Over Exposure (Darkroom Saga)

by Poppet

  My baby? What baby?

  He laughs, standing again, moving in front of me, “You haven't been on contraception for eight months. It's inevitable, sweetheart.”

  Tears flood my eyes again and I look away, unable to prevent the sob.

  Warm hands take hold of me, relocating my bone, but thankfully the painkiller has done its work because I'm not incapacitated with agony.

  He checks me over, doctor style, then assists me off the table, wrapping me in the kimono left on the edge of the table.

  “Come, escape Seth's level for a few hours. We'll have a drink and enjoy the view from the penthouse.”

  Whatever.

  Sore, in places I don't even want to admit to myself, I let him shepherd me to the elevator, taking it for a minute when it stops and the doors slide open.

  Putting an arm around my waist, he leads me outside, onto an enormous balcony, making me sit in a padded chair at an outdoors table where mojitos already wait.

  Sitting adjacent to me, extending his legs, he smiles, watching me.

  Anxious, I examine him out the corner of my eye, amazed at how when he's relaxed and in natural lighting he appears like a good looking friendly dude.

  “Drink?” he offers, sitting forward, lifting the jug.

  “Thank you,” I nod, forced to meet his perceptive gaze.

  Pouring for both of us, he hands mine to me with a bendy straw, saying, “Use the straw until your lip heals.”

  I nod, almost saying 'yes sir', but stopping myself. And I think saying 'okay' would seem confrontational to him.

  Reaching out when he reclines against his chair-back, he holds my hand on the table-top, sipping his drink, savouring the breeze brushing hair away from his face.

  Not knowing what to say, I drink, draining it all, hoping to find oblivion in opiates and alcohol. Looking around it seems we are in the middle of absolutely nowhere. All I can see is orange sand and scrub surrounded with a far off fence of mountain.

  “What do you like to read?” he asks, making conversation.

  “Romances, paranormal stuff...” I trail off at the interested expression aimed my way.

  “I made them, you know. All fiction comes from the bible. The bible is the first source of my deeds and authors everywhere plagiarise my work.”

  I'm tempted to say 'yeah right', but keep my trap shut, refilling my tumbler. He's hardly touched his so I don't feel inclined to offer and be a hostess.

  “I can tell from your expression you're dubious,” he smirks, his tone now sounding amused.

  Staying noncommittal, I say, “I just haven't read that bit yet.”

  “Truly, truly, I say to you, if anyone keeps my word, he will never see death.” John 8:51

  Sitting back, sipping like a sailor surrounded by an ocean of saltwater, I remain silent.

  “Not good enough? Okay then, what about this: Proverbs 30:14 There is a generation, whose teeth are as swords, and their jaw teeth as knives, to devour the poor from off the earth, and the needy from among men.” Grinning, he lifts my hand still captured by his, placing a kiss on it, “Those are my vampires, Shauna. They are a generation I created who perform acts of mercy. They have sharp teeth because they are predators, and I freed them to live in stealth, reaping the destitute and disenfranchised from their poverty.”

  “Wow, I had no clue–”

  “Of course you didn't. You question everything I stand for. You resent and resist it, yet by your own admission you crave the very thing I created. I know your heart aches, woman. Do you think I can't see it? You prayed to me so many times, begging me to save you, and now that I am you shout and cry and have tantrums. Lady, what am I to do with you? I would love you myself except for the little fact that you find me abhorrent. Everything I've done, I've done for you.”

  “Everything?” Ha, I find that hard to believe.

  Smiling, the soft caring kind, he leans in, resting his elbows on the table, “Recently. The past three years I've watched you. I know Vengeance corrected and resurrected you, and that for you it was a hardship, but from it you found true love. It freed you in ways you couldn't see until you wore the wisdom of hindsight. Would I provide true love and a husband if I didn't care for you?”

  “You didn't–”

  “I did! I gave you my own son. And now I give you another and you reject him. Shauna, please don't be so unreasonable. You are safe here, and the only time you will know pain in my care is when you blaspheme against me or my laws. I'm sorry it happened, but I'm not sorry you are here.”

