by C. E. Wilson
“May I continue training tomorrow?” I ask in a small voice. I tense up, expecting him to hit me, but he only releases my wrists and pulls away, crossing his arms over his bent knee.
“Of course, Grace. With these, I’m no longer worried. Frankly, I didn’t think a day without training would be a good idea, but Celia can get very possessive.”
Celia isn’t the only one who’s possessive, but I keep that scathing remark to myself. I want to make Shawn comfortable so he’ll leave and I can try to clean myself up and do something about my throbbing wrist. The cuffs will make washing more difficult, but not impossible.
“You mean well,” Shawn says softly, “but you’ve got to understand your place. Don’t you remember what I said?” When I tilt my head at him, he laughs. “I can give you the life you want, Grace. You want your freedom, and as a sponsor, I could give that to you.”
I suck in a gasp. This is the first time Shawn has spoken to me directly about being a sponsor. Reese is wrong. The best way to get what I want is through my owner.
“I’ve already started making a list of what you need,” he continues. “The hair color will be the first thing to go, but I don’t want anyone messing with it in general. You have a fine head of hair, but it’s the color of an overused outhouse. Brown hair won’t work if you’re going to serve Celia.” Serve her? Why would I serve her as a Beauty? “We’ll have surgery done on your eyes to pull out the brown,” Shawn says, not missing a beat. “They’ll be a lovely shade of green. Not as lovely as Celia’s… but we’ll do what we can.” He eyes me up and down critically. “And of course there’s much work to do on your body. An Eleven…” he tsks at me, “… always needs a lot of work.”
“Like what…” I ask timidly. I must be a masochist if I want to hear him talk about all the changes I need. Looking down at my body, I wonder if there’s that much wrong with it that couldn’t be fixed with regular meals and exercise.
“Your limbs need to be lengthened,” Shawn says as he moves closer. “You’re short.” He reaches out and cups each breast in one of his hands. “These will need to be re-sized and lifted.” He smiles and lets them fall after my curious look. “Bigger, Grace. They need enlarging. And once they’re bigger, of course they’ll need lifting. We can deal with all that later and have you ready for Celia in no time.”
“But…” The words catch in my throat. I don’t understand. If Shawn’s going to sponsor me, then why is he still talking about me serving his daughter?
“You don’t need to worry about all the details,” Shawn drunkenly whispers in my ear. “Let me take care of them. You keep working with Reese and stay out of trouble. I’ll make you flawless.” He gently pushes me onto my back on the bed and climbs on top of me and then pauses.
There is an absolute stillness in the room aside from his deep, shuddering breathing. Every muscle of his is tensed as he stares down at my swollen face. I begin to retreat inside myself in preparation. After a very long minute, he lowers his face towards mine and I go to my dark place.
Unexpected pain recalls me moments later. His lips are pressed against the bruise on my cheek, and as my eyes focus again he pulls away slowly. His face is an ugly mask of lust and shameful desire and just enough self-control to contain it. I can feel his arms twitch as they raise his body off mine. He stands and looks down at me, slowly mastering himself. He runs a shaking hand through his hair and suddenly turns to leave.
“Get some sleep, my damaged bird,” he calls over his shoulder. “And make sure you clean yourself off. You smell like death.”
The door closes and I clasp my cheek. My brain reels in both relief and confusion. That could have gone much worse in some ways, but now Shawn’s words echo in my mind. Shawn mentions sponsorship, but the way he’s talking it’s as though he expects me to work for his daughter even after I’m made a Beauty. He can’t think I’ll stay here! As soon as I’m changed, I’m going to run. I’m going to get far away from him. And then I pause. Freedom isn’t free.
If Shawn does agree to sponsor me… he’ll pay all the money for my surgeries, but I’ll be expected to pay him back. He expects me to work off my debt here with him and his brat of a daughter?
