Wilt

by Rae, Nikki

His fingers brushed my arm. “Can you lie like this a while?”

  I nodded, getting more and more comfortable the longer I stayed like this. “Yes, sir.”

  Master Lyon walked to the other side of the bed and I could no longer see him. Now my nerves ignited once again.

  “What we are going to do today requires one thing.” I could hear him moving some sort of objects and then I smelled something earthy. Not quite like mud or clay, but close. “Patience.”

  I heard the sound of rubber gloves as he slipped them on followed by their unmistakable sterile smell filling my nostrils. The thought of what he’d said last night about some Owners permanently marking their girls entered my mind. I jerked but my weak arms wouldn’t allow me to sit up without help.

  I felt a gloved hand on the small of my back, steadying me. “Shhh.” He only moved away when I stilled.

  “Will it hurt, sir?” I couldn’t stop myself from asking.

  The mattress dipped and I felt his thighs on either side of me, yet he kept most of his weight to himself. “Have you done something to make me hurt you, Doe?”

  I blinked at a sun spot on the hardwood as morning streamed through the unobstructed window. “No, sir.” The tightness in my chest unwound a fraction.

  “Then you have nothing to be afraid of.” His thighs caged me in and I could feel the rough denim of his jeans against my bare backside. I suppressed a shiver as I heard something that sounded like plastic. “All you have to do is be still until I tell you otherwise. Do you understand?”

  I cleared my throat. “Yes, sir.”

  Taking a deep breath, I willed myself to relax.

  “That’s it,” he encouraged. “You’ve become a good listener, Doe.”

  That wasn’t all I’d become good at in my time of healing and preparing for what was to come. I couldn’t ignore how part of me liked these moments of praise from him. In the past, I would have likened it to patting a dog on the head, but now things were different. Now I was different. His kindness instilled pride within me and I would be lying if I said I didn’t crave it.

  “Thank you, sir.” I meant my gratitude.

  After a moment, he said, “Don’t move.”

  As if waiting for me to disobey, he didn’t move until he was sure that wouldn’t be the case.

  Something cold touched my skin and I clenched my teeth to prevent myself from jumping. It was odd, being unprepared for it. The sensation teetered between pain and the less threatening coolness of the substance as it swept in a line over the nape of my neck.

  Once I had decided that whatever he was doing wasn’t hurting me, I released a slow exhale and concentrated on other things. The earthy smell had definitely become stronger and although it wasn’t unpleasant, I still could not figure out what it was.

  “May I ask what it is you’re doing, sir?”

  Master Lyon was silent and I felt a few more lines coming from the first, curling slightly as if he were drawing some intricate pattern. “Lawsonia inermis,” he said, distracted. “Henna.” When I didn’t indicate that his clarification had helped me understand any better, he added, “It dyes the skin for a period of time.”

  I found myself grinning. I hadn’t been all that far off. “Like a tattoo, sir?”

  “A temporary one,” he emphasized. “We need to let it dry. After that, it is up to you how long it stays. The more patient you are now, the longer the dye will stay in your skin.”

  If I wanted to be marked by him, I needed to earn it—just like all things with my Owner. If I wanted to survive, I had to store every experience within me until I no longer needed it. My body would expel every horrible memory only when I couldn’t use them as inspiration for revenge, just like my body would attack the foreign chemicals on my skin and make them fade.

  But it was up to me to decide.

  “Is it from a plant?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  I wanted to keep him talking, but the more of the thin, complicated lines he applied, the harder it became to pay attention to anything else. The first few he’d drawn had already started to dry and just a hint of itchiness had begun underneath.

  “How long does it take to dry, sir?” I asked.

  He laughed. “Already had enough?”

  “No, sir.” I couldn’t be sure if I meant it. I wanted to claw the stuff off with one hand and beg him to keep touching me with the other.

  “No?” He leaned slightly over me so I could see him if I strained my eyes in his direction.

