by Kitty Thomas
“I can restock the kitchen down here if you want, but you don’t have to stay here. Your room is still your room. Nothing’s changed.”
Everything’s changed.
***
Well past dark that evening, the doorbell rang. The Christmas decorations had been taken down the preceding week, so there was nowhere for Faith to hide except a nearby parlor. A woman’s voice filled the entryway.
“Good evening, Demetri.”
“Ah, Esmeralda. Mr. Raspallo is expecting you. You know the way, of course.”
“Of course.” Her voice was smooth honey with a bite of bitter chilled wind. Her words were clipped and precise—nothing like the other women who’d come before. None of them would have dared to clip a word. For the others, each word had been a modest question, practically an ascetic’s prayer. This was the person they prayed to.
When Demetri returned to the formal dining room to polish silver, Faith slipped through the entryway and stole to the back of the house where the dark hallways led to the dungeon.
Leo had ordered her never to eavesdrop on him again, and maybe this woman wasn’t here for that. Maybe it was some kind of business thing. Leo did run a business. It was easy to forget he actually worked in that office of his and wasn’t off being mysterious and unavailable for the sake of intrigue.
She crept to her normal hiding spot, determined to pay attention so she could escape in time if things went quiet for too long.
“What’s this really about, Leo?” the woman asked.
“I’m paying you not to ask questions.”
“And I don’t need your money,” she replied, more honey than bitter for the moment. “Are you sure you aren’t a masochist? Perhaps a switch? A lot of men have some submissive tendencies. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. It doesn’t make you less of a man. Running such a successful business and practice with so many people to keep happy is stressful. It’s okay to surrender sometimes.”
“It’s not about that. Business is great. I told you, I’m not a sub, nor a masochist. I get no pleasure out of this.”
“Well, you’ve learned everything I have to teach you, so what are you punishing yourself for?”
Silence filled the space below. It stretched long enough that Faith worried she’d made a sound. She was poised to make her escape when he spoke.
“Are you going to do it or not?”
“This is the last time, Leo. If you call me again, I’ll expect a full explanation of why my services are required by a man who doesn’t get off on being whipped.”
“Make sure the ropes are tight so I can’t get out, and don’t hold back. Don’t stop until your arm gives out.”
“That’s the last order you’ll be delivering tonight, Mr. Raspallo. Undress. We wouldn’t want to ruin your fine clothes.” The bite was back.
Faith couldn’t imagine Leo ever allowing a woman to tie him up, to render him so utterly helpless and defenseless. He was all powerful, holding her life in his hands, capable of doing anything. The contrast was too stark.
What followed was an endless number of sickening cracks as the whip made contact with Leo’s flesh. Eternity passed and then circled in on itself before he howled in pain, as if he’d held it all in, fighting through the misery until he couldn’t take it any longer. And from there, the sounds got worse—the cracks and screams mixed together into an unholy symphony. Faith hadn’t once imagined he could ever be anyone’s victim, the tormented instead of the tormentor.
She wanted to make it stop, but if she interrupted, he might punish her. The thought of the whip across her own back made her stomach turn and destroyed any small sliver of bravery before it could assert itself.
Crack. Scream. Crack. Scream. Like a horror movie. Each time he screamed, Faith prayed it would be the last time, but it kept going… until all that remained was the sobbing of a broken man.
“Have you had enough?” the woman asked, sounding weary.
“It’ll never be enough for what I did,” he choked out.
“What did you do?”
“It’s personal. It doesn’t matter.”
“I can’t do any more without doing damage you might not recover from, and I’m not that kind of sadist,” she said. “I don’t care what you say, you might not be getting sexual pleasure out of it, but there are fewer things more masochistic than what you asked for tonight.”
“I knew it wouldn’t erase it, but I had to try.”
“Do you need me to call a doctor? Someone discreet?”
“I’ll be fine.”
“So the cliché is true,” she said. “Doctors make the worst patients.”
Faith realized suddenly that she’d been crying, and belatedly tried to muffle the sound, but Leo must have heard that she’d disobeyed. And she couldn’t leave him down there like this—alone and injured and helpless.
“You can go,” he said. His voice was weak when he spoke, as if it took the last of his life force to form the words. “Demetri has your check.”
“Are you sure I can’t call someone for you?” Her voice had gone softer, all honey and concern now.
“Just go, please,” he said. “And thank you.”
“I’m sorry it didn’t fix anything.”
“There was no other way.”
“You’re Catholic. There’s confession.”
He made a disgusted sound. “A few Hail Marys and Our Fathers? A promise to be a good boy from now on? Not for this. I couldn’t even make myself say I was sorry.”
Faith didn’t bother trying to hide when she heard those high-heeled leather boots making their way up the stairs. When the dominatrix reached her, understanding flashed across her face. Then she was gone.
***
Music drifted up the stairs. That same damned record. He was torturing himself with it. Faith wanted to burn it so he couldn’t play it again. The music was vile and evil, and shouldn’t be heard by the good people of the world.
