her, and she would hurl everything out. Her lungs were burnt, and her stomach pained at every instance of food intake.

There were numerous temper tantrums that annoyed my father. But he never put hands on his future bride.

After a lot of patience and time, my father let go of his reservations one by one. As her body calmed down as the time pa.s.sed, the restrictions were also reduced. On the four month mark, Naomi walked out of the door, completely rehabilitated.

And if you are curious what her first action was after breathing fresh air in the open, it was relapsing on the same day.

My father was in his office when Naomi stumbled in. my father knew what was going on, but he hoped it wasn't the case. Unfortunately, his fears came true, as Naomi took one step in his direction, stepped on her shoelace, tripped, and hit the back of her head on the edge of the gla.s.s table. She opened her head and painted the side bright red, falling unconscious once again.

She woke up the next morning, looking up to a similar roof she had observed in last four months. She tried to pull her hand to rub her eyes, but it felt too heavy to move. She looked on her side and saw my father clutching her hand tightly. Naomi lifted herself to see his limp body half bent over her bed, asleep.

She ran her hand in his blonde hair, which woke my father up.

As he sat up straight on the chair Naomi looked at his disheveled hair and tiring eyes and couldn't help but smile.

My father realized he still was holding her hand, so he got fl.u.s.tered and let it go.

"Why did you do this? After all that help I gave you. After all that struggle you went through," My father posed the question.

"I can't explain the peace I reach with my soul when that cocaine travels through my nostrils, doctor," Naomi smugly replied. She looked at his expressionless face and continued, "Why do you do this, doctor? Fame? Fortune?"

My father put his hands on his knees and pushed himself up. He marched towards the kitchen and spoke, "Please, make sure to have some breakfast before leaving."

Twenty minutes later, both of them were sitting on the opposite sides of a small table. The table had omelette, one mug with tea, and French toast on one side, and a gum on the other side.

My father said a small prayer before digging into his breakfast. Naomi looked at him as he enjoyed his meal.

"Doc, can I have some?"

My father looked up at her and pointed at the pack of gum in front of her before taking a slurping sip out of his mug.

"That is what you call hospitality. I thought you were supposed to help people, Doc."

My father slammed his fork on the table, startling Naomi. He collected himself and spoke, "Miss, I was supposed to help you, and I gave a good go at it. Even you would appreciate my efforts directed at you. I mean, I hope you realize that. But one individual's life isn't worthy if he or she is on the road of self destruction. I respect every kind of person, but I value people who are calm and laid back. It pains me to say that you are not laid back and collected. But you also lost all respect in my eyes by ignoring the value of your own life."

"So what? It's my life. I don't need your approval to live my life."

"You're mistake, Miss. I don't want you to prove anything to me. I want you to love this life you have right now. You don't have to do this for my sake. Just your own."

There was silence all around.

"Let's say I start doing whatever you are suggesting. Is it even worth it? This world is too ugly. Is there something to live for?"

"The world is plenty ugly, yes. But you have to look through the cracks to enjoy the bright lights."

Naomi let out a chuckle before asking," So what is the case with the gum?"

"Well, to get rid of your addiction, you have to start somewhere."

"But I'm not addicted to smoking."

"Its not about the method, Miss. That comes later. Its about the initiative."

My father stood up and walked towards the front door. He swung the door and said," I have an omelette in kitchen. Please enjoy your meal and close the door before leaving."

Over the course of month, my mother kicked her addiction out of her with the help of my father. Now that their relation as doctor and patient was over, they switched it to being friends. Over time, my mother caught a new addiction.

She was addicted to Donald Anicrow.

She was committed to my father. His wish was her command. She realized the sacrifice my father went through to save others. Selflessly. She made sure she gave him all the love he was due for doing every good deed.

In the end, they married eight months before my birth.

Scorpion married Pisces, and gave birth to a Cancer child.

I was described as a beautiful baby. I was collected, and probably aware of my surroundings even at the tender age of nine months.

I was unproblematic. I didn't bother my parents in my early life. I wasn't cranky or irritable, and I received ample amount of love from both of my parents.

Until I turned fourteen.

