Fragmentation

by Rachel Haimowitz

  No, he thought childishly—or perhaps just in a moment of perfect, selfish honesty. He wouldn’t have wished this on Dougie for the world, but he’d been wrong—there were worse things than the serum. At least the serum was so terrible he . . . disassociated, maybe. Didn’t feel it quite so vividly in the middle hours. But what’d been done to him today? God, he was feeling it even now, fresh as if it were still happening. Still breathless with pain, humiliation, fear, shame. That man had hurt him in a way the serum never had. Never could.

  “I understand. You’re angry with me. You’re in pain. You’re not thinking objectively. That’s all right, Mathias. When your head is clear, think back on this and remember how very pleased I was with you today. I needed to know, you see.”

  He didn’t want to ask, didn’t mean to ask, but somehow he found himself saying, “Know what?”

  “That you could hold up under strain and not snap. Not strike out or hurt anyone. That I’d taught you well enough. Because, yes, good behavior should be rewarded. And in this house, it is. But when I sell you on, I can make no promises. Good behavior will spare you some pain, but not all. My client wouldn’t want you unbroken if he didn’t intend to hurt you for the thrill of it at least some of the time. You can buy some time with obedience. But not forever. And you’ve shown me tonight that you’ll be able to abide it when your time runs out.”

  “No disrespect, sir? But I just don’t give a shit. Leave me alone.” He wished he wasn’t curled up in the bottom of a bathtub, that he was still man enough to walk out into his room and whack the punching bag around—the closest he could get in this place to saying dismissed. But he couldn’t do anything.

  “Let’s get you into bed. I have a gift for you.”

  Is it freedom? That’s the only fucking gift I want from you.

  Actually, he wasn’t sure he did anymore. For Dougie, yes, always, but for him . . . He didn’t deserve to be free. If he ever left this hell, he should be sent straight to prison. Accessory to felony assault. To rape with a baseball bat. He’d just sat there. Just sat there and done nothing.

  Like he was now. But then Nikolai reached down to help him out of the tub, and he let himself be helped. This was his life now. Serving Nikolai. Weathering pain. Looking mean but acting like a good little pet. Pit bull on a short chain. All bark, no bite.

  He lost a few seconds to the headrush and the agony of being moved. Came back to himself as Nikolai was lifting his feet onto the mattress, wetness streaking his cheeks. The bed was warm, but the sheets rasped against his skin.

  “Shhh,” Nikolai said, stroking a hand over his brow. “I’ll send Roger to tend your wounds. For now, your gift.”

  He reached into his pocket, producing a syringe.

  Mat lurched away, frantic—no not the serum no God please no I was good I was good I was good why is this happening—

  “Trust me, Mathias. Be still.” Nikolai didn’t sound angry yet, but his voice was firm. He planted a hand on Mat’s bruised chest, pinning him to the bed.

  “No, look, please . . .” Mat licked chapped lips, stinging and split. “Please, just . . . just let me die, okay? Please just kill me just let me die let me—”

  “Shhh. I said trust me. No more pain. Not today.”

  The needle pierced the fleshy part of Mat’s hip, and Mat squeezed his eyes closed, held his breath, wondered if he could keep holding it until he upped and died. But there was no pain, no pain at all, just . . .

  “Morphine.”

  I wish you’d overdose me.

  Hard to believe there’d been a time when that’d seemed so terrifying, that first day on the floor at Madame’s warehouse, fighting for their lives. But now . . .

  Now he felt . . . not so bad, actually, and that was such a huge fucking relief he felt like crying all over again. The pain was still there, but it was . . . padded somehow. Like he was feeling all the cuts and bruises and . . . whatever that fucking baseball bat had done to his insides as if through layers and layers of bubble wrap. He closed his eyes, letting himself drift.

  A click on the bedside table, and when his eyes finally tracked the sound, he saw a framed picture there, the one that had been on the mantle in their living room. The family in Hawaii for his graduation. Mat with a sunburn. Dougie, pre‒growth spurt, soft and skinny, his bright eyes and smile taking up his whole face. And his parents, God, his parents . . . So happy, so proud, so in love, so alive. He reached out a hand, brushed fingertips across their faces. Sniffed back tears and then couldn’t anymore, just let them fall, didn’t even care that he was doing it in front of Nikolai and how could he be so happy to see something that was clearly upsetting him so much?