“I know you’re there.” His voice faltered as it tripped over words like some drunken sailor.
When she reached the bottom of the stairs, she gasped and the tears came harder. He sat on a piece of bondage furniture, naked, his back to her. The whip had cut him into strips of so much meat. Ribbons. Blood. She was surprised he’d kept consciousness.
“Why would you do this?”
“You know why.”
Faith got him some water so she could be useful instead of just staring as if he were a traffic accident. Leo drank it down, his hands shaking like an old man’s. That was when she noticed his wrists. The ropes had cut into him when he’d struggled, rubbing them raw. When the water was gone, he handed the glass back to her.
“More?”
He shook his head and stared at the ground for a long time. “I broke your trust.”
Compared to the scene before her, last night was barely anything now. A small blip. A misunderstanding. Like a date that hadn’t gone well.
“What can I do? This is bad. You need a doctor.”
“No doctors!” his voice cracked. She refilled his glass with more water.
“What can I do?” She wouldn’t leave him in this state.
“I keep a backup medical bag down here, but I put it back in the den earlier… next to the bookcase.”
It didn’t take long to find the bag. She peeked inside to make sure she had the right one and rushed back to the dungeon. Faith had just reached the door again when she heard him cry out.
He’d managed to make it into the bathroom to take a shower, dragging a trail of blood over the concrete and carpet. The trail ended at the base of the tub. Faith sat on the closed toilet seat, staring at the floor, trying to hold herself together until the water stopped.
When he shut it off, he said, “Take several towels, and lay a couple over the table.”
It was a leather table with metal rings around the sides to loop ropes or cuffs through. The ropes still hung from the rings.
“Yes, Master.”
She
was surprised to hear herself say it. All she wanted to do was please him and ease his suffering. This was more than a gesture, more than an apology. To do something like this… his own mental anguish had to match hers. Regret and agony balanced the scale between them even if he couldn’t believe in such miracles.
“Master?” she said at the door.
“Yes, Faith?”
“If I’d begged you to stop, would you have?”
“Yes.”
He could be lying, but with the shattered way the word came out, she knew he wasn’t.
“It’s not your fault. I knew. I should have stopped.”
She went to the other room and laid out the towels as he’d asked. He came in a few moments later, still dripping, naked and beautiful—at least from the front. The marble perfection of his chest hid the macabre truth of his back.
He lay on his stomach and took several deep breaths.
Faith became aware of the music again. The music that frightened her the night before was haunting and sad and lonely now.
Leo guided her through sterilizing his wounds and applying the bandages. She worked as quickly as she could, bracing herself against his cries of pain as he gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles going white each time. Tears blinded her eyes as she worked. When it was done, he resembled a mummy.
Ropes had cut into his ankles as well. It was hard to believe anyone could do this to another human being. Whatever she’d thought of Leo, whatever fears she’d had, she knew he’d never hurt her like this.
He struggled to get up.
“Wait, we didn’t do anything about your wrists and ankles.”
“They’re fine. It’s not a big deal.”
She couldn’t stand the idea of the bed covers irritating the raw skin. It had been hard enough not to vomit as she’d worked on his back.
“Please, Master.”
He relented, and she applied salve gently to his wrists and ankles, then loosely wrapped strips of gauze around them.
“I’ll stay down here for a few weeks while I heal,” he said, his voice tired, aged thirty years. “Ask Demetri to bring down my meals… and my phone. I’ll need to make a few business calls. And I’ll have to reschedule surgeries.”
“No. I’ll get them.” She’d do anything to delete from her mind the images of what he’d suffered trying to make things right.
He nodded, relenting to her request as she helped him to the bed and tucked him in.
“I’m going to make you some stew,” she said. He needed something with meat in it, something to help him get strong, but nothing so heavy he’d vomit it back up. “D-do you have any painkillers?”
“No painkillers,” he said.
“But…”
“I should suffer.”
The dominatrix was right. He was a masochist even if he didn’t get off on it. It made Faith wonder if perhaps she was, too, because she found herself continually drawn to him, willing to put herself in the path of pain for a brief glimpse of approval or affection.
Leo had almost drifted to sleep when she brought the stew down. The record needle was doing that obnoxious scratching thing at the end, so she lifted it off, thankful to have the silence.
“Master?”
“Yes, Faith?”
“Can we never listen to this again?”
“Okay.”
She helped him sit up and sat on the edge of the bed to feed him the stew. He stared stubbornly at her for several minutes before finally opening his mouth.
After the stew was gone, she got up to leave, but he gripped her wrist, his hold on her still impossibly strong.
“Stay.” It didn’t feel like a request. “It’s late. Get in the bed.”
Faith got in, but his voice stopped her.
“Naked.”
She hesitated, unsure. It was impossible not to forgive him after his penance, but the request was so wrong.
“I’m hardly in a position to do anything to you,” he said. “I-I need your body heat, that’s all.”
“W-will you please not look?”