No. I won’t do it! The idea of owing Shawn anything is nauseating. I shake my shackled wrists in my lap with exasperation. And he has the nerve to say I smell? He’s the one who smells like whiskey! What kind of Beauty makes a Potential sick with their looks and smell? What’s happening? Beauties aren’t supposed to be like this. Even the ones who have beaten me, taunted me, ruined me, and degraded me… I had always appreciated their attractiveness, but I’m losing that ability.
Is it because of Reese?
Eying the shower, I stand slowly, wincing from the pain in my arms and face. As much as I don’t want Reese to see me, I want even more for him not to see me looking dirty. I can at least clean myself up. I may not be able to do much about the bruises, but I can calm the swelling. I could wash the terrible smell of Shawn off my skin. Kneeling, I go for a piece of chocolate and hold the foil piece up to my nose. I can enjoy the scent for longer if I don’t eat it. I can imagine the taste simply from the smell.
The foil wrapper and the candy inside smells like him.
I tuck the piece back under the mattress before going to the shower. I’m happy there isn’t a mirror. I don’t want to think about what I look like… but as odd as it is… I want to see what I’ll look like when I’m cleaned up. Reese says I don’t look like an Eleven. What does that even mean? From what I remember, my lower lip is too full and my nose needs work. I want to see my face. What do I look like? How does Reese see me?
***
The following morning I feel weak. I suppose that not having anything other than some cold water and the smell of chocolate to treat my injuries can be blamed for that. My hair’s messy and tangled, and I’m cold sitting in my beige t-shirt. If Reese comes downstairs, I’m not even sure I’ll talk to him. I don’t like to feel ugly, but one of my eyes is nearly closed and my wrist has swollen painfully into the cuffs that bind my arms. My vision’s blurry and when the basement door opens, I don’t bother to make myself more presentable.
What does it matter how I look? Reese doesn’t care.
“Hey, Eleven… see I’m back like I promised…” he says as he opens the door.
I lift my head to see his expression fall as he looks me over. I can’t even think of what I must look like in his eyes. He’s immaculately dressed as always, in his school uniform with the top button undone and his tie hanging loosely over his chest. His hair is tucked behind his ears and I can see his silver hoops. What catches me off-guard is his wide-eyed expression.
“W-what… what’s wrong?” he asks, shutting the door behind him, sealing us both inside. “What happened to you?”
I flush, embarrassed about my face. His eyes fall to the cuffs and my hands ball up into fists.
“Why are you wearing those?” he asks, not waiting for an answer to his first question. He glances over his shoulder to look at the door. I don’t blame him for wanting to leave. He bites his lower lip and then turns back. “What happened?” he asks in a firmer tone.
“If you want to go… you can,” is all I can say. He keeps his back pressed close to the door and I finally notice he’s holding a paper plate with two pieces of pizza on it. “I’m not hungry.”
“Who said they were for you?” he asks, arching a brow.
I blush even more and turn away. Dammit.
“Eleven, I’m kidding,” Reese says in a rushed tone. “Of course they’re for you. That’s why I brought them down here.” He steps forward, lays the plate at the end of the bed, and quickly steps back.
So, he is frightened by my appearance. I wonder if I’d even break a Ten right now. “I’m not hungry,” I mutter, sliding back on the bed. When I say the words, they’re not true; I’m still looking at the pieces of pizza on the bed. They smell incredible… mouthwatering, in fact, but I don’t want to have to eat in front
of Reese. Not with shackled hands. Not with a ruined face.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” Reese says in a gentle voice, still eying me carefully. “Though judging by how you look, you must be…” He trails off, not even sure how to finish the statement.
“I don’t know how it looks; I can’t see myself,” I mutter. “I can feel it.” I want to snap at him to stop pointing out how I look, but I don’t dare.
“Who did this? Paulson?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Was it Celia?”
My head shoots up. “Celia? As if she would deign to come down here.” I wince. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” he repeats. “What for?”
“I’m speaking out of turn about your girlfriend.”
