Master Over You

by Cerys du Lys

  Once I am done, I cup the bracelet carefully in my hands.

  "You may open your eyes," I say.

  He does. His eyes flutter open and he looks at me, then he looks at my hands. He is still holding the box with his fingernails in one hand, but he closes it and puts it off to the side on the bed.

  "Give me your hand," I say.

  He does. His hand moves towards me, bridging the distance between us halfway. I unclasp the bracelet and then fit it around his wrist effortlessly. It fits perfectly. It fits this way because I have made it for him.

  "What's this?" he asks.

  "Those are mine," I say. I place my finger on each of the nails as I spin the bracelet around his wrist. "Those are mine, but now this is yours," I say.

  "What the fuck is going on?" he asks.

  I tell him and I want him to remember. I do not know if he will, but it is the only thing I have left now.

  "A long time ago, I did not have fingernails. I lost them like you did. I did not tell you that, though. You saw. You would scratch my nose or my face or my arm if I had an itch. Do you remember? You asked why I did not have fingernails, but I did not tell you. I think you may have known, but you did not say so. You told me that if you could, you would give your fingernails to me."

  He stares at me and his eyes begin to water. I see him and I do not know if Noah is sad or if he is happy. I do not know if he is angry. I do not know if he hates me. Please do not hate me, Noah. I wanted to tell you all of this, but I did not know how and I am not a good person anymore. I do not think I was ever a good person. That is what they told me. I am bad. I am wrong. I hurt people. I hurt them. They are dead. They are dead because of me. They are...

  "Angel?" he asks. That is a name they used to call me, but it is not my real name. He says my real name after, though. He says it to me. He says it and he remembers. He knows.

  *** Noah

  I pull her into my fucking arms, because I don't know what the fuck is going on. Fuck, I'm crying. Shit, she's crying, too. What the fuck is wrong with us? A whole lot of fucking shit, that's for sure.

  What the fuck, Angel? Angeline? Shit. God, I don't even know what the fuck to think about that. I left her, I promised her. How the fuck did this happen? She wasn't supposed to be like this. I wasn't supposed to be like this, either. Shit. She knows what I've done. Is she mad? Fuck.

  Godfuckingdamnit, I can't fucking believe half the shit I said to her. She's so fucking... fucking perfect, though. I guess if I'd spent half a second thinking about it, it would have made sense. I always thought she was perfect. Even when... fuck. Those are some dark fucking memories. I thought that was done. I wanted it to be done.

  I never fucking thought I'd see her again. If I did, I didn't know how I'd face her. What the fuck do I do? How the fuck do I talk to her?

  Hey, Angel, they call me Noah now.

  I kidnap women, I hold them against their wills, I break them down, I hurt them mentally and physically. Occasionally, I hurt them emotionally, too. I cause them pain. I give them a reason to hate me, but I force them to love me.

  You know? All the fucking shit that happened to you? I do that shit now. I've got a fucking reason for it, but half the time I think it's bullshit. Half the time I think I'm fucking worthless.

  She's fucking here now, though. She knows. God. Fuck. This is the stupidest fucking shit, but I love her. Fucking hell. Fuck. I love her. Fucking fuck. I don't know how to love. I can't love her. She can't be like this. Why the fuck is she like this? She was supposed to stay and live and be happy. She was supposed to grow up and be safe forever and find some nice fucking guy to settle down with and marry and grow fucking old with. She wasn't supposed to become like this. She wasn't supposed to be a fucking soulless psychotic bitch.

  She's not, though. Fuck. No, she's not. I grab the boxes she brought. These boxes are fucking important. Shit. I need to be careful. I ease away from her and put the boxes on the bedside table, then I rush the fuck back to her. I don't want to fucking leave her. There's too much shit going on in my head right now. I don't know how the fuck to process it. It's just fucking there. It exists, but I can't fucking think straight. I don't know if I'm fucking pissed at her or if I'm elated. I don't know if I want to kill her or get on my knees and fucking propose.