  I need to get the hell out of this dynamic. Nodding, I lower my gaze, staring at the white grip of his hand, “I need to be alone, you've given me so much wisdom, thank you.”

  My insides heave when he leans in, pressing an insistent kiss on my mouth, making me wish I was dead rather than have this man think my body is his to do with as he pleases. It's the only thing that's ever been wholly mine, and yet 'holy' men desecrate it. Because of a book.

  “Shauna, here, take my bible with you. Read it, mull over our conversation. We shall dine together tonight, and we'll discuss this further.”

  From behind the pot-plant he hands me a book bound in gold and leather, encrusted with pink diamonds, the markings unfamiliar.

  It's beautiful, and heavy.

  “Thank you,” I nod, relieved when he releases me.

  I want to take this book and smash his head in with it, but instead I lift it into my arms when he releases me from his imposition, fleeing his quarters, desperate to get to my own, to find reprieve... and proof.

  Chapter 12

  they shall be priests of God and of Christ,

  and shall reign with him a thousand years

  ~ Revelation 20:6

  Shauna:

  Sadness is a malady which infests my soul, the molestation of my body has shattered my mind in ways I can't articulate. Free of the masquerade of 'holding it together' the second the doors close to give me privacy I sink to the floor, wailing.

  Rocking, blind with weeping sorrow, I wish there was a way to find peace. What did I ever do to instigate so much brutality? Why am I such an easy victim? What is it about me that draws violent men to punish me for my existence?

  The doors slide open, and I'm grateful for the stupid intel of which button to press on the unmarked grid to return me to my rooms, but the man pacing beyond the threshold makes me want to hide away.

  Facing me, his expression is full of intent and determination when he limps forwards, reaching in, forcing me up and out, still strong even when he's weak. Unwilling to engage, I refuse to look at him, staring down the hall, pulling against his hold on my arms.

  “Shauna please, just look at me.”

  Shaking my head I focus on his chest, my anguish physical, my torment still raw and vile.

  “I'm sorry. I am. I don't make the rules, but I have to follow them just like you.”

  Sorry? Yeah, you seemed really sorry when you rode me like you haven't been laid in a decade.

  Still resisting, I strain toward my rooms, wishing he'd just let me go.

  Encircling my shoulders with his arm, he forces me in the opposite direction, whispering, “Don't piss him off. Please.”

  “Where are we going?” I ask, the exertion against his strength making my voice hoarse.

  “My side. You're my wife now. I've covered you, it's done, it's biblical, and if you don't do this you'll be disciplined again. You live with me now.”

  When I cry out my anguish in a soul wrenching sob, he folds me against his chest, bending to whisper in my ear, “Please Shauna, I don't want to give them another excuse to hurt you. Help me keep you safe. Just follow the rules. We need time to heal and the only way we can do that is to adhere to the laws of his empire.”

  Fuck! I hate that you sound so sincere. As if you really give a damn.

  I can't help it, this close, held against him who fucked me against my will, I batter with my free arm, the one not holding God's bible.

  �
�I hate you! I fucking loathe you!”

  Catching my wrist he holds it tight, so tight it burns an ache up my arm, “I know you're angry. I get it. But we have no privacy, we're recorded. Please Shauna, don't make this any harder.”

  Frustrated I bellow a gritted throat hnnnnnnnggggggh, twisting so I can scratch him, leaning in and biting his chest.

  Pulling back, putting space between us, he stares down at me, worry mutating his hazel eyes to watery and dark.

  “Fine. Do what you will. Don't say I didn't warn you. Next time they'll all fuck you, or God will. If you take this tone with him you'll end up like the other women walking the halls. Silenced, forever. He'll cut out your vocal cords and sew your mouth shut, he'll give you a hysterectomy so anyone can fuck you without consequences, and you'll be used in ways that'll make you wish you were dead. Go right ahead. Being mine protects you from that.”