“Celia isn’t—” He cuts himself off when I look at him closely and his face reddens. He turns away, clearing his throat. “I haven’t seen or talked to her since I left yesterday. Apparently, she’s trying to piss me off by hanging out with Griff.”
“Is it working?” I can’t help asking.
He snorts. “It’s a childish stunt.” He brings his purple eyes back to mine. “I’m worried.”
“Worried?”
“About you,” he clarifies. He continues despite my confused expression. “Celia is…” he shakes his head, “… it’s probably nothing. I’m overreacting.”
I want to ask him to elaborate, but don’t have the courage. Instead, I slide over on the bed and look down at the pizza. Weird off-white discs let me know this isn’t a Pair of Blue Eyes. There are also pieces of what smells like… I lean closer and inhale deeply. I recognize the scent.
“It’s called a Hobo’s Surf and Turf,” Reese says. “It’s pretty good.”
“What is it?”
“Thinly sliced water chestnuts and bacon.”
I’m not familiar with water chestnuts, but I have vivid memories of bacon.
“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” Reese asks, stepping forward.
When my chains rattle as I look up at him, he takes another step back towards the door. I huff audibly and blow some stray pieces of hair away from my face. Why is he frightened of me? Does he think I’m going to ruin his beautiful face or uniform? I wouldn’t dream of it. I couldn’t imagine even touching him for fear of soiling him. Ruining him with my disgusting fingers.
Disgusting.
Reese called me disgusting once. And though he said he didn’t mean it, his actions speak louder than his words.
I hold up the chains. “You…” I trail off. Am I going to point this out to him? Do I want to see what happens when I basically call him out for being frightened of me?
His light brow arches. “You…” he trails off, mimicking me. He looks down at the cuffs securing my wrists. “Do you want help—”
“I’m not going to hurt you!” I blurt out, red faced and frustrated.
“W-what?” he asks.
“I said… I’m not going to hurt you,” I repeat, holding out the chains. “My hands and wrists are tied and I can’t leave the room so why are you scared of me?”
“I’m not scared of you—” he starts to say, but my verbal vomit is flowing freely and I can’t stop.
“So why are you always cowering by the door?” I say. “Why are you afraid to get close to me? Because if you are… why do you say I don’t deserve to be here? I don’t understand you! Either you’re afraid or you’re not. You’re either disgusted or you’re not. Either way, I—”
“Eleven, shut up,” he says in a firm voice. He sounds similar to Shawn when he’s upset and immediately my mouth clamps shut. I can handle Reese when he’s soft-spoken; he talks like I’m an equal. When his voice rumbles and silences me… I can’t help myself. I submit. With wide and frightened eyes, I meet his gaze. His eyes blaze right back at mine. “I never said any of those things. I mean, I did. I did say you didn’t deserve this and I did once say that you were disgusting, but I told you I didn’t mean it. And. I. Didn’t.”
“Yes, but—” I whimper.
“Listen to me,” he continues. “I may act aloof, but I’ve never… ever… been frightened of you. Would I be down here almost every day after school if I was?”
“I’m chained,” I mutter.
“Which I don’t approve of. And I certainly don’t like those cuffs around your wrists. And I don’t like the idea of someone hurting you and you not even trusting me enough to say who.”
“How can I trust you? I don’t know you.”
“You should trust me,” he answers.
“Why?”
“Because I know—” He stops himself short before he finishes off his sentence.
Damn his self-control. What’s he about to say? Before I can question him further he blinks hard and is suddenly calmer.
“What brought this up, anyway, Eleven? Me being frightened of you? Is it because someone hurt you?” I shake my head. “Are you going to say who did this to you?”
He wants me to say it aloud even though he already knows. I won’t indulge him simply because he has a talent of scaring me with his voice. I won’t betray Shawn, not only because he’s my owner, but he’s the one with the power. He will punish me.
“If you’re not going to say who’s ruining you, then I at least deserve to know why you think I’m frightened of you,” he says.