  I kiss her. Fuck. I want to kiss her. I want to fucking kiss her so bad. I always have. I remember the first time we kissed. I was nervous as fuck that I'd hurt her. I asked her if I could, but then I changed my mind. I told her no, that it didn't matter. Why the fuck would she want to kiss me? Just to set this straight, it wasn't some sweet fucking schoolyard crush bullshit.

  Angeline was fucking trapped. She was stolen and used and abused by some sick motherfucker who passed her around to a bunch of other sick fucks and let them do whatever the fuck they wanted. The unfortunate part about all of that was they were my fucking age. They were never like that before. I thought I knew these fucking people, and I did. I'd grown up with them, they'd been around my entire goddamn life. I didn't know how fucking sick and depraved they could be, though.

  Most of us weren't that old. Some were older, but most of us weren't. Sixteen, seventeen, eighteen? You're supposed to be a fucking teenager and have fun and screw off, but that's not how it worked back then. That's how it's supposed to be, but there's fucking monsters everywhere. They live down the street from you. You see them every day. They fucking smile at you and say hello and act like everything's normal and like they're good fucking people, but they aren't. They are sick and twisted and I want to murder every fucking one of them.

  That's what I do. That's what I've been doing. I've been doing it for her. Yeah, fuck, shit, I kidnap women now, too, but I do it because I want to get close to the other sick fucks who would kidnap them. I need to know where the monsters who fucking buy them and abuse them are. I need to know everything, the whole fucking system.

  They call me Noah because they think it's fucking cute. Laugh it up, everyone. This guy's an excellent fucking asshole who can scour the earth for any specimen of a woman you want. He fucking takes them, trains them, and then they enter a new world.

  Fuck you, asshole. You know why I like the name Noah? Because I'm going to fucking annihilate every fucking person who thinks shit like that isn't the worst fucking thing you can do to someone. I will end you and your entire world with the motherfucking Wrath of God. I will drown you in a flood of your own fucking blood and I'll enjoy every minute of it.

  *** Noah

  A long fucking time ago, I lived in some shitty little village in the middle of nowhere. I'm talking about maybe fifty houses and a couple hundred people. All in the middle of the woods, near a lake, with some mountains on the other side. Small as fuck and not worth shit, but people lived there. I lived there. Angeline lived there. That's all you need to know.

  We weren't near anything useful. Just some small as fuck village in the middle of the woods. Had some local business and a bait shop that doubled as a convenience store and a market. The store was basically everything, because it was the only fucking store. Some shitty restaurant, too. Doesn't matter how shitty a place is if it's the only one, though. Everyone goes to the shitty restaurant because where the fuck else are they going to go? There were a couple farms, too. Cows and corn or something. How the fuck should I know? I never went back there and I never plan to. They could grow fucking gold for all I care. It's still a shithole.

  There was a church, too. Not the kind of church you're thinking of. This isn't anything religious. Yeah, it's a church, so it's kind of religious, but this was one of those fucked up nondenominational places, where they didn't follow anything in particular. It was more like, "Oh, well, shit, the Bible says not to kill people, and that's a pretty fucking good rule for everyone to follow, so don't do that." Preaching and shit, but not necessarily praying to anything in particular.

  Be kind to others, asshole. You believe in God? God wants you to be kind. You believe in Buddha? Yeah, he wants you to be k
ind, too. You believe in the goddamn power of the sun? The sun wants you to be kind. Even if you don't believe in any of that shit, it's a good fucking thing to be kind to other people. It's called common fucking decency.

  They weren't as vulgar as that. I wasn't as vulgar as that back then, either. Sorry to fucking disappoint you. I used to be that kid who was pretty fucking kind to everyone. I thought I was, at least.

  Anyways, this church was run by this guy. He seemed nice. Wore a fucking religious habit. Looked the part. Who the fuck knew he was actually a sick fuck? No one or everyone. I still don't fucking know the truth. Pisses me off to this day. Was the whole fucking village in on it? Did I grow up in the middle of some fucking woodland cult?

