by Ella Burns
I’ve never felt so powerless.
The last few days have felt different. Almost like it all went so far, so fast, that a deep breath is needed. Even Teddy’s abuse has lessened, though not gone completely. Or perhaps I just don’t care as much anymore. One thing is for sure, any hope I had of her previous sweetness, of our friendship, is gone.
The distant sound of the front door opening brings my attention back, the slam of it telling me my relative peace is going to be short-lived. I wait until I hear the click of shoes that tells me it’s Jane arriving. When the sounds disappear, I assume she must be upstairs.
Closing my eyes, I lean my head against the wall and wait.
✽✽✽
It's a few hours before Bud comes, grunting in the direction of the workroom. Without hesitating, I stand and follow him down the familiar gallery of horrors and into the tiny cage of my youth. It’s both funny and sad that there’s something almost comforting about being in here, so normal. Or rather, an improvement to waking up in coffins or naked on crosses.
I sit in silence while Bud leaves, coming back with an older woman, placing her on the metal table. She moans lightly when her skin touches the metal and I have to keep a sigh from leaving my lips. Of course, it's a live, awake one. Must be for Teddy.
When Jane steps into the room a moment later, I sit up slightly. She always waits. Her so-called ‘Aura of Pain’ needs time to set. A knot grows in my belly as I watch her closely, taking in the tense posture and gritted teeth. I swallow deeply. It’s been a long time since I’ve seen Jane this upset. Usually, she’s controlled and measured in her anger. The idea that something has her worked up enough to be visibly upset sends a shiver up my spine.
“Anything else?” Bud's gruff voice asks Jane, who has her back to both of us. She’s looking in the direction of the woman on the table who is beginning to move slightly. She’ll be awake any minute.
Jane only shakes her head, not moving when Bud leaves the room, closing the door behind him. I keep completely still and silent, grateful it’s a skill I learned young. Jane hasn’t even acknowledged my presence yet, and I expect this will be bad enough whether she does or not.
The woman on the table twitches, her wrist catching against the straps holding her door.
“Wha—” the woman’s voice rasps, “What is this! Wha—”
A sharp crack rings out. I think Jane slapped her. She paces in front of the table, and I can’t keep my eyes away. Before I would hate to watch, but it’s like I can see Jane’s control crumbling and it’s fascinating.
“Thought I’d be a failure, didn’t you?” Jane whispers, and I feel my brow knit together in a frown. Who is the woman on the table? I’ve never heard Jane speak to one of her subjects before like it was someone she knew.
“What are you talking about? Who are—”
Slap.
“Don’t act like you don’t know,” Jane spits, opening the cupboard and grabbing one of her small knives. “You always held me back, even now you can’t stop being a stupid bitch, can you? You never saved me then, why should I help you now?”
Jane is at the woman's side in an instant, the blade cutting into the woman's thigh and eliciting a scream. I watch with interest as Jane continues to stab the woman's legs, her face so screwed up with anger it would be comical if not for what she was doing. The normally measured movements are abrupt and messy, full of emotion. The woman on the table pukes and I wrinkle my nose as the sour smell hits me.
“You can’t fucking stop me,” Jane hisses as she brings the blade up to the woman’s chest. This time I have to turn away.
“I don’t need to be a fucking doctor. Not like him. I’ll never be like him.”
Jane continues to berate the woman and speak to her as though she is someone she knows, but it’s clear this woman doesn’t know her.
The sounds of pleading are so like they’ve always been, but I know something is different. I’ve seen Jane kill literally dozens of people or more, but she was always in control.
I don’t know what prompted this and doubt I ever will, but as I listen, it’s clear Jane is speaking to someone else, answering them.
The thought of Jane losing control is one of the only things that could still scare me. Even as this thought crosses my mind, a slow smile spreads across my face.
Then again, maybe if she loses it on me, I’ll finally be put out of my misery.
Chapter Eleven
Teddy
I frown as I look in the cupboard before going back to the fridge, as though opening it again will elicit different results.
Fucking nothing!
Grumbling, I make my way upstairs, my pink robe trailing up the stairs behind me. Jane’s door is closed, but I know she’s always awake at dawn. As I approach, I hear her voice through the door and wait, wondering why the fuck she has someone in her room. I didn’t check on Branson this morning, but I figured he’d still be cleaning up whatever shit from last night.
I knock, hard, and step back with crossed arms. Jane’s voice stops and she opens the door. I frown as I take in her appearance. She’s wearing some kind of nightgown, but it’s crumpled and there’s a stain on the front of it. Instead of her usual neat and tiny hair bun, frizzy bits stick out all over the place and there are bags under her eyes.
“Good morning,” I say with a note of hesitation in my voice, abandoning my plan to ream her out about food.
“What?” she snaps, and I turn my head, looking at her quizzically.
“What’s going on? Are you okay?” I ask in a low voice and her face softens slightly. She is a psycho, controlling bitch, but I know she cares in her own strange way. After the revelations I had last week, I understand so much better why she is who she is.
“Of course,” she replies, “Now, I’m busy though. I’ll see you tonight.”
