Master Over You

by Cerys du Lys

  Other times she was seriously really fucking nice, though. Gentle as fuck is all I can say about that. Yeah, the blood drinking is twisted, like she's a vampire, but it's not like she pours it into a fucking wine glass. We're wild fucking dogs. We were left on the street, kicked and abused, fed scraps, doing every fucking thing possible to survive. We live in the dark fucking back alley of the world, fighting for every fucking inch of space we can get. We are sick, rabid fucking animals.

  And she just wanted to be close to me. She fucking missed me. She wanted to lick my fucking wounds because she knew how much it hurt. She wanted me to heal so that I could help her heal, too.

  Yeah, fuck you. It's sick and fucking twisted, but who the fuck are you to judge? You don't know shit. You don't know how this is. You can't fucking relate. You're probably as bad as Chastity White and you can just go fuck yourself. I'm going to fucking save her. I refuse to let her die. Once she's healed, if I start to bleed and she wants to help me, I'll give her every fucking drop.

  My blood and bones and body and my fucking soul are hers. I will fucking kill myself before I deny her anything.

  *** Noah

  We go to some fucking room somewhere. I don't recognize it at first, but then it hits me. It's the same fucking room I was in after she knocked me out the first day I was here. It was where she fed me soup, then smothered me with a pillow until I lost consciousness. Fuck. Those are some good memories.

  Angeline and I are fucked up.

  There's people here. They're setting shit up. The guy I followed stands next to me and points to the bed.

  "Lay her there, Noah," he says.

  How the fuck does he know my name? I don't have time to figure anything out. I bring her to the bed. There's fresh white sheets and that stupid fucking rain chime ambient noise machine is playing. I'm not sure if it's relaxing or if I want to throw it out the fucking window. It's kind of relaxing. I know that Angeline liked it. I guess I'll leave it the fuck alone for now.

  The sheets were fresh and white and clean, but not for long. They soak up her blood, turning crimson and dark.

  "You want to tell me what the fuck is going on?" I ask.

  "I'm a doctor," he says. "Or, I was one. The wound doesn't look too deep, though it's difficult to tell. I'll have to do some preliminary work, but if I can bandage her up soon, she'll have a good chance of recovery."

  "You're a doctor?" I ask. "You? A fucking doctor?"

  He stares at me like I'm a fucking idiot. Maybe I am.

  "Do you have an issue with that?" he asks.

  "Yeah," I say. "Yeah, I fucking do. Why the fuck do you want to help her? Aren't you one of her slaves or some shit?"

  He nods. "You could call me that."

  "What the fuck is your name?" Who the fuck is this guy?

  "I don't have a name anymore," he says. The strange part is that he doesn't sound sad about that. It sounds like he's fucking happy to be a nameless asshole.

  "I asked you what the fuck your name was," I say again.

  Yeah, I completely understand I'm being unreasonable and an asshole. I'm sorry. What the fuck do you want me to say? I'm stressed out.

  "Jerry," he says. "Please, listen. I owe Angeline everything. My life was a mess. I caused a lot of problems. I drank. I was an alcoholic. I still am, I suppose, but that'll never matter. I've stopped drinking. She found me and she saved me. Yes, her methods are somewhat extreme, but I'm thankful. I could have killed someone. I didn't care. I thought my life was terrible so I'd go into surgery when I was drunk, and somehow it mostly worked out, because I was lucky. I have no doubts that I was half a step away from accidentally ending someone's life. Angeline stopped me before I could. She found me and she brought me here and she's given me a new life. I don't expect you to understand right now, but I want to save her, too. I owe her everything."

  I don't know who the fuck this guy is. Jerry, he says. I don't know who the fuck he is but he sounds like a nice guy. Maybe. Sort of. Nice for a fucking asshole. I'm an asshole, too. I can relate to that. I feel like we've bonded.

  "Go fucking save her then," I say. "If she dies I'll fucking kill you."

  "I'll try," he says. "I'll do as much as I can."

  "Go!" I shoo him away. He smiles before he leaves.