  Angeline's parents died in a car accident after some drunk fucking tourist smashed into their car. It was a direct head on collision. They were driving one way and he was driving the other, except he was in the wrong lane and they didn't have a chance to get out of the way.

  Angeline was in the back seat. Her parents and the asshole died pretty much immediately on impact. Angeline was injured, but not too badly. She recovered quickly. Cuts and bruises and shit, but that's it. She was lucky

  That's it except both her fucking parents were dead and who the fuck was going to take care of her? Not so fucking lucky now.

  Anyways, guess. Guess who fucking took her in? I am fucking seething mad just thinking about it. I want to slit the fucking bastards throat again for what he did. You only get to kill someone once, though. As soon as they're dead, that's it. That should be enough, but sometimes it's not. Sometimes you want to fucking piss on their corpse and rip off their fucking cock and shove it in their mouth, and...

  I can't fucking do this shit anymore. I just fucking can't.

  Long story short, Angeline was orphaned and became a "Ward of the Church." Doesn't sound so bad, right? Like a nun or some shit? No. Fuck. You couldn't be more wrong.

  That sick fucking head of the church of nothing made it seem fine and regular on the outside, but on the inside he was doing some bad shit. He told her she was responsible for her parents dying. He said the only reason she lived was because she was supposed to atone for that shit. In his eyes, she was already dead, and so anything he did to her wasn't sinful or wicked or wrong. According to him, she deserved to be abused.

  Not only that, but he told others the same things about her. Privately, though. This was kept quiet. I doubt any of the older folk knew. Maybe some of them did. I don't fucking know. It was seriously fucked up. We had some small fucking school we went to during the day, but after that it was either play in the woods or figure out something else to do. Lots of parents sent their kids to the church to work and learn values or some shit. Become a better person by surrounding yourself with morality and virtue.

  Yeah, no. It sounds good but it didn't fucking work that way. According to this guy, you don't need to repent your sinful thoughts if you can get rid of them. That's how that fucking worked. You're thinking of sex or masturbation or some shit? Cut that shit out! Go fuck Angeline. It's not a sin, because she's already dead. She doesn't exist in the eyes of a higher power. She might as well be a fucking ghost, so anything you do to her is fine. It's not bad or immoral or whatever the fuck anyone else tells you. Don't do this shit to regular people, but it's fine to do it to Angeline.

  They raped her. They tortured her. They fucking hurt her more than I have ever seen anyone be hurt. I saw the bright fucking beautiful girl who I'd never really spoken to before turn into a shell of a human being filled with void and fucking nothingness. I didn't understand at first because I'm not a social person and I used to fuck off in the woods on my own and go fishing or whatever else the fuck I wanted to do.

  I went to church on the weekends, but that was it. She was there. She was always there. She used to scramble through the church aisles with a tiny collection tin in order to get donations from people. I didn't have much to donate, but I did anyways because she looked so fucking timid and small and I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. I thought it was because of her parents. That shit would traumatize anyone. I didn't know there was more.

  I started hanging around the church after school because of that. I didn't know what the fuck I could do, but I thought I could help her. Maybe. If she even needed my help. Who the fuck was I to think that she'd need my help? If she asked me, I'd give it, though. If I saw something I could help her with, I would have fucking done it.

  Yeah, I saw a whole fucking lot. Fuck. I can't even fucking believe it. Even knowing what I know now and having done what I've done, I can't fucking believe it.

  How the fuck could someone do that to someone else? What the fuck ever happened to being kind to others?

  My entire fucking life changed.

  *** Angeline

  Noah was my savior, and yet he is more than that, too. I do not know exactly what Noah is to me, but he is very special and important.

  A long time ago, my parents died. I should have died. I was meant to be dead. A priest took me in after that. That is what HE told me. When they discovered I had no relatives who could care for me in the absence of my parents, they forced me to become a ward of the church. I did not understand that, but I did not understand many things at the time.