  Abandoning me in the entrance hall he limps away, leaving me alone with the worst imaginings smashing what's left of my mind.

  Now I'm torn, not knowing what to do, so instead I buckle, puddling on the floor in the hallway, curled into myself, sobbing until it becomes hysterical.

  ~~~

  Alpha/ The Watcher:

  Smiling as I watch the disintegration of resistance, she's right where I want her. Internal conflict is what causes anguish. No longer sure of herself she's waging an internal struggle between what she wants, and what I want.

  If she wasn't succumbing to my power there would be no conflict, this is indeed an excellent sign.

  Seth's wrong about one thing though. The other disciples are not infertile, which means they don't get that privilege. But I do.

  Soon she'll have a whole different level of conflict to destroy her mind.

  ~~~

  Seth:

  I've waited long enough, concern gnawing my veins hollow, inciting me to go back to her.

  Fuck. She's a stubborn wench. I can see why Victor was so drawn to her. She's not easy to break, she is the ultimate challenge, and a pretty one at that.

  I won't lie and pretend I didn't enjoy it. This is my birthright and I'm happy to have my brother's hand me downs. She fits better than any of his old shirts ever did.

  Limping back to the entrance, she's a pathetic sight. She's cracking. Dad must be so proud. If anyone can break an indomitable spirit, it's him. He just knows how to push buttons. We all learn the hard way that having a smart mouth will end painfully, his will shall be done, on earth as it is in heaven.

  Westerners falsely adhere to a belief of free will. There is no such thing. It's his way, or the painful way, but in the end the only person who is ever content is the one holding our lives in his hands.

  My ribs object when I bend, sitting next to her, scooping her onto my legs and hugging her. Kissing her temple, forcing her head into the curve of my shoulder, I murmur, “Shhhh, I've got you.”

  The distraught automatically seek comfort. The broken become like children. Smiling, the scripture pops into my head: unless you will be converted and become like children, you will not enter the Kingdom of Heaven. Matthew 18:3.

  She's closer now than she's ever been. When the heart breaks only God can fix it, but the fruits of the flesh this time are mine. I finally get a companion Alpha approves of. She's sanctioned by him, which means for once I have hope, that this time he won't take my joy away and break it so it's no longer whole.

  She's been his fixation for years, but still he gave her to me.

  Me!

  Maybe his heart is softening towards me.

  Christ, I fucking hope so.

  Clinging, she buries her face in my neck, dampening my skin with hot tears, her bony ass kneading my crotch every time she inches close to snuggle. He destroys the courage of the adult and reduces them to needy. He's right, women are like children. We have to guide them, discipline them, make them worthy in his eyes with full wombs, subservient and obedient, to his ways and tutelage.

  I need to get into constricting jeans.

  Giving her a tight squeeze, I force her off me, covering the evidence of her effect with the substantial bible, wrangling my thoughts in a different direction, “Why do you have this? He doesn't usually let anyone touch it.”

  “I...” she sniffs, wiping swollen eyes, her bruises now as impressive as my own. What a pair we make. “I want proof, of zombies, and vampires, and the undead becoming living, of immortal people...”

  “Proof of the supernatural? But you surely know of the supernatural race? They bred the first giants on earth. They were immense individuals who took daughters of men for wives because men have always found women beautiful creatures. We have needs only you can fulfil. Needs you were created to sate.”

  She gives me a reproachful stare, “Seth, it's not my fault I was born with a y chromosome. So were you when you were conceived. All conception is female. How would you like it if I rammed my fist up your bum just because you have a hole?”

  “I have a prostate gland there. I might just like it. I'm game,” I joke, regretting the words at her anguished expression, grief worn in a tragic twist of precious beauty. She's distorting it, making it ugly.

  Scrambling to fix my fuck up, I flip the bible open, “I know them. I'll read them to you, if you like?” Dipping so I can look into her downcast face, I clasp her chin, absently rubbing my thumb over the dimple in it, “Would you like that?”

