by Poppy Flynn
For better or worse, she decided to trust the stranger who, so far, had treated her with nothing but a kindness that she hadn't known for…well, who knew how long it had been. She'd lost count of days, weeks, even months, a long time ago. She knew years passed simply by the fact that the weather changed. There wasn't very much in life that could be worse than what she had left, so what did she really have to lose? Besides, this was a club. She knew that, because she had seen the patrons coming in and out. It would be hard to keep her secreted away in a place where there were other people and staff.
That decision made, she felt as if a great weight had lifted from her shoulders. Only time would tell if she had made the right choice. What she did know was that, at least, this unknown place was somewhere Master would never think to look for her, and that, alone, offered its own heady relief.
Micah looked over at the wall clock in his office. It had been thirty minutes and she hadn't made any attempt to leave. To do so, she would have had to pass this room and he had deliberately kept the door open, so he could check. Taking that as a positive sign, Micah decided to go back and check on his unexpected guest.
He entered the room and sat himself back behind the table in the corner so as not to intimidate her. "How are you feeling now?" he finally asked, aware that she'd not yet spoken at all.
"I…" The single word came out as a timid croak and she cleared her throat and took a sip of water before continuing. "I'm feeling better, I guess."
"What's your name?" Micah asked. It was a straight forward question, but the girl looked at him blankly, and he wondered if she was scared to identify herself.
"You don't need to give me your full name, just tell me what I should call you," he tried to reassure her.
Still, she looked at him blankly until, finally, her brow knitted and she whispered sadly, "I don't have a name."
Now, it was Micah's turn to frown. "You don't remember your name?" he interpreted. "Are there other things you don't remember?" he asked in alarm, suddenly concerned that her prognosis was worse than Xavier had imagined.
"No, I mean I don't have a name," she corrected.
"Then what does everyone call you?" he queried.
"There was only Master, and he said I hadn't earned the right to have a name. Mostly, he called me nothing, but if he had to, he called me slave."
Micah was momentarily lost for words, but thoughts and questions tumbled through his shocked mind.
"How long were you with your master?" he asked carefully, not wanting to overwhelm her with all of the many different questions which were running through his head.
"I don't know." She shrugged. "I know the years passed because the seasons changed, but I don't know if I counted them properly. I think I was there for more than three years."
Micah took a breath and tried not to let his horror show on his face. Luckily, having worked for several years in a psychology practice, he had a lot of experience at that.
"So where were you before that?"
"I had a different Master…well, not really as Master. He wanted me to call him Daddy," she told him as if it were the most normal thing in the world. At least Micah understood what she was telling him better than most would. "He called me 'child'."
Micah weighed her words carefully. He wondered how much information she'd be willing to share because he had some serious concerns about what he was reading between the lines right now, but he didn't want to spook her with his questions.
"Okay, so when you were growing up, before you lived with your previous master and your daddy, didn't you have a name then?"
She blinked at him, almost nonplussed before scrunching her face up. "Yes?" she replied as if it was a question instead of a statement.
"Okay," Micah cajoled. "And what was that name?"
She didn't answer for so long that Micah wondered just how long it had been and if she really had forgotten. "M-Melody," she finally stammered in a voice barely above a breath, as if the name was foreign on her tongue.
Micah smiled widely as he got the first real piece of information out of her. "That's a beautiful name," he praised. "And I will be calling you Melody."
"I can have a name?" she whispered. The words should have alerted him and set his internal alarm bells ringing, but Micah didn't have time to react before Melody launched herself off of the sofa, falling to her knees as her painful feet and ankle gave out on her. Still, she pulled herself, crawling with unexpected speed and losing most of her blankets as she did so, over to his feet, and Micah wasn't prepared for the intensity of the reaction his declaration brought about.
To his utter shock, she started kissing his boots, interspersing the action with genuine, heartfelt declarations of appreciation.
"Oh, thank you, Master. You won't regret it. I will be such a good slave for you. I am so honoured that you gave me back my name. I promise, I will serve you well."
"Melody!" Micah exclaimed as she prostrated herself at his feet.
"Sorry, Master," she apologised quickly. "I know I shouldn't have moved or spoken without permission, but I just wanted you to know how grateful I am. Are you going to punish me now?" Her voice trembled with the final query.
"Melody," Micah continued more softly. "You are not my slave, and I am not your master."
To his shock, her eyes filled with unexpected tears.
"I know I do things wrong, but I can be a helpful and attentive slave. I can look after all your needs. Everything and anything!"
Micah sighed. The girl was going to need a lot more help than simply recovering from her physical abuse. It was becoming overwhelmingly clear that she had been completely brainwashed as to her role and her value in life. Even her very freedom.