It was the first time I got my periods. My father was happy, because he could witness me growing up right in front of his eyes. He cherished everyday I made a new discovery about the world, and he would educate me about the things I was curious.

My mother, however, was not taking that kindly.

It was time of our annual trip around Asia. It was my seventeenth birthday during my summer vacations. We decided to visit some places with beach, and back to j.a.pan by the time I had to continue high school.

We will travel from Philippines to Vietnam, Thailand and Sri Lanka. Our last stop would be Kathmandu, Nepal.

We planned everything. My father gifted me a bag with eight books in it. He told me to open them only when he was away from home and never at home or in his vicinity. He also always told me to keep my bag with me, as it was my lucky charm. At time, I couldn't understand what he was saying.

But everything came around when we reached Nepal.

I was in the balcony of our hotel room when I hears screams going off in mom and dad's bedroom. I dashed towards the room and pushed the door in to see my father's head drenched with blood. The left side of his head was open, like something ate him from inside out. His eyeb.a.l.l.s were ready to pop out of his eyesockets, and his tongue was dangling out of his mouth, dripping saliva on his new navy-blue shirt.

Just minutes before my seventeenth birthday, I lost my father.

My mother was screaming. But I couldn't hear what she was saying.

Was she screaming with me?

Was she screaming at me?

My mother grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the room. but she put too much strength and I went flying into the hotel's television. The gla.s.s screen broke on the impact, and a million shards showered me as I laid down on the ground. I couldn't even feel the pain when the rest of the television frame hit me in my waist.

I could remember two things before I lost consciousness: One, I held tight to the bag my father gifted me, and Two, my mother killed my father.

When I finally regained consciousness, I saw a guy handing my mother a wad of money. One of them mentioned me waking up, and everybody left the room except my mother. She came near me, pulled my hair and started whispering to me. By the end of it, I was fully aware of the situation I was in.

"Listen kid. I loved the man you referred to as your father. I loved him so much. So much that I could die for him. But then you came along. Flaunting all your unripe body into his face. I was perfect for him. But you came in my life and ruined everything. EVERYTHING! Now that I know you like discussing about your body with older men, why don't you share it too?"

That was the last time I heard from the one I called mother.

Over the next many years, I grew up into a fine lady. But my life was in the grasp of a pimp. I had s.e.x with complete strangers at least four times a week. With my underdeveloped pair of b.r.e.a.s.t.s and immature body, that clients liked to pick me. They liked to toy me around and educate me on the topics of s.e.x, masturbation and b.l.o.w.j.o.bs. I learned everything quickly and adapted to what my clients wanted. I would make them come with only masturbation or b.l.o.w.j.o.bs, so that their time was up without penetrating me. Never the less, people enjoyed having s.e.x. There is no such person walking on the face of the earth, saying that he has had a lot of s.e.x.

After working as a prost.i.tute for nine years, me and six of the other prost.i.tutes started planning to escape the clutches of our pimp and living a free life. All we needed was sports shoes, track pants and knives. Believe it or not, it took us another year to collect seven of each. What we didn't know was that the head prost.i.tute had her own plans in mind.

Eight days before we had planned our escape, our head prost.i.tute burned the mouth of our pimp with hot iron. She was the most trustworthy in the pimp's books, and he never thought that would come to bite him. Placing the red-hot piece of iron on his lips and forcing it down his throat did prove fatal for him. She took his piston and let us know that we won't be able to escape her.

But we weren't scared at that point. We decided to escape that same night. And so we stripped out of our sarees that we usually wore, put on our track pants and sports shoes, and held a rampuri knife in one of our hands. We decided to run in our blouses, as bras were a luxury to us, and we didn't want to run bare chested. Amongst all, it was me who was sporting an extra luggage, a bag filled with eight books.

We made a run towards the forest next to the brothel through trees. Our steps weren't m.u.f.fles enough, so the new pimp was onto us. We decided to go around the forest and lose the goons from the brothel before making our way out of the forest.

We started our sprint and one of ours was shot down two minutes into it. Once again, the screams were not reaching my ears. I could hear the gunshots going near me, but it wasn't enough for me to lose faith or hope. My feet were not tired. My body was not tired. I had the confidence. I had the means. It was today that I spread my wings properly.