  I don't know what the fuck to do now, though. Do I stand here and watch? What the fuck happens if she dies? There's hospital machines. Where the fuck did those come from? It's nothing too fancy, but an EKG and some other shit I don't know the name of. Respirator mask? Breathing apparatus? I don't fucking know.

  I can't fucking watch this. I walk outside in a goddamn fucking daze.

  She's going to die. He says he's going to save her, but he didn't even promise. He said he'd try. What the fuck does that mean? Am I supposed to hope for the best? I don't believe in that. Fuck hope. I want him to fucking do it. I want her to live. I want her alive. Forever. I don't fucking care if that's impossible. If it doesn't fucking happen I will end the entire world. I'll fucking burn the whole place down. Everything.

  (Day Nineteen)

  *** Noah?

  "I'm sorry."

  Where the fuck am I? I'm in a bed. Fuck, what bed is this? Oh. It's my room at Angeline's place. It's where the psychotic bitch kept me chained and isolated. I look at my arms and notice I'm chained up again. What the fuck?

  "I know this is going to be hard to take in," the guy says. "I tried my best. There wasn't anything I could do, though. Angeline has passed on."

  I stare at him. Is this some sick fucking joke?

  "I'm sorry," he says again. "I honestly did everything I could."

  I bare my teeth at him and I growl like a fucking wolf. That's exactly what I am right now. I fly off the bed. I'm going to strangle the fuck out of this asshole. He lied to me. You can't fucking lie to me! You said you were going to save her, you sick fucking prick. I thought you were a doctor! What the fuck use are you if you can't do your fucking job?

  I try to strangle him, but the chains keep me in place. Motherfucker. Fuck you! I strain and pull against my shackles, trying to rip them away. The harsh metal digs into my wrists. I start to bleed as the cuffs scrape roughly against my skin. I'm fucking pulling with all my strength. My face is red and tears streak down my cheeks, partially from pain and anguish, and partially from intense fucking exertion.

  I will fucking kill you. She's dead? You're all going to fucking die. Who the fuck are you? This is a sick fucking joke. Where the fuck is Chastity White? I'm going to kill that bitch, too. I'm going to fucking burn this entire house down.

  Fuck you. This is disgusting. What the fuck kind of ending is this?

  She fucking asked me. She said it. Do you wish to live happily ever after?

  You know what I fucking said in reply? I said fuck if I know. And you know what? That was a goddamn fucking lie. I knew. I know. I know the exact fucking answer to that question.

  YES. Fuck you, Angeline. YES. You can't fucking die. How the fuck did you die? From a fucking knife wound? It's just a fucking knife, love. It's just a knife. Why are you dead? Don't leave me. Don't hurt me like this. Just... don't... please?

  I'm alone in the darkness and I'm crying and I can't breathe anymore and my eyes are closed and I want to die and...

  "Noah?"

  The fuck?

  There's the beautiful fucking voice of an angel in my ear. "Noah?" she says again. "Are you having a bad dream?"

  Life is a bad dream, love. I'm busy dying. Leave me alone.

  There's light. That's how this shit works. Go to the light. I can see it behind closed eyes, piercing through my eyelids, blinding me. Fuck you, God. I'm dealing with a lot of shit right now. I'm going, alright? Hold your fucking heavenly horses. I'm going into the fucking light, but can you tone it down a bit? It doesn't have to be that fucking bright.

  I open my eyes and the sun is glaring at me through the window. Where the fuck am I? Heaven looks really fucking shitty. I thought there were supposed to be clouds and hot
angel bitches in togas?

  Whoa shit, I spoke too soon. Who the fuck is that? There's a hot angel bitch in a white nightgown laying next to me, staring at me. She's not wearing a toga, but it'll do. I'm cold and sweaty, but I don't even fucking care. I stare at her.

  "Did you have a bad dream?" she asks.

  "Are you dead?" I ask. "Did I die, too? I don't remember."

  She scrunches up her brow. Fuck, she's cute. "No, we are alive. You saved me."

  "I didn't save you. That guy saved you."

  "Jerry," Angeline says. "Yes."

  "Fucker lied. He said he didn't have a name."