Micah stood and held out his hand for Melody to take, making his actions clear. "Let's get you wrapped back up and continue warming your feet, sweetheart." He couldn't help the endearment which slipped out; he was hit by the overwhelming urge to scoop her up and coddle her with kindness and consideration. It was becoming clear that this poor creature had encountered no comfort or sweetness in her life for a very long time. Not even the characteristic loving and remorse that typified the cycle of spousal abuse. For Melody, it appeared there had only been harshness and punishment without a hint of tenderness or penitence. Depending on her strength of character, that might even prove to be beneficial in the long run. Often, it was the subsequent affection and seeming repentance that caused the confusion and kept the victim's psyche in a state of disorientation, kept them willing to believe that their abuser was sorry for their actions and wouldn't do it again or would honestly try to change, leading to a willingness to give undeserved second chances which eventually just duplicated the cycle. Rinse and repeat.
That didn't quite seem to be the impression he was getting here. Micah rubbed at the ache that was beginning to flare behind his temples. He was going to need a lot more information!
Melody was clearly nonplussed at Micah's actions in helping her, another clue that she wasn't used to even the smallest concession. Then her face cleared as if she had suddenly had an epiphany.
"Of course!" she exclaimed. "I understand now. You need me to be strong and properly recovered so that I can serve you adequately."
He refreshed the warm water in the bowl and slipped her feet back into it after he'd retrieved her blankets, then Micah tried to make his expectations clear.
"No, Melody. I want you to be properly recovered for yourself and the sake of your own health. I do not want you to be my slave."
This time, the tears that filled her eyes were not the joyful kind. "You don't want me?" she asked meekly, almost sadly. "I'm no good at all?"
Micah closed his eyes and sighed. Without a doubt, in his ten years of practicing psychology, he had never encountered an individual whose deliberately malicious conditioning was quite as indoctrinated as it appeared in this young girl. Not even Sara had displayed this much dependence and that, at least, had been a choice of her own free will.
A tremor of trepidation shivered down Micah's spine. Was he getting in too deep with this situation, biting off more than he could chew?
Did that even matter? He had a duty, right at this very moment, to reassure this woman and set her on a path to recovery. Now, it seemed that was clearly very much more than a physical recovery, and since he was the only one here, he was the one tasked with that obligation. This might not be what he had initially signed up for, but there was no way he was going to shirk his unexpected responsibilities and become yet another person who had let this girl down.
Right here, right now, was the day that Melody's life was going to change, and the first thing he had to do was convince her that she was valued in her own right, as an individual who was free and in control of her own destiny.
Micah lifted Melody's downturned face to his. "Look at me, Melody." He deliberately emphasised her name. "I hope I am making myself clear, because I don't want you to be upset by any misunderstandings," he told her earnestly. "I did not say that I don't want you, or that you are no good! Understand?"
She looked at him for a long time, but he just waited her out, his eyebrow raised in query, so she knew he was waiting for an answer.
Eventually, she nodded, although he noted that she still seemed unsure. Well, he could work on that.
"Maybe we could do it properly, with a contract and everything, if that would make you feel better," Melody asked hesitantly.
"Absolutely not!" Micah refused in no uncertain terms. "I refuse to validate your subjugation by indorsing it with a contract," he replied, knowing all too well that the use of a contract was one of the tools which Masters often adopted to authenticate the feeling of 'ownership' within the slave mentality.
"I do not need or require a slave, but I do want to help you recover. You are your own person, Melody, and you are in charge of your own life and your own decisions; no one else. I will tell you that as many times as I need to for you to start believing it."
She didn't look like she believed it right now, but Micah wasn't deterred. He knew it would take time for her to accept this new reality.
"Now, while we have only just met and don't know each other at all, I would like to try to be your friend."
"Friend?" Melody repeated as if the concept was a foreign one.
"Yes, friend," Micah reiterated with his most reassuring smile.
Chapter 4
Melody felt like she was in some kind of weird alternate reality. As free as it appeared to be from pain, she actually felt kind of scared, as if she'd been set adrift. Never mind completely overwhelmed! Maybe he had drugged her after all. But then why would he do that if, as he said, he didn't want a slave?
Melody. The man had allowed her name. For a short time, she really had drawn a blank there. It had been so long since her name had been used that she'd had to think of it before she could say it. That, alone, made her sad. She remembered how she had promised herself to always think of her name, even though Master said she didn't deserve one.
In her head, she had been determined to remember herself, even if no one else did. When had she lost sight of that? As the months turned into years, filled with nothing but fear and desolation, she had somehow lost touch with herself, becoming the animal that Master frequently told her she was no better than. He'd managed to grind her down after all, despite all her initial promises to herself.
And what did she do now? If there was no master to serve, then how was she supposed to exist. Did this man know? Could he show her how?
Melody felt tears prick at the back of her eyes, and that was foreign, too. Oh, there had been tears all right, but usually only in the face of the most severe pain when she could no longer hold them back and not at all if she could damn well help it. And yet here she was, in relative safety, as far as she could tell, and already, there were tears right there, trembling on the edge, just behind her eyes, waiting to tip over.
How was it that this man, with the scarily muscled body, the carelessly tousled hair, and the face of an angel, could bring her to the brink of such an emotional release with nothing more than his words when it had taken Master's most brutal beatings to break her that way in the past?