  “I’m a busy girl,” I attempted to joke. “Just want to make sure there’s time in my schedule.”

  Another soft laugh as he continued his work—a long, curved line stretching from my spine to the left side of my back and then a mirror image of it on the right. “At least an hour,” he said.

  “So it’s a test of patience for you too, sir.”

  I imagined him smiling at what I’d inferred. I wanted him to be smiling. “Yes.”

  I couldn’t exactly tell what image he was creating. Sometimes the lines felt like they were straight while some curved and others felt as small as dots made by a pen. We were silent then and I thought that was what he’d intended. This way, I had nothing to concentrate on other than my mildly irritated skin.

  If I wasn’t so aware of the henna drying, I could have drifted to sleep. I’d learned a long time ago that unpleasant things went faster with your eyes closed.

  “Did you sleep last night, sir?” It darted out of my mouth before the question had fully formed in my mind. Of course he hadn’t. He tossed and turned the same as every night. Just because he no longer spoke or screamed didn’t mean he hadn’t sunk back into the nightmare that used to be his life.

  “No.” He said it so quietly that I almost could have mistaken it for concentration. He didn’t deviate at all from the part of his design he worked on, but I could tell he was uncomfortable in the subtle tensing of his thigh muscles.

  I licked my lips as I tried to think of a way to approach this fragile topic. “Are you tired?” It was a weak attempt, but it was all I could come up with.

  “Always,” he said as if it should have been obvious.

  “Do…you have nightmares every night, sir?”

  He adjusted his posture as if the idea made even his bones uncomfortable. “Nearly.”

  I couldn’t imagine it. How exhausting all of this was in addition to his past. I’d chosen not to allow mine into my dreams, but along with it, my imagination wouldn’t allow good memories to surface either. I sincerely hoped that would change once I needed to recall moments like this, where it was just Master Lyon and I. The person who tried to save me. The one who would condemn me.

  I was willing to endure the torture if it meant I would be granted a moment of his memory.

  Chewing on my lip, I grappled with what I should say next. Instead, the silence settled back over us until I was convinced the conversation had died and along with it, a chance to learn more about the man I would soon be leaving.

  “Do…” This time, he did stop what he was doing, “you still have them?”

  I was caught off guard by the fact that he’d said something more than a one-word sentence, let alone that he was asking about my past.

  “No.”

  His body shifted again as he thought and after a moment I felt him resume his design. “When did they stop?”

  If I could, I would have shrugged. “After I came back, I think.” Once there was no chance of living a life either Owned or in the Mainworld, there was nothing to be afraid of. “I decided to leave it outside the Compound,” I finally said. “I don’t dream at all now.”

  “Do you miss dreaming?” he asked. “Don’t you want to escape sometimes?”

  “Yes.” I was surprised that my voice cracked and I suddenly felt like I might cry. I swallowed the urge to break down over something so trivial before I added, “Sometimes being in the dark is better than turning on a light to see all you’re afraid of.”

  Master Lyon st
opped his work again. “That’s quite…a sacrifice,” he said softly.

  I let out a heavy exhale. “Yes, sir.” It wasn’t the first and it wouldn’t be the last. At least I was the one in control in this case.

  “Why are you crying, Doe?”

  I hadn’t realized I was until he pointed it out. I wanted to wipe them away, deny what was right in front of him, but I remained still.

  “Do you hurt?” he asked, continuing his task. “Are you getting sore?”

  I sniffed. “No, sir. I’m fine. Sorry.”

  He kept going for a short time before he spoke again. “You’re not staying here with me,” he said. “Your mind shouldn’t travel anywhere else when you’re with me.”

  His words should have been meant to chastise me, but they were too gentle, almost sad. He allowed me a few more minutes of self-pity, pretending to focus on what was in front of him while I willed my tears to stop, but I could tell he was thinking just as much as me. His strokes had become shorter, contemplative. He wasn’t in the room with me either.