  "We do not use our real names here. They can be painful. We will make new names for ourselves."

  "I don't get it," I say.

  I do, though. It makes sense in a fucked up way. Sometimes you need to leave everything behind, even your name. For whatever fucking reason, sometimes you need to become a new person. I don't know if that's good or bad, it just is. It's something that exists. If it didn't exist, we'd be trapped forever and lost in a life that wants to destroy us. Making a new name for yourself might not always be a good thing, but sometimes it's better than the alternatives.

  "Do you want me to explain?" she asks.

  "Not right now," I say. "I want to kiss you."

  "You do?" She sounds interested.

  "Fuck yes."

  "You may, but you will need to be gentle. I have bandages."

  "Yeah, well, I feel like I can barely fucking move, so I don't think I'm going to be too rough, love."

  "Will you be rough after we are healed?" she asks.

  I don't understand what she means at first, but then I see my hand with the broken finger wrapped up in bandages. I was bloody and bleeding, and my finger was still broken. I guess carrying her didn't do me any favors, either. I didn't have a choice, but by the looks of it I fucked up my finger even more. Thankfully, I can't feel it now. My hand is bound up tight. I might be on painkillers. Fuck if I know.

  "I'll kiss you gently right now, love," I say. "After, though? I don't care about this." I wave my bandaged hand around. "Once you get your bandages off, I'm going to fuck you hard. You're going to fucking love it. I'm not going to stop until you fucking squeal and beg and moan in fucking agony."

  "I do not know why I will moan in agony," she says. "I believe I will enjoy it..."

  "Yeah, that's what you think at first, but I'm going to fuck you raw for hours, love. By the time I'm done with you, you won't know the difference between pleasure and pain. It's all going to feel the same. You're going to hurt so fucking good."

  "You are very bad, Noah," she says, but she smiles when she says it.

  Her eyes fucking twinkle. Fuck. I love her eyes. Her smile, too. It's real and genuine, not forced. I do, I want to fucking kiss her gently. I move towards her and press my lips to hers. She's soft and warm. This isn't fucking wild or rough or dirty. We just kiss, sweet and soft and nice.

  "Do you love me?" she asks.

  I stare at her quietly. "Yeah, I guess so."

  She smiles and seems happy with that answer. I'm not. What the fuck am I doing here? Why the fuck do I keep doing this?

  "No," I say. "Stop. Just wait a fucking second, alright?"

  She frowns at me, perplexed. Get that fucking frown off your face, you gorgeous bitch. I kiss it away.

  "I do," I say. "I fucking love you. You're fucked up, Ange. You're a little crazy and twisted and I'm fucked up, too, and I'm really fucking bad at this shit. I love you. Seriously. I love you so much. I've loved you for so long. I've never stopped thinking about you. I thought you were going to die. You woke me up, but I dreamed you were dead. I thought you were gone and it hurt so fucking bad. I love you. I don't know what else to say now. Do you love me, too? Is that even fucking possible? Can we love each other? I don't fucking know. Somebody please fucking tell me."

  Somebody does. Somebody fucking tells me. It's Angeline.

  "Yes," she says.

  It's just one word, but there's some insane fucking power behind it. I don't know why. Why the fuck am I crying? I don't know why I'm doing that, either. I kiss her again. I pull her close and hold her tight and she fidgets and squirms. Fuck, that's her bandage.

  "Sorry, love," I say.

  "It is fine, let me just..." She readjusts her position. Her head's on my chest now. We're cuddling. I fucking love it.

  "I love you, too," she says.

  "I love you," I say.

  "I love you, Noah."

  "Angeline, I seriously fucking love you."

  I think we keep doing that for awhile, but I lose track. This is nice. We're just laying there, two people. I don't know what the fuck we're doing, because I don't think we can keep doing this forever, but I'm pretty fucking happy to be doing it right now.

  *** Angeline

  Noah and I spent the day in my bed together. That is what I remember. We ate food when necessary, because our stomachs demanded it. I do not remember to eat food all the time. I do not know how it happens, but sometimes I forget until a surge of hunger overcomes me and I would do anything in order to feast. I would eat anything, I would...