She clicks the door behind her, and I stand there a moment looking at it before making my way back downstairs. By the time I get back to the kitchen, I hear the sound of the metal garbage shoot being closed and know that means Branson is done. I move to the basement door and ring the bell at the top, stepping back with a smirk on my face.
It was such a good idea to do that. I learned it from a dog show and figured it’d be a nice demoralizing touch to have him beckoned by a bell. It only takes a minute before he appears at the top of the stairs and I crinkle my nose at him.
“Ew! You smell,” I tell him, pinching my nose. He looks at me blandly, waiting. I roll my eyes at him.
“Fuck, you’re dull. Go rinse off, you need to make my breakfast.”
He blinks at me.
I narrow my eyes at him while reaching into my pocket until I pull out the small button for his collar. His eyes land on the control and I see him tense slightly. I feel myself smile.
“Any questions?” I mock and feel a small thrill at watching his jaw clench. Blood splatter covers his chest, but there’s only one drop on his cheek and I can’t help but think about how much I want to lick it off him.
I see a flash of something in his eyes before he nods shortly, moving jerkily toward the bathroom. After a few steps, I press the button and he seizes briefly at the shock but stays upright. He doesn’t turn and look at me, just keeps walking.
I roll my eyes again.
Fucking boring.
I need to up my game, otherwise being here is going to get way too dull, way too fast. Jane took a new victim, so I know I’m screwed for at least another week. There’s always the forest, but the peaceful solace I go there for isn’t what I’m craving these days.
While I wait for Branson to clean up, I head up to my room and grab a notebook and pen, placing myself at the kitchen table. With a smile, I write my heading and start making notes until he comes back a few minutes later, his chest and face now clean.
“I think you looked better with the blood,” I tell him with a wink. “Look!” I show him my paper, the words ‘Branson Torture List’ at the top. He frowns and looks at me.
I watch his face as he scans down the first few items on the list before straightening and looking into my face. His expression is a mask, but I see the hurt behind his eyes. I ignore the smallest knot in my belly.
“Why?” he asks, and I grin, standing and bringing my face as close as I can to him without him leaning down.
“Because I can.”
His jaw tenses as he looks down on me, and I see a pleasing morsel of hurt in his eyes.
“Pancakes,” I tell him with a wink before turning back to my paper. He stands there for only a second before moving over to the cupboard to pull out ingredients.
As he pours the last of the mix into the pan, a glob falls to the side, landing on the floor. I look at the stray drop and get an idea, standing and pointing down at it.
“You made a mess,” I say. He goes to grab the cloth off the counter, but I wag a finger at him.
“Lick it up.” I demand. He narrows his eyes at me but doesn’t move. With my hand in my pocket, I hold down the trigger button and watch as he falls to the ground convulsing.
I laugh as he continues to squirm before I finally let go. He lets out a groan, rolling to his side only inches from the floor-dough. Kneeling down beside him, I trail a hand down the side of his face and smile.
“Lick it,” I say again softly. His body trembles slightly but he inches forward until his face is only just above the mess. I bite my lip as he sticks his tongue out, shuddering as he licks it clean before dropping his head back to the ground beside me.
Above us, smoke begins to rise off the pan and I stand smiling, wiping invisible dust from my knees before grabbing a plate of unburnt pancakes.
“Don’t forget to clean up the rest,” I tell him with a wink before skipping to the dining room in significantly better spirits.
Chapter Twelve
Branson
Two Months Later
I can’t tell the passage of time anymore, but I imagine it's been weeks or more since I’ve left the cage. It was maybe the second week when I thanked Bud for the bigger cage. I don’t know if I could have lasted in the small one. I could tell he was surprised. He laughed and said I was becoming a little pussy, but I didn’t care. There are so few things I can feel grateful for, I need to take what I can get.
I can be grateful for my large cage, for the bits of food that find their way to my belly.
I may be old enough to be considered a man, but they’ve taken any bit of humanity left in me, much less masculinity. Shame is a concept I’ve long let go of. There are only good days and bad days, days where I make her happy and days where I don’t.
Hanging my head in my hands, my fingers run through what's left of my hair. It’s been falling out in clumps for a while now and what remains is long and lanky. I can’t smell myself anymore, but my skin is grimy with weeks of caked-on filth. I wish I could be clean, wash away the shame of failure and helplessness.
As always, my headache pounds on. Some days are worse than others. Today is a bad day.
Maybe today she’ll come, though...
Since I can’t tell the time, it’s hard to say how long it's been, but it feels like more time passes between each visit. The loneliness is eating away at me and even a sobbing victim would be preferable to this. I’ve even come to crave when Teddy visits, even if it's only to abuse or hurt me. At least it’s touch. I miss touch. The feel of anything but cold metal bars and concrete floor.
A bitter taste lingers at the back of my mouth at the thought of craving her company after all of this; but there it is. I crack my neck, ignoring the collar that’s become familiar. Heavy chafe marks are around my neck from when I was young, deepened and scarred even further.