  She nods, her mouth so sexy when her lips visibly tremble. I wish I could just kiss her to death, filling her in every way, but I know women. They're sensitive creatures. Even the stony heart can be softened with displays of compassion.

  I am nothing if not patient.

  This is a mental chess game, and an emotional one. Every move I make is strategic. She'll be mine, come hell or high water.

  Looking at deep blue eyes brimming with distress, I promise myself: I'll make you love me. I will.

  Patting her hand, I flip through the book, pulling her against my side so she can read with me, “Those of our people who have died will live again! Their bodies will come back to life. All those sleeping in their graves will wake up and sing for joy. As the sparkling dew refreshes the earth, so the Lord will revive those who have long been dead.” Isaiah 26:1

  “But Jesus says that too,” she debates, as is a woman's default setting. Naturally fucking argumentative.

  Arching eyebrows, I counter, “This is the Old Testament. It's literal.”

  “Oh,” she mumbles, settling into a grouchy disposition.

  Flipping through, I choose another, saying, “He has torn us to pieces but he will heal us; he has injured us but he will bind up our wounds. After two days he will revive us; on the third day he will restore us, that we may live in his presence. Hosea 6:1-2. But after the three and a half days (after death) a breath of life from God entered them, and they stood on their feet, and terror struck those who saw them. Revelation 11:11 The tombs also were opened, and many bodies of the saints who had fallen asleep were raised. After his resurrection they came out of the tombs and entered the holy city and appeared to many. Matthew 27:52-53. And Elijah cried to the Lord and said, O Lord my God, have You brought further calamity upon the widow with whom I sojourn, by slaying her son? And he stretched himself upon the child three times and cried to the Lord and said, O Lord my God, I pray You, let this child's soul come back into him. And the Lord heard the voice of Elijah, and the soul of the child came into him again, and he revived.1 Kings 17:17-24”

  Putting my arm around her again, pleased when she slumps against my side the way Eve pressed against Adam's missing rib, I look down at her, “Raising the dead was normal for God. He's got power we don't fully comprehend, but there's no denying he raised the dead over and over. The dead walk as the living, and you can call it rebirth if you want, or the modern equivalent of vampires and zombies, but raising the physically dead is an alchemist's secret. One he'll never share with the likes of me.”

  Finally engaging with me, she looks into my eyes, “
He's your dad. He loves you. Don't be so hard on yourself.”

  “Like your parents loved you?” I counter, knowing full well how her parents are seriously lacking in the love and compassion department.

  “Tell me more,” she says, avoiding the conflict and truth of our dilemma. We're suited on so many levels. Levels she refuses to acknowledge.... yet.

  Flipping with my free hand, I read for her, “The time is coming when all the dead will hear his voice and come out of their graves. John 5:28 But now Christ is risen from the dead, the firstfruits of them that sleep: For by a man came death, and by a man the resurrection of the dead.” 1 Corinthians 15:20

  Pausing, I explain, “The firstfruits of those that sleep. What in vampire novels they call hibernation. It's simply a period of rest for the immortal.”

  She looks interested, a little spark of life returning to her dulled eyes. Eager to engage and keep her returning to me, I smile, flipping to the next verse, “And this, it reads like a zombie story for sure; Their people will become like walking corpses, their flesh rotting away. Their eyes will rot in their sockets, and their tongues will rot in their mouths. Zechariah 14:12 . Don't let her become like something born dead with half its flesh eaten away. Numbers 12:12. See Shauna? How would they know what a zombie looks like, unless they'd witnessed them? There is a race in the Old Testament, offspring of the Supernatural men, called Rephaim. Their name means 'the dead ones'. They were the first race of zombies. The first race reborn to live from death. God works in mysterious ways, but everything that seems new has been done before. Ecclesiastes even says as much, saying, 'Whatever happens or can happen has already happened before. God makes the same thing happen again and again.'” Ecclesiastes 3:15

  “Born dead? Since when is anything born dead with half its flesh eaten away – unless it's been a corpse for some time before being 'born'. Like something long dead suddenly brought to life. What the fuck?” she says, staring at me, incredulous.