  I remember the day in the church when Noah freed me. I do not know if that is where this painful hunger comes from, but I was hungry then, too. I needed food. You do not understand how hungry you can become when you are deprived anything more than a handful of crumbs for days on end. You do not realize what you are capable of until it is too late and all rational thought leaves your mind.

  I do not know if I am sorry for what I have done, because everything I have done has seemed necessary. I do not know if I should have taken Noah the way I did. Why did I not reach out to him years ago? I have seen him and watched him. I watch many people, but Noah is the only one I have watched in order to get a better personal understanding of him. I watch the others for other reasons. They are important, but they are not special to me the way Noah is.

  I do not always understand everything. I do not understand because it is hard. Why do we do the things we do? I do not know. When we are hungry, we eat. That is what we are supposed to do, correct? When we are thirsty, we drink. When we are cold, we seek warmth, and when we are too warm, we try to find a cool place to retire to. Everything we do is a reaction to something else.

  These concepts sound simple, but I do not think they are. What do we do when we love? Or hate? What is the correct reaction? I am unsure if there is one. I know that many times when people love, they become obsessed with passion, or they become shy and affected, or else they become lonely and lost if the object of their affections is in love with someone else. Which of those is correct?

  When we hate, we also can become obsessed with passion. Is that negative? It is the same reaction as love, is it not? When we hate, we can become lonely and lost. We can strive to stay away from the person or place or thing that we hate, as well, which is similar to becoming shy and affected. Does that mean hate is love, or are all of these reactions wrong? If they are wrong, why do we continue to react in the same way?

  I do not know. I do not understand. This is why I enjoy computers. They do not feel or hate or think or love. They do as you request. Their reactions are pre-destined according to what you wish of them. If I search on the internet for a specific piece of information, I will receive varying accounts of that information in different forms. This does not change. It is always the same, no matter what.

  I wish that I could be as simple as that. I wish that I knew what reactions were required for specific situations. It is confusing, though. It is hard to me. It is especially difficult because nobody wants to be friends with a computer. Nobody wishes to fall in love with an internet search term. That is foolish and silly.

  Does that mean I am good, then? Is it good that I do not know everything, that I do not know how to react? It does not seem good. I want friendship and love and passion and affection, and I also wish to understand hate and sadness and anger.

  I want Noah to be my
best friend. I wish for him to love me and feel passionate about me. I like when he shows me affection. I do not want him to hate me, nor do I wish to make him sad or angry.

  Noah is not a computer, either, though. He does not always follow specific rules of reaction. We are imperfect and broken and I do not understand him and I do not think he understands me, but I think that is acceptable. I do not know for sure if it is, but if it is not, I think it should be.

  I love you, Noah. I do not know what your reaction to that will be. You love me, too. I am not certain how I should react to you.

  Currently, it makes me happy. When I smile, it is not a smile I think I should make based on outside evidence, but one I make without thinking. When we kiss, I feel brilliant and bright. When we are together, I feel strong.

  Unfortunately, I think life is more complicated than that. Maybe it is not. Maybe it is simple and I do not realize it. Maybe I have been searching for the answer to a problem that does not exist. Maybe love is as easy as just loving, with no requirements for thought or rhyme or reason behind it.

  *** Angeline?

  I wake up in my bed and my hands are sticky. I am holding something. It is dark and I cannot see. I scramble towards the bedside table to turn on the lights, but something is beneath me. What is happening? What is going on?

  It is dark. I am confused. Am I afraid? I do not know.

  I climb over the lump on my bed and finally reach the lamp on my bedside table. I pull the chain to illuminate the room with soft light. My eyes clench shut, momentarily blinded by the sudden onslaught of colors being added to my darkness.

  I blink and my eyes become accustomed to the light. I look at my hand to see what I am holding.

  It is a knife. It is my knife, the one I keep on the bedside table in case of an intruder. No one is allowed in my bedroom except me. No one. It is unacceptable. I will kill them if they enter. I will hurt them. This room is mine. Do you understand? Mine.