  “There now,” Nikolai said, his voice as soft and distant as the pain. “Hold on tight to those happy memories, Mathias. You’ve earned them. You’ll need them.” He stroked a gentle hand over Mat’s hair, grown back to the length it’d been before Madame’s groomer had shaved it all off. It was a soft touch, affectionate, soothing. The one place that monster hadn’t hurt him. Mat mustered enough coordination to pick up the picture, curl it to his chest, and close his eyes. “There’s a good man. Sleep well.”

  This was his reward. The last thing he had left, and he didn’t have to fight for it at all. Nikolai would let him keep it. He could live with that. It could be enough.

  He slept, clutching those memories tight.

  For the second time in as many days, Dougie woke up warm and safe and well-rested.

  And in pain.

  The belt. The baseball bat.

  He snapped awake to discover his head pillowed on Nikolai’s thigh and himself curled up on his side against Nikolai’s legs, snuggled there like the man was a body pillow. A hand rested on the back of his head, thumb and fingers stroking idly through his hair, which smelled like the sweet shampoo in his bathroom rather than sweat and blood and fear.

  Nikolai saved me. He saved me when nobody else would. And now he’s here.

  He pressed closer, tentatively nuzzling one hard thigh. He felt . . . nothing, really. Gratitude, yes, but lurking somewhere down deep beneath that was the same old anger. Muted now. Cowering and weak. He inhaled, taking in Nikolai’s scent—pressed wool and mild soap and some kind of aftershave that probably cost more than Dougie had ever spent on anything. It was . . . nice, he supposed. He tried to feel affection. Maybe even love. Couldn’t, really, but at least he felt . . . safe. Felt like the object of affection as Nikolai’s hand stroked down his head, to his neck, massaged gently.

  “Good morning,” Nikolai said, and Dougie heard the smile in his voice, saw him lay down a paperback with a broken spine on the bedside table. Had he been sitting vigil all night, reading until Dougie woke? Now that thought felt warm. Made him feel warm in return. He clung to it with both hands. Needed it. It was a start. It’d be enough; it’d have to be. It was all he had now.

  “Good morning, sir,” he replied. God, he sounded terrible. He’d screamed himself raw yesterday begging Mat to help, begging that awful man to stop.

  “You slept a long time. Do you need anything?”

  “Sir?”

  “Do you need me to take you to the bathroom? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

  Is he . . . taking care of me? Offering to wait on me? Me?

  “Thirsty, sir.” He rubbed the front of his neck in illustration, although with how rough his voice was, that really wasn’t necessary. He had to piss, too, but frankly he didn’t trust his legs to carry him to the bathroom right now, and the lurking pain terrified him. If he moved . . . Well, it could wait.

  He felt Nikolai shifting—not enough to jar him, just enough to reach for the bedside table. Dougie saw a tray there, everything covered like plates were when you ordered room service at a fancy hotel. Nikolai picked up a steel—or is that silver?—pitcher dripping with condensation and poured orange juice into a tall glass.

  “Do you think you can sit up?” he asked.

  Dougie didn’t want to disappoint him, but there was no wa
y in hell he’d voluntarily put weight on his ass. Between the belt and the bat, he thought he might never sit again. He shook his head against Nikolai’s thigh, fisting Nikolai’s pants in one hand and squeezing his eyes closed.

  He must have looked panicked, because Nikolai petted his head again and shushed him. “That’s all right Douglas. You’re hurt. I understand. Let’s take it slow. Think you can scoot up a bit? Lean against my chest and your hip?”

  Yeah, he could do that. Felt like he had no strength in his arms at all, and moving sparked a hundred little and not-so-little fires in his flesh, but Nikolai got an arm under his and helped him settle halfway vertical, still curled on his side against that sturdy chest. Nikolai kept the one arm around him even after he’d finished moving. Cradling him. Stroking his shoulder. Dougie closed his eyes to ride out the fading pain, and he was almost able to fool himself into thinking he was a little kid again, curled in his father’s lap on the couch watching Saturday morning cartoons while Mom was in the kitchen making pancakes and Mat was at the gym.

  Almost.

  “Here we are, then,” Nikolai murmured, and Dougie opened his eyes to see the glass of OJ hovering near his lips, plastic bendy straw poking out the top. Within reach. Didn’t even need to use his fingers. Just had to catch it with his tongue.