He closed his eyes without protest.
She felt briefly stupid for her fear and stripped off the clothing. His arm went around her, the gauze from his wrist brushing against her waist.
Somehow she slept soundly.
***
Weeks passed. Leo healed. They returned to the world upstairs.
He watched her across the table at dinner—her cheeseburger special. He didn’t know how she made them taste like they’d come right off a restaurant grill.
Faith pretended to be consumed with the task of swirling a steak fry in a giant glob of ketchup on her plate.
“I’ll speak to Angelo. He might agree to release you if I convince him you aren’t a threat to the family. And I’ll smooth things over with Uncle Sal so you won’t have to worry about him, either. To everyone else, I’ll say we broke off the engagement.”
Faith’s ring glittered in the kitchen light. Leo hadn’t insisted she wear it all the time, but she had. And every time he saw it on her hand, he became more convinced she wanted their engagement to be real.
But her happy ending came at a dark price… a price Leo felt increasingly guilty asking her to pay, no matter how much he wanted to keep her locked away in the glass room. If that night in the dungeon hadn’t happened, he could have eased her into his kinks slowly, conditioned her to want them… if for no other reason than her deep desire to please him.
But now… the gulf was too great.
“Do you want to leave, Faith?”
Her eyes stayed trained on her food. “I can’t leave, Master.”
“Why can’t you leave? If it’s money, I can give you money. I’ll set you up some place nice. I’ll pull a few strings and get you a good job.” He wanted to stuff every word out of his mouth back in.
“Do you want me to go?” she asked, chancing a glance up from her plate, searching his face for the answer.
“You know I don’t.”
“Then I won’t go.”
She’d killed his attraction to fear. But he needed to hear cries and whimpers and begging and see tears and hear cracks and smacks and watch red burst out over flesh. He needed it like a drug addict needed meth.
Even while he held Faith at night and wanted to protect her, he wanted to make her cry. He wanted her to cower and tremble at his feet, and he couldn’t simply wish that desire out of existence.
“Faith, you know what I’ll do to you. You’ve seen the things in the dungeon. Take your chance and go. For your own safety, please.”
He could make her go. He could take her out of here as easily as he’d brought her in.
Her jaw set in a determined line. “I’m not going.”
“Why not?”
“You know why not! Don’t make me say it.”
“Say it.” He’d seen all the signs. The way she’d looked at him before that night, and then again after Esmeralda had come. She had fallen for him and couldn’t make herself leave no matter the threat. Just like a battered wife. Just like Gemma with Emilio. He’d killed the bastard, now he was the bastard.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I wish Angelo had killed me.”
He knew this time she meant it. If he brought his brother in with a gun, she wouldn’t fight them again.
“It’s better for you to go. I can’t give you what you need, and I don’t think you can give me what I need. And after that night… I don’t know how we could ever… ”
She reached out and laid her hand over his. “I know you’re a good man. What you did for me… I know we haven’t talked about it but… it was everything. Y-you saw the gravity of what happened and you paid a price higher than I ever would have asked just to try to make it right.”
“It can’t ever be right.”
Leo’s muscles went rigid when she left her chair and knelt at his feet. He could barely breathe.
“I want to be with you. I want to please you. I’ll be your slave. I’ll be
whatever you want.”
His suspicions about her being a sub were right. Just not a masochist. One out of two? A strong one out of two wasn’t bad.
“I’m going to my office to do some work. When I’m finished, you will be in one of two places, either in your room with your bags packed and ready to go, or in the dungeon naked in front of the mirror. Like that night.”
She flinched, and he knew she’d be packed in an hour.
***
Faith knelt on the kitchen floor as Leo’s footsteps faded from the room. She could go back to her life. Not her exact life, but a better life. She trusted when he said he’d give her a nice apartment or house and help her find a job. But the idea of going back to cats and no real family made her feel cold inside. If she took his offer, she knew she’d never see him again, and despite everything, she couldn’t stand that ending. Let him kill her if he didn’t want her. But tossing her away after all this?
If she were wise, she’d take the offer, go to her room, and pack her things. But she loved the way he smelled and his warmth and the way he held her. She loved how he’d protected her so many times, and despite how wrong it all was, she loved him for the scars he’d always carry for her.
It shouldn’t have been, but the decision was easy.
When she got downstairs, she turned on the lamps and removed her clothing, folding them and placing them carefully on a chest of drawers beside the bed. She paused in front of the record player, thumbing through the cardboard sleeves until she found the dreaded record. They’d agreed never to play it again, but nothing would let him know she was serious more than playing this collection of music, resetting everything exactly as it had been. It was the only way she could prove she was his, and the only way he could ever hope to rewind and redo that night. If she didn’t trust him to make a different set of choices, she should be upstairs in her room packing.
The record player had a setting to restart the needle at the beginning when it reached the end. She didn’t know how long he would be, so she set it and the music started—that deep, haunting tone. Frightening and sad. Everything she’d found her experience with Leo to be.