  Not long after that, he finished, his weight leaving me as he came around the bed and removed the gloves. They made sense now; the pigment would only mark me. He would have no evidence on his own body that he’d touched me.

  “Now we wait.” He dried the tears drying on my cheek and then kissed it.

  “Are you leaving, sir?” I seemed to ask this question a lot lately. More and more, I wanted the answer to be no.

  He moved the lamp from the bedside table and set it on the floor. It had been the only thing taking up the space, so he sat down on its surface. “We are going to be patient together,” he said with a sad smile. “Would you like some music?”

  I blinked up at him. “That would be lovely, sir.”

  Moving his legs aside, he opened the drawer in the nightstand and took out a sleek remote. After pressing a few things, a soft melody floated into the room through what I assumed were cleverly hidden speakers; I’d never seen any.

  “Good?” he asked.

  I closed my eyes and relaxed into the pillow, letting the sound of the bow against the strings soothe whatever parts of me were here now. “Yes, sir.”

  That was how we remained. He sat beside me and held my hand and I periodically opened my eyes to confirm he was still there, that we were still in the same room together.

  ***

  When I next opened my eyes, I was still in the same position and Master Lyon stood by the bed. Taking a warm washcloth, he started to gently wipe away the dried paste. My groggy head took longer than it should have to figure out what this meant. He’d told me that the longer I left the henna on, the longer it would last. If I had a choice, I would leave it on for days on end if it meant it would never fade.

  “No,” I mumbled. “Please don’t.” I struggled to make my limbs move, tired and afraid it would hurt after staying motionless for the last few hours.

  He stopped as if he’d burned me. “What is it?”

  “I want it to stay with me,” I said, aware that if I wasn’t careful, I would start crying again.

  Master Lyon’s hand rested against my scalp. “It’s all right, Doe,” he said. “It will last a long time.”

  “But I should leave it…” I pleaded. “Make sure…” I realized how ridiculous I sounded and I cut myself off.

  “It’s all right,” he repeated. “It’s going to be all right.”

  I took a shaky breath. He had never indicated the future before when he was comforting me. I wasn’t sure what it meant—if it meant anything at all.

  I said no more and he wiped away the rest of the dried paste, careful as if he’d actually broken the skin. He let me take my time as he helped me sit upright again, allowing me to adjust after being in the same position for so long. Once I was no longer uncomfortable, he helped me stand and led me towards the bathroom. My skin felt odd; new. It was like he had stripped the area raw; adorned me with something beautiful.

  In the mirror above the double sink, he turned me around and gave me a hand mirror so I wouldn’t have to strain to look at my back.

  I wasn’t fully prepared for what I saw. Master Lyon held my hair away as I took in the almost labyrinthine lines and curves that blended into a variety of wildflowers, trees, and geometric configurations. It was a mixture of hard and soft all in a bright orange-red.

  “Power can be hidden in the most fragile of places,” he whispered into my ear, bringing me so close by the nape of my neck that I was pressed into him and could no longer see my reflection. His fingers traced the edge of a flower. “I want you to remember that,” he said. “And I want you to remember exactly what this looks like. Even when it fades.”

  It seemed an impossible task, but even now I wanted to look at it again, admire all that lay before me; all he had chosen to give me. I wanted to seek any meaning hidden within it. I would memorize each and every detail if that meant part of me could keep part of him.

  Kissing my cheek, he guided me out of the bathroom, back into his room, and into my abandoned robe. “It will take around twenty-four hours to fully develop,” he explained. “It will be darker.”

  He sat me down on the bed as he walked around to the opposite side. “Here,” he said, handing me a large sheet of paper. On it was the identical image of what I had seen on my back. “So you can better study.” He gave me the slightest of grins.

  My fingers hovered over the pencil sketches. Individually, they meant nothing, but together, he had brought something to life that hadn’t existed before them. I was almost afraid to touch it for fear of contaminating it in some way.