  It should have been humiliating, catching and drinking from that straw like a sick child, but it was just Nikolai. Nikolai had seen him at his very worst and still wanted him, still took care of him and kept him and didn’t judge him for being weak. Not like Mat had.

  Besides, the OJ was heaven, sweet and cold and fresh and not a bit of pulp, just how he liked it. It soothed his battered throat, soothed all the way down—he could feel it traveling to his stomach, a perfect, bracing chill. Feel the sugar hit his system, wake him a little, give him a little strength. His stomach rumbled. He realized how hungry he was and took another long pull on the straw.

  “Easy, easy. Here.” Nikolai urged him to hold the glass on his own; he could, so he did. Hand freed—the other one was still stroking soothing little lines across Dougie’s shoulder blade—Nikolai picked up three white pills off the tray. “Pain killers,” he said. Dougie had no reason to doubt him. Opened his mouth without hesitation—with a wash of gratitude, in fact, gratitude and affection and powerful relief—and let Nikolai place them on his tongue. Swallowed them down with the last of his OJ.

  “More?” Nikolai asked, and Dougie nodded, too stunned for a moment to speak, too confused, too. He felt like he’d fallen through the twilight zone into some bizarre set-piece of domestic perfection. Felt a seed of that happiness he’d been searching for earlier start to take root in his belly, nourished by the juice and the painkillers and Nikolai’s patient kindness, his paternal affection. “Hungry?” Nikolai asked, and Dougie nodded again, found his voice. Had to. Had to let Nikolai know how much this meant to him. “Yes, sir. Thank you. I . . . I don’t know how to . . . what to . . .” He wished he knew how to finish that sentence. Any sentence. It all felt so tenuous; he couldn’t let it go. Couldn’t lose it to his own inaction or silence.

  “Shhh.” Nikolai silenced him with a fresh strawberry, top already cut off. “It’s all right, Douglas. I know.”

  Of course he did. He knew everything. And where once that thought had terrified Dougie, now it reassured him, brought comfort. He didn’t have to struggle for words because Nikolai understood. Didn’t have to worry about anything because Nikolai would see to it. Didn’t even have to pay attention to things like what he was eating or drinking, because Nikolai already knew what he loved, and as long as he was good and made Nikolai happy, then Nikolai would give him all those things.

  Just let him take care of you. That’s all he’s ever wanted.

  Another strawberry. Another. Dougie let himself eat from Nikolai’s hand like the cherished pet he was. By the fourth strawberry, he was kissing Nikolai’s fingertips, lapping the sweet juices from his skin. Please love me. Please have me. I’ll be so good, I’ll be everything you want me to be. I’ll never let you down again. Just show me how. Show me how. He didn’t ever want to go back to how things had been before. Couldn’t go back to that. And there was nothing else to go back to now either, was there, not with Mat . . . with Mat . . .

  Well, anyway, Nikolai was here, and Nikolai was being so kind to him, and gratitude overflowed like a too-full glass and so what if he could taste the desperation beneath it. That wouldn’t last forever and then maybe he could be happy again, truly happy.

  Even if Mat had stopped loving him.

  Mat . . .

  Something deep in Dougie’s chest twanged, and it took him a moment to realize Nikolai was holding a slice of peach to his lips, endlessly patient. Dougie dutifully accepted it, chewed, swallowed. Looked up at Nikolai’s chin and brushed a hesitant kiss there—Is this okay? Too forward? Too . . . insincere? But Nikolai just smiled a happy little smile and kissed him back, square on the forehead, and said, “I like it when you do that, Douglas.”

  Good. He’s happy. Maybe he won’t mind if I ask . . . “I’m glad, sir,” he said, and brushed another little kiss across Nikolai’s chin. Stubbled. Nikolai was never stubbled. He really had spent the night sitting vigil at Dougie’s side. The thought filled some of the empty spaces Mat had left inside his chest. “I was wondering . . .”

  Nikolai kissed his forehead again, hummed in question.

  “Did, um . . . Did your client buy Mat?”

  “Do you wish he did?”

  Answering a question with another question. Worse, one Douglas found himself unsure about. A day ago this would’ve been so easy, but everything else had been so hard. Now . . . now maybe things were switching around and he wasn’t sure how he felt about that, either.