I defiantly shake my head before stealing another look up at him. He’s so far away, standing practically in the corner of the room and he doesn’t even realize it. Even though Shawn is cruel, he’s always close to me. We may have a sick and strange relationship, but Shawn isn’t afraid of me. He wants me near him, to an extent. No one else will do the same.
“Eleven, please,” Reese says. “Tell me.”
“You’re always standing near the door,” I say.
He looks behind him and realizes how close he is to the door. His back brushes against the frame and he turns to look back at me. “You think… you think I stay over here because I’m scared of you?”
“Aren’t you?”
He shakes his head. “Eleven, I stay here because I think you’re the one who doesn’t want me to come near.”
“W-what?” I croak out.
“Yeah. You always tense up or stiffen when I get closer to you and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I figured staying as far away from you as possible was the best way to go. I didn’t know…” he rubs the back of his neck, tangling his hair in his fingers, “… I didn’t even think about how my distance must seem to you.” He holds up his hands. “For the record, Eleven, I’m not frightened of you. I never was — am. I was trying to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable.”
He lowers his chin to his chest and rests his hands on his knees to get a closer look since my head is lowered. “Okay?” he asks, daring to smile. It’s only the corner of his mouth, but it’s curling upward in an attempt to lighten the dreary atmosphere. “Not frightened of you.”
My lips dare to curl upward, following his lead. “Okay,” I say, lowering my eyes to the pizza. I feel hunger returning and I inch closer to the edge of the bed with my chained wrists hovered over the plate. This is going to be difficult. I look up at Reese, watching curiously. “This could be messy,” I say. “I won’t be offended if you want to come back after I’m finished and cleaned up.”
He crosses his arms over his chest, pretending to pout. “I’m not going anywhere and I’m not going to be kicked out. If you want to eat… do it.”
“But…” I look down at my wrists and reach for the first slice. It’s then that Reese’s expression changes.
“Oh! The cuffs!” he says, sounding like he had completely forgotten about them. “Of course. I’m sorry, I didn’t even think about it. Last time—”
“It’s okay,” I say as I try to pick up the closest slice. It’s hard, but I manage.
As I’m completely focused, there’s shifting and I look up. Reese is no longer standing by the door. He’s standing right in front of me with flecks of pink
across his high cheekbones. I drop the slice and pull my hands away from the plate, thinking he’s going to take the pizza away from me, but instead he kneels down and picks up the slice of pizza I had just dropped.
“Careful,” he says, holding the tip of the slice towards my lips. I stare at him incredulously and though he continues to blush, he doesn’t look away. “I told you I’m not scared of you,” he says, holding the slice right up to my lips. “Go on… try it.”
I’m mesmerized by the kind look in his eyes. Leaning forward, I stretch slightly and take a bite, allowing my mouth to brush across his fingers. The pizza tastes spicy and salty at the same time and the mix of Reese’s rich cocoa scent makes me smile.
“Good?” he asks.
Nodding, I lean forward to take another bite. Sometimes I close my eyes and other times I can’t help looking at the Beauty in front of me. He’s soft and caring, and occasionally biting his lip as he continues to help. The new pizza is good, but I don’t like it as much as the first one. I don’t tell him I liked the first one better because of what a special moment it was when I ate it with him. Not that I’m complaining about this one.
“I’m glad you like it,” Reese says in a low voice. “I was trying to think of what you could try. I didn’t think…” he trails off and our eyes meet, “… I didn’t think you’d be in cuffs though. I still want to know what happened to you.” As I finish off the first slice, he wipes off his hands on his navy school slacks and I bite my lip. I see the grease and crumbs, and realize it’s my fault they’re there.
“I can’t tell you,” I say quietly. “I’m sure you know, though.”
“I hope it didn’t have anything to do with me.” I look away. “Did it have to do with me?” Reese asks. His eyes dilate and then dart back and forth, as he’s searching his memory. “Celia. I told Celia I was looking for my wallet.”
I lick my lips. He’s figured it out.