[center]* * *[/center] It was the wee hours of the morning. The club was closed and the patrons had gone. The men's room was dim and quiet. Nary a sound was heard, the only light was what little of the streetlights outside shone through the thin row of window slits in the common room. Suddenly a strange sound broke the silence. Odd wet noise echoed on the tiles. In furthest stall lay the abused corpse of a little mouse girl, sat on the toilet. Her fur was matted with dried cum all over. Her lips were purple. Likewise her tongue, drooping out from her mouth. Both were coated with sticky seed of the men who had used her. Underneath her fur blotches of purple bruises were barely visible. She gagged. Cum dripped out of her mouth. She coughed wetly in a fit and fell down onto the floor. She retched sticky fluid onto the floor. She lay there for a moment and then gasped for air. Little by little, she stirred. Red colour started to return to her lips and tongue as she breathed oxygen into her blood. She moaned as her brain started to function again. And then, her senses were assaulted by the taste and smell lingering in her mouth. With as much haste as her condition would allow, she rose, pushed the toilet lid open and embraced the bowl. She made it barely in time before her stomach emptied itself. [center]* * *[/center] Tina looked at herself in the bathroom mirror as she splashed water over herself, trying to get as much of the dried cum off her fur as she could. She felt her bruises and made mental notes of her injuries. [i]Broken ribs, broken collarbone[/i]. She touched back of her head and sharp pain shot through. She yelped. [i]Cracked skull[/i]. The patrons were always rough on her, after all, she was already dead. Many also "killed" her again while they were fucking her body, imagining they were snuff raping her. She knew that really got them off. With a twinge of guilt, as her thoughts wandered there again, she had to admit that sometimes, sometimes that thought also aroused [i]her[/i]... when the memories of this weren't this fresh anymore. She splashed more water on her face. But she would never let one of these guys kill her live, so to speak. She'd made that mistake once. She had thought it was just pain, and then it'd be over. That she could handle it. She had been wrong. A piece of her soul had died that night, for real. Never again. It was bad enough to kill herself twice a month for them to abuse her corpse. [i]But it was a living[/i], she thought wryly to herself. She fished the pockets of the dress that was on the counter for the key to the tips tin and opened it. [i]Hundred... hundred fifty... Maybe two hundred dollars[/i], she estimated mentally. She'll have to time to count them once she got home. She also had a deal with the bar. Her corpse really drew a crowd and the nights were most profitable and she got a cut. Usually another five hundred or so. Guess they were too drunk to notice that each time it was the same corpse. Or maybe they just didn't care, after all, where else would they get to satisfy their sick urges like that... She looked at her in the mirror again and sighed. Some of the lightest bruises had started to fade already. She'd always known she was different, unique. She had no idea why or how. Even when she was little. Her parents hated her. They beat her. Really badly. But nobody believed her, because there was never a mark on her. Not even one hair out of place. She had run away the day after she turned thirteen. She tried to live on the streets. Month later, she killed herself. Somebody had left the roof access to an apartment building open and she'd snuck up there to sleep in peace. But then she thought better. She jumped from the roof. The next thing she remembers she woke up really confused in the hospital morgue and everything ached. She returned to the street and continued her shadowy existence. She hadn't realized it then, but killing herself had been the biggest mistake in her life. [i]Like it usually is. Hah![/i] She gave herself a vitriolic smirk in the mirror. She didn't know it then. But she knew it now. She hadn't aged a day since she jumped off that roof. She was still thirteen years old and had been for the past twenty. With a child's body, no hope for job, no hope for love, no hope for life. And yet, life was the one thing she just couldn't seem to lose. Next time she had become despodent, she had hung herself in the woods. Maybe she hadn't killed herself right the first time, maybe she had been just hurt by the fall. This time, she died for certain. She had woken up in a cardboard coffin next in line at the crematorium. That had scared her. That had scared her more than dying ever had. She didn't know, she didn't [i]want[/i] to know what would have happened had her body been incinerated. She had learned later that she had been hanging for almost three weeks before her body had been found, and it had taken almost two weeks for her to heal enough to wake up from the extensive damage to her decayed body. Even after waking up, she had felt like death for days, but she had healed. After that, she had experimented. Carefully, she didn't want to do another mistake like the hanging was. She determined that she started healing as soon as what had killed her stopped, and that the time it took for her to wake up depended on how extensive the damage had been. She could recover from slit wrists in an hour, but if she stopped breathing, she wouldn't start healing until she could breathe again. She looked at the jar of gelatin balls on the counter. She'd determined that it took one of those balls just long enough to dissolve in her throat that it would slip out only after it was all over and she'd be safe to wake up. And if it failed, the cleaning crew next day would help her. She'd needed the help a few times, especially when the bouncers had missed a knife. One especially messy night, she had been told, they had found her completely eviscerated with her guts flushed and clogging the toilet. She took a week to heal from that. She shuddered. She finished washing herself and padded her head dry with the towel. Then she slipped back into her dress and tried to look as presentable as a totally abused 13 year old cumbucket could look under the circumstances. She always hoped she would run into nobody on her way home. [i]Home[/i]. She didn't have to live on the street anymore, thanks to this. She turned the lights out in the bathroom and pushed out through the doors. Passing the bar counter she fished out an envelope from its hiding place. She checked inside and quickly thumbed through the cash. About 600. [i]Well, it's a living[/i], she thought as she slipped out the back door.