  I was old enough to go out on my own, but what did I have? My parents were not rich and we did not own much. We had a house and enough food to feed ourselves, along with a car and a few other necessities. On the day of their death, we were returning from a trip into one of the bigger towns an hour or two away from the village. I do not remember the name of my home town from back then, and I do not ever want to remember it again. It is lost to me, gone and forgotten. The person I used to be was born there and lived there, but I am not that person anymore. The person I am now was born the day I connected with Noah.

  My mother and father wanted more. Not for themselves, but for me. They told me this as we drove. I was of an age to move out on my own, but where should I go? There were not many jobs where we lived. If we moved, we could find something. Maybe I could attend a university and get a better education? It would be hard, but they would try. Even if we must live in a large van in order to scrounge up enough money to pay for my books, that is what they wanted to do. Our current home was not much better than a van, anyway, so this sounded exciting to me.

  Then they died. I died, too. I should have. That is what he told me.

  You are already dead.

  I believed him

  I used to know happiness, but I did not after that. It is difficult to know what happiness is when you are left alone in the world. I thought I could lose myself in religion and become someone important to the community. No, that would not provide me with anything more than shelter and food, but if I did not do that, I would have nothing, not even those most basic of necessities. Where would I live and what would I eat?

  If I had lived in the forest and sustained myself on berries and fish that I caught in the lake, I likely would have been better off. I did not know that then, but I know this now. It is too late. What does it matter, anyway? I was not among the living. I was a ghost of a person. I was invisible and unimportant.

  I knew happiness before, but after everything that happened all I knew was sadness. I knew sadness for a long time, but then one day something happened. I do not know what it was, but I was not sad anymore. I did not remember what sadness was, nor how to explain it. I was nothing, like he said. Emotions confused me. I became blank and empty.

  He called me Angel. It was not intended as a nice name, nor was it in any way similar to my real name. It was a name to remind me that I did not belong here. It sounds pleasant and it contains hints of divinity and heavenly association in it, but he did not define it in that way.

  You must suffer, he told me. You are to blame for your parents death. You told me they were attempting to act selflessly for you, and yet by accepting their kindness you were selfish. Because of your selfish nature, you were placed back on this
mortal coil in order to repent. This is what you were meant to do.

  You must deal with the consequences of your own actions. He told me that he would be the one to make certain that I followed my newly ordained fate. He would punish me because I could not be trusted to punish myself or to understand why I needed punishment.

  I suffered. I ate only scraps. He forced me to cleanse my body and my soul in some mockery of baptism. He held my head in a marble tub filled with water while I thrashed and flailed, unable to breathe. He brought me to the brink of death again, waiting until my body settled into a lifeless calm because of a lack of oxygen, then he pulled my head from the bath, flung me to the floor, and forced life back into my body with his wicked hands and sinful lips. I choked up water and sputtered back to life eventually, but more often than not I wished that I wouldn't.

  Please, I begged. Please let me die?

  I did not. He tortured me. He raped me and he let my peers rape me, as well. These were boys that I used to know and socialize with. I attended school with them when they were younger, and now they treated me like an empty hole to be used for their pleasure. I did not understand. Please, why are you doing this? Please stop? Please help me...

  They did not help me. They forced themselves on me. They hurt me. I clawed and scratched, fighting against them. They began coming two at a time, or sometimes three, and one of them would hold my arms down, while another spread my legs, and the last abused me. They took turns like this, one, then another, and finally the third.

  They hurt me.

  I tried to kill myself. I did not feel anymore, I did not know sadness or happiness, but I tried to kill myself. I do not know if that is the only reason why I tried. There were many reasons. I was given little food and water, as well. More often than not I found myself passing out from starvation. I shoved spare scraps of sermon bread down my throat every Sunday when no one was looking, and I scavenged for food whenever I could, but it was not enough. One time I discovered that as he was drowning me, I could gulp down water and satisfy my unending thirst if only for a little while, and I began to do that.