  “No, sir,” he finally decided, because even if Mat didn’t love him anymore, even if Mat thought him weak and disgusting and unworthy, he was still his brother and that man was a monster he wouldn’t wish on anyone. But what if that was the wrong answer? What if Nikolai wanted him to want Mat gone? He hastened to add, “I mean, I didn’t mean to say—”

  “It’s all right, Douglas, I wanted the truth and you gave it to me. No need to be afraid.” Dougie slumped, relieved, against Nikolai’s chest and let Nikolai feed him a cube of sharp white cheddar. “And no, Mat’s earmarked for another. He’ll be with us a while yet.”

  Again, Dougie didn’t know how to feel. Relieved again, mostly, but also . . . Well, the terrifying truth was that he didn’t want to have to think about Mat. Didn’t want to have to see him again, lay eyes on what he’d lost, because he had lost his brother, hadn’t he? God, Mat had been so ashamed of him yesterday, so disgusted that he wouldn’t even meet his eyes, let alone fight to save him. Had barely even hugged him hello after all the time they’d spent apart. It was Nikolai who’d charged in to save Dougie, Nikolai who’d punched his own client for what he’d done to Dougie. Nikolai who’d taken Dougie away from that awful man . . .

  And left Mat behind with him. Oh God, oh no, he couldn’t have . . . Mat might hate Dougie now and Dougie was angry with Mat, had every fucking right in the world to be angry, but he couldn’t bear the thought . . .

  “Um, sir?” Another hummed question, still so patient, maybe even a little amused. “Did . . . did that man hurt Mat?” Hurt him because you took me away?

  Nikolai wrapped both arms around him, squeezed him gently but firmly. “Yes, Douglas, he did.” Dougie cringed, felt that hole in his chest gape wide again, and Nikolai squeezed him tighter. Dougie was upset with Mat, but God, not that much. “He hurt Mat just like Mat let him hurt you. All the things Mat sat by and watched and did nothing to stop from happening to you. Call it karma, if you’d like. Pity him, if you must—gods know he’s a pitiable creature. But do not carry the burden of his guilt.”

  “How— How can I do that? Sir, I— He’s my brother, and that man . . . that man was so brutal and I . . . I can’t— Even if Mat can sit by and be okay with me being hurt, I can’t— I ca
n’t do the same, sir. And even though I was there and I saw it happen, sir, saw him not help me—” Stop talking. Stop talking. Stop talking. You’re going to make him angry with you.

  “Go on, Douglas. I appreciate your honesty. I want you to trust me with this. Nothing you can say is wrong.” He rubbed Dougie’s shoulder gently. “Irrational, perhaps—feelings are by their nature, after all—but not wrong.”

  Dougie took a deep, fortifying breath. He had to take Nikolai at his word if this was going to work. “Sir, I don’t want to call you a liar, but I just can’t believe he could do something like this. That’s not my brother, sir. It’s not. So how am I supposed to think he got what was coming to him? Even if he really did sit by and watch, even if he wasn’t . . . I don’t know, drugged or being c-coerced—” No. No. Stop. “Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to be an accusation, I promise I didn’t, but how could anyone deserve—” rape by baseball bat, God, he couldn’t even make himself say it “—what . . . what that man did?”

  “Boys in your position, Douglas, you’ll soon learn, get exactly what they deserve—nothing more, nothing less, every time. I know that may sound harsh to you now, but I’ll help you to understand, I promise, if you promise me that you will try to understand. Can you do that, Douglas?”

  Dougie nodded. Truth be told, he thought he might understand more than Nikolai realized. He could be a hole or he could be a pampered pet. The choice was his, made by action and attitude. He knew that now, in his head at least, if not yet his heart.

  “Good, Douglas, that’s good. I’ll start right now.” Dougie cringed, bit back the urge to babble apologies, to ask if the lesson would hurt because it seemed the ones that stuck the best always did. But he didn’t have to. Nikolai held him tight again and shushed him and said, “Easy, Douglas, easy, I’m not going to hurt you. Well, a little, maybe, but not the way you think. I have something to show you, that’s all. And I didn’t want to have to show you, but I can see now that you need it to understand, to accept what needs accepting. And I can see how badly you want to understand and accept, and I know how strong you are now, Douglas, so I think you’re ready.”