Bullets were still going off while we changed the pattern of running. We were running in zig-zags rather than in straight line. It made harder for the goons to focus on, which meant a lot of us could survive.

I was leading the party, looking left and right like a deer. I had to wary of any wild animal jumping in our path and slowing us down. It was then, when I saw her.

Madonna.

She was laying on the left of the patch we were following. I had to make a decision, lead my fellow escapees out of the forest and leave her alone, or help her and risk my life.

"Go straight, I saw a street lamp. Once you are out of the forest, scream for help," I shouted.

"What are you going to do?" Bhawna asked.

I didn't have time to explain, so I went off course towards the woman laying on the ground in the middle of the night.

I saw her laying on her stomach, lashes all around her body. She was in a t-shirt and jeans but no shoes. In one hand, she held a bag. A handbag. When I turned her over, fell back to my horror.

Just like my father, she had a wound in her head. Blood was spilling out of her body, but she was breathing. I examined the distance the goons had to cover to catch me, after I realized I was safe for another twenty-two seconds, I removed my blouse and wrapped it around her head to stop her bleeding. I removed my bag from my back, picked her up, and grabbed both of our bags in my hands. It was then I realized that I had lesser than three seconds to cover the ground before getting shot.

In the dark pit amongst trees and leaves, I could see the shine of a gun's muzzle turning in my direction.

My feet froze at the spot. Should I give my life and save this half-dead woman on my back, or should I continue running and not worry about consequences until later?

My decision making process took too long, and I could see the bullet coming in my direction. I flinched as a m.u.f.fled sound was heard. But it wasn't me. It was Kalyani, the one who was at last in the pack. She took a bullet and smiled in my face.

"Life… for tomorrow."

I turned around and ran as fast as I could. I didn't turn around to look at Kalyani's face droop and close her eyes forever, because her smile was the last thing I wanted to remember about her.

After running for another five or so minutes, I could see the street light even more clearly. I exited the forest and saw every girl I ran away with surrounded by cops. One of them removed his jacket and covered me. All the goons ran out of the forest to follow us and were immediately captured.

I fell on my knees and carefully laid the girl on my back on the cold ground.

Still alive.

I examined the area and found out we were near a school building. The hospital wasn't that far, thus the rate of success was even more.

I pa.s.sed out as I smiled to myself.

A week later we were interviewed by the police. We exposed the brothel we worked at and said seven of us escaped. Two were killed, and the one wearing jeans and t-shirts was heavily injured.

The cops let us off the hook and the government paid a significant amount of money to each of us for damages.

When Madonna woke up, we tried to ask for her details. She said she remembered nothing, and even doctor diagnosed her with amnesia. On searching, it was found out that her handbag consisted of education and professional doc.u.ments. We kept that a secret as well from the cops.

Just two weeks after all that went down, we met with another doctor who came to see Madonna. It was Trigman. He asked each one of us separately about who saved Madonna. When he got his answer, he came to me with a preposition: A new life in India. A town near him, and he'd take care of financial matters until one of us could get a job. Even after that, he'd never back away from his promise.

I agreed to it and Trigman made all the preparations necessary to become an Indian citizen. I left for Mumbai soon after.

After arriving in the country, we settled in a small room. Madonna was up on her feet in no time. She did feel uncomfortable from time to time, so I would do my best to comfort her. we had a beautiful friendship amongst us.

Me, who was starting to live her life from ground up, and Madonna, who had a past which was locked away in her own consciousness. We were both at the same starting line, and I realized that when I saw her laying in the forest all alone.

I filled her with my past and she sympathized with me. In a long time, I hugged somebody who had warmth in her heart for me.

From that day on, Madonna treated me like a trophy. Our living conditions were not amazing, but Madonna refused to take any more help from Trigman. She took out her doc.u.ments and applied for a job in Velocity Cars' Indian branch. Now, we had a breadwinner in the house.

Our lives took a shape, and now we could explore different directions. Then one day-

Madonna came home with two diamond rings. She proposed to me. Ever since I had hugged her, my broken soul started repairing itself. This was the last step into fully reconstructing my life.

I, happily, said yes.