"Master said no one would ever care about me. That it was pointless to run because nobody would ever help."
"He was wrong!" Micah replied insistently. He needed her to believe it, and it was becoming clear that he also needed to break the deeply ingrained psychological ties of the monster she still referred to as Master. It was vitally important that he sever that recognition of her abuser as someone who was still in control, of him remaining an entity who still held any kind of power or jurisdiction. He really needed her to start thinking of the man in different terms, but that was easier said than done, and the easiest and most obvious way—by having her refer to him as Master instead and giving her a strong experiential alternative to break her current mentality—wasn't really a road that he wanted to walk down.
"There are lots of people here who want to help you," he told her instead, in order to back up his assertion. "Xavier, the doctor who came to check on you this morning and left the medicine for you, will be back later to see how you're getting on, and the four men who own this business also came by while you were sleeping and agreed that you could stay here to recuperate if that's what you want. The choice is yours and yours, alone."
Melody could feel the panic welling up inside. All these new things to think about, all the decisions he wanted her to make. She could feel the tears prickling once more, but this time, their reason was different again. This time, it was anxiety that was trying to push them out of her eyes. Suddenly, it seemed as difficult to breath as when Master held his bruising hands around her neck or his cock jammed down her throat. She could feel her vision narrowing to a pinprick, familiar blackness encroaching around the edges, although she didn't understand why, since she wasn't being choked. She tried to rock herself into some sense of comfort.
And then he was there, stroking her wild, knotted hair off her suddenly clammy forehead, calming her, telling her to breathe and forcing the blackness away like some kind of saviour. Yes! He was her saviour; she knew that without a doubt. Did he have a name? She thought he might have told her, but she couldn't remember.
Damn it, she was on the verge of having a panic attack. Micah dropped to his knees beside her and tried his best to bring her back from the edge, by whispering quietly to her and giving her some small, soothing, but innocuous contact to concentrate on. As her eyes lost that wild, unfocussed look, he offered up the glass of water and held it to her mouth when her hands shook too hard for her to hold it steady for herself. She took a sip and then another, and he could see her beginning to come out of it and make a concerted effort to free herself from the demons inside her own mind.
"I d-don't know what t-to do," she stammered. "I don't know w-what choices to m-make." Her voice became stronger, but the panic that was still so close to the surface also rose with it. "How will I know if it's the right thing? I never had to do anything for myself before!" She gripped fiercely onto his arm, her ragged nails biting into his flesh, even through the fabric of his shirt. "What if I get it wrong? How will I live? I don't know how to do anything!" Her voice had reached a high-pitched crescendo.
"Calm down, Melody!" The Dom voice was automatic since it was an integral part of who he was, but he couldn't help but notice how immediately she responded to it, like it was also an integral part of her own conditioning. Nevertheless, the relief rolling off of her as he took control was palpable, and Micah scrunched his eyes up tight as he made one of the hardest choices of his life and one that felt as if it was being wrenched from within his very soul. Nevertheless, his misgivings were overshadowed by his need to help this poor waif…and maybe also by his own judgement of his past transgressions.
"Melody, from now on, you may think of me as your Master if that will help you focus, but only so that I can guide you in how to move forward, so that you can regain
your independence. It is still your choice. You will not be my slave, and you will refer to me as Micah."
"Oh! Thank you, Master, I would like that!" Micah stifled his own reservations which were probably as great as Melody's relief. It was clear that she found liberation in being controlled, so much so that he felt she was probably inherently submissive, even before her obvious incarceration had turned her into a nothing more than a captive slave.
"Micah," he corrected.
"Mi-cah," Melody repeated his name, drawing out the syllables as if she was testing it on her tongue.
He didn't want to like the way it sounded in her soft, lilting voice with the slight edge of hesitation that spoke to his dominant personality. He was so full of misgivings at this moment, that that kind of reaction was a complication he really did not need! But he knew his response was purely a result of the unexpected strength of the obligation he felt toward her and the fact that he had agreed to be her master, no matter how grudgingly and transiently that arrangement was offered.
Well, that's what he told himself, anyway. It was just because there was something about her that reminded him of Sara, although there was absolutely no physical resemblance whatsoever. Probably no similarity in their circumstances, either; it was surely only that Sara was on his mind lately because of that dreaded anniversary he just couldn't shake. As if his subconscious was imploring him to provide reparation by helping Melody, to atone for the way he had failed Sara. And wasn't that just a colossal kick in the gut? He had believed himself to be absolved of that particular guilt.
It wasn't his fault Sara had died. He damn well knew that—had always known it—but it seemed as if his own subconscious was doing a number on him. Or maybe it was simply the situation and how he was reading it. Hopefully, that would change as he found out more pertinent facts about his new charge's circumstances. He really hoped he was just way off base with his initial interpretations. Both about Melody and about his own motivations, because either one of them had the potential of being a train wreck waiting to happen.