I go back to old techniques, trying to remember as many words and definitions as possible. Once, long ago, when she was Amelia, she told me she loved learning things from me. If she ever asks me again, I’ll have lots of things to teach. But I’ll call her Teddy now, because that’s what she wants.
I swallow down the bile at the thought of the lengths I’ll go to please her, remind myself there is nothing else. I have nothing else.
Thrombocytosis. Thyrocalcitonin. Thyroxine.
I drift off, letting them run through me and don’t notice someone coming until the door opens. Teddy steps into the room and despite myself, I feel my heart rate pick up in excitement rather than fear.
“Why, hullo, Pet,” she greets me, walking into the room and up to the metal table. She makes a noise of disgust at the corpse sitting there, pinching her nose as she turns to me. “Well, that doesn’t smell nice, does it?”
I don’t reply, as much as I want to. The last time I answered a rhetorical question she stabbed me and left me without food for days. I didn’t mind the food or the blood, but I missed her.
Kneeling down in front of my cage she looks at me critically. I want to cover myself, my nakedness and the grit covering me, but I’ve learned that lesson too.
“Good,” she says after a moment, pulling a key from her pocket, “Come on, then. I suppose you’ve been good so you can clean this up.”
I wait for her to reach into my cage and attach the small red leash. I don’t even feel embarrassed anymore when I crawl out behind her, waiting for her direction.
Maybe if I listen, it’ll stop.
Maybe if I listen, she’ll love me.
Part 3
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.
William Shakespeare
Chapter One
Branson
One year later
I do my best not to move or make a sound, something I’m exceptionally good at. Sweat drips down my back and my shoulders ache from standing here for so long, but bodily discomfort is nothing. My pain tolerance is exceedingly high now. I’ve tried so hard, but it's not enough anymore.
Teddy says I’m boring now.
I don’t try to be boring, I want to make her smile and have fun, but she says that isn’t the point. I don’t understand, but try harder, anyway. Maybe if I help and show them I can be a part of things, then it can be better.
I shift as subtly as I can, but Jane hisses at me, anyway. I don’t like working for Jane, but she’ll make me do bad things if I don’t.
“Stop moving!”
Ignoring my aching arm, I focus on my breathing and keep the leg held high while Jane attaches it. Before being torn up, the man must have been a giant because his thigh weighs a ton. Jane keeps stopping and leaving. I hear her talking to herself in the hall before she comes back in, so it’s taking a long time.
Down the corridor I hear a familiar sound, and my heart thumps loudly until she walks in. I want to greet her, but I know she hates that. She looks at Jane’s project with interest. When her eyes land on me with a look of disgust, I feel my heart crack even though it's a familiar ache.
I do everything she wants, always, and she hates me.
Self-loathing fills me, and I drop my head.
“What’s taking so fucking long?” Teddy demands, “It’s starting to fucking smell in here.”
Jane huffs. “No patience, child. Good art takes time.”
“I’m almost eighteen, hardly a child anymore. Besides, this looks like shit.”
Jane throws the leg we’re holding up and the sculpture snaps, fingers flying over the ground. I stay completely still.
“Look what you made me do!” Jane screeches at Teddy, reaching out and slapping her across the face.
Teddy lifts a hand to her face, watching Jane with pure shock written on her face. My own mouth hands open and I want to reach for her, to make sure she’s okay, but I don’t move a muscle. Jane’s chest heaves for a moment as she watches Teddy, her black eyes narrow slits. My body is frozen, waiting to see what happens. Jane stalks out of the room, leaving us alone.
I keep my head lowered, watching her through my lashes. Teddy watches after Jane with something akin
to suspicion on her face, her cheek flaming red. I’d like to touch her, make her better, but she hasn’t asked me for that.
I think back to so long ago when I told her I’d never want her. Well, she proved me wrong and now, I can’t have her.
After a moment, Teddy turns back to me, looking over the mess now covering the floor. Her nose turns up in a wrinkle and I feel the corner of my mouth twitch at the gesture she’s been doing since she was a child.
“Clean this up,” she finally says to me, though her voice is missing its usual touch of anger. I nod and immediately begin picking up the pieces before deciding to take a risk and pausing.
“A-are you okay?” I ask her. She glares at me, saying nothing, before stomping off.
I watch after her, but not for long. Maybe if I clean up really fast and well, she’ll love me again.
Chapter Two
Teddy
I grit my teeth as I walk away, leaving Branson to clean up the mess. And I know he’ll do a good job too, pitiful fuck. I never should have listened to Jane, did things my own way. All she ever wanted was control, submission. But I’ve come to the conclusion that isn’t what I crave. It’s the struggle I crave.
Jane and I are different people, I’ve come to realize. Though our desires, our proclivities are the same, our reasons are vastly different. Jane is so broken by her past that she needs to break others, to control everything to feel safe. Me? I just like to watch the world burn. I like the challenge, the adrenaline, and thrill of a good kill. Or of torturing my favorite toy.
I spent ages looking up different ways to break him. Learning varying techniques to create a true submissive. He fought me long and hard, too. Those are days I look back on fondly, the give and take between us. Not that I gave much of anything.
I’ll never forget the day I woke up and found I had finally broken him.