  “It’s beautiful, sir,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Coming back to stand in front of me, he said, “I expect you to learn that,” indicating the sketch. “It’s an order.” A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

  I stared into his eyes, trying to read him, but the mask was back in place. Elliot was the one who’d created this masterpiece, but my Owner was the one who’d chosen to mark me with it. He was who looked back at me now.

  “Yes, sir,” I whispered, more determined than I’d been in my life to follow an order.

  Four

  He left me to myself after that and I spent my time reading any book on flowers I could get my hands on. I identified all of them before I committed each to memory and even drew a rough idea of the entire design without looking just to make sure I hadn’t gotten anything wrong. My version was nowhere near as special or flawless as my Owner’s; though the arts had been taught at the Compound, I’d never caught on. While I could copy things quite well, there was no emotion in my drawings.

  I didn’t intend to fall asleep among the books, but my mind had been stretched thin today after so long of resting it and my eyes were closed when Master Lyon returned.

  Half awake, I caught sight of him as he opened the door and came into the room, smirking at me. “You take my tasks seriously now, Doe,” he said as he came closer, pulling an open book off my lap.

  I shrugged. “I should take every task my Owner gives me seriously, sir.” I hadn’t meant it to sound so dry, but it came out bitter.

  Unfazed, he sat beside me. It seemed like he wanted to say something, but he remained silent, hands clasped between his knees as he stared at his sketch next to mine, studying the many lines that connected us.

  “There is something important happening tonight.”

  He hadn’t raised his voice at all, but the statement blared in my ears like he had shouted. My muscles tensed as he said them and he smoothed a hand down my back.

  “We still have time,” he whispered. “But tonight is…very significant.”

  Inching closer, I partially hid my face in his shirt. “Why didn’t you tell me until now, sir?” I asked.

  “We still have time, Doe,” he repeated, more stern.

  That did nothing to quell the rising panic in my throat. Did he mean until tonight? A day or a few from now? A month? No matter how I tried to look at it, each scena
rio only prolonged the inescapable reality.

  “May I ask—”

  “No,” he whispered, not angry or commanding in the least.

  I blinked a few times, waiting for him to continue, but he didn’t. Silence blanketed us again, the only sound his palm against my robe as it smoothed up and down my spine.

  Tucking my hair behind my ear, he pulled away, giving me a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He clenched his jaw and even while he looked at me, his gaze diverted to the wall behind me. To anyone else, he would have only looked mildly uncomfortable, the way people do when they have to tell someone something important. But I knew the truth. Like me, he didn’t know how to feel. At least I was surer of my future, even if it was a horrible one. Master Lyon wasn’t. He couldn’t feel happy to have his wife back in his arms if that meant me leaving them and he couldn’t keep one of the women he loved without condemning the other.

  At the Compound, they made us watch every romantic notion of love in cartoons and movies. It was instilled in us that once our princes saved us from the Mainworld, our lives would become the Disney version. Everything would be brighter with songs and pretty dresses. These were what equated to love in the Order. What Ownership meant. If this was the definition, Master Lyon most certainly did not love me.

  But I had no interest in any of the Compound’s ideals; love could mean something different now, and being with Master Lyon had given me only a small glimpse of it. I wasn’t sure if I should be thankful it was such a short time or grieve its loss.

  I found myself back in the room with him, closer than I had been and even using my good arm to shift upward. One shoulder of the robe slipped down, revealing my back and all of his hard work, and he helped me straddle his lap and nuzzled into my neck. His fingers traced the lines closest to him and it awakened goose bumps all over me.

  I felt him relax into the mattress and I pretended to move hair out of his face just so my hand could linger on the soft skin of his cheek, the roughness of his beard. His other hand crept up my spine and I became aware of how I only wore the cotton robe, which was slipping off more and more. Between my legs, I was completely open to him, unable to grasp the shame I would have felt weeks ago.