by Sansa Rayne
He turns back to me. “Now you: keep going, or I’ll turn up the voltage.”
“Fuck off,” I cough, fighting strenuously against my bonds. “I’d rather die.”
“Be careful what you wish for, slut.” Pierce turns to Tim and swipes away the control. He turns a dial on it and returns it to Tim. “Do it.”
The man looks at the dial, and back to Pierce, who gives an affirming nod. Tim hits the switch.
Power pulses through me, but no more than before. The dial is just for show; it’s not hooked up to anything. Still, my flesh is raw, and the pain makes me writhe and howl.
“Stop!” I shout. I have a safeword, but that isn’t it. “Please, I can’t take it!”
“Hey, man,” Tim stammers. “I think maybe, that, I think it’s, enough, probably.”
“Keep going,” says Pierce. “Don’t stop unless I say so.”
Tim squeezes the button; torment races through my body like a burning fuse.
“Please!” I scream again. “I’m begging, stop!”
I twitch, and shake, and convulse. Then I suddenly collapse, shutting my eyes and going slack.
“Why’d you let go?” I hear Pierce bark.
“I didn’t!”
“Give me that.”
As discussed, Pierce is taking the control from Tim, and turning it off. There’s no light to indicate whether it’s on or not — just my reaction. If it’s still going, I’ll give Pierce a signal, a slight jerk of my foot. Otherwise, I won’t move.
“Try it again.”
The crowd rustles, the silence starting to break into an uneasy discussion.
“Well?” says Pierce.
“I’m pressing it!”
I feel warm, gloved fingers on my neck; they tickle, but I don’t react.
“Is she alive?” Tim asks.
“Jesus Christ!” someone in the crowd shouts.
“You killed her!”
“Fuck you, shit cop!”
“You murdered her!”
“Enough!” Pierce bellows, silencing the crowd. “She’s dead. What do you want me to do, call an ambulance? It’s too late.”
“I’ve got this on video, motherfucker!” a woman cries.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Pierce replies. “You just stood there with your phones and let it happen. You could have stepped in, but you did nothing. You’re all accomplices!”
Now the crowd gets mad, and among the threats, condemnation and swears, I hear the crunches and crashes of thrown objects landing on the sidewalk.
Then all of it stops, and I know what Pierce has done: he’s drawn his gun and has pointed it in the air. With the crowd silenced, I have my cue.
Doing my best not to oversell the surprise, I toss my head up and gasp audibly, as if I’ve been underwater too long and I’ve finally surfaced. Several people shriek, stunned by my resurrection; a few drop their phones in alarm.
“None of you lifted a finger!” I snarl. “You watched me die! All of you are to blame!”
As one, they focus on me. I must look half-dead, like roadkill. I don’t care.
“Why didn’t any of you try to save me? Why do you stand by while people hurt one another? Why don’t you do something about it? Do you think someone is going to show up and make everything right? You have to do it yourself!”
While I speak, I notice Pierce slipping through the crowd, making a break for it. If all has gone according to plan, his truck should be waiting not far away.
“Change doesn’t come from people watching from the sidelines. You have to stand up for what’s right, every single day! All of you must act!”
I’m just about finished with my speech when I see the crowd split apart.
“Stanley Milgram conducted this experiment fifty years ago, and we still haven’t learned!” I scream. “What is it going to take?”
Two real police officers break through the audience and leap over the dividers. Just in time. I’ve said my piece, so I shut my eyes and lean back, enjoying the throb in my pussy. I wait patiently and quietly as the cops disperse the audience and remove my restraints with a pair of bolt cutters. I’m free for two or three minutes before they arrest me.
Sitting around in my apartment waiting has never taken this much effort. I want to call Sibel or swing by her place, but I can’t. When we planned “Milgram,” we both agreed — in my case, reluctantly — that afterward I would lay low, at least for the night. No doubt, the police are curious about who impersonated one of their ranks in Sibel’s show this afternoon — thanks to my mask, they still don’t know. I’ll no doubt be the prime suspect, but they can’t prove it, and I doubt they’ll try.
I remind myself: nobody got hurt today. Nothing was stolen. All we did was put on a demonstration. They’re not going to send out the crime scene unit to scrape the sidewalk for DNA. No judge is signing a warrant to tap my phone. They are not about to batter down my door with a fully-armed SWAT team. I may not be out of the woods, but the worst that can actually happen isn’t that bad — and the same can be said for Sibel. That doesn’t stop me from worrying about her.
To distract myself, I make a pot of coffee and drink it while watching the news in my bedroom. Jittery from the caffeine, I nearly jump when my phone buzzes.
It’s a text message from Steph: She’s almost finished being processed. ROR. She’ll be out soon.
I send back Thanks! and slump back in my seat, relieved. Released on recognizance. They’re not holding her.
Sure enough, after a few minutes, I get a video call.
“Hey,” I say, my face lighting up. “How are you?”
“Fine,” she replies, grinning. She looks tired but still as beautiful as ever. “I’m out. I have a court date in a few weeks.”
“What’s the charge?”
“Public indecency,” she says, looking down at the white t-shirt she’s wearing. “There might be more coming.”
“That doesn’t sound too bad,” I say, though I’m still angry she’s even been charged at all. “You should get some rest.”
Sibel laughs. “That’s not gonna happen. There are probably a hundred videos of the performance, and I’ve got to download and watch all of them.”
I chuckle too. “Sounds like you’re okay.”
“I am. And you’re going to be too. They asked me about who was with me, but I didn’t answer. I don’t think they were happy about it, but they didn’t press too hard. It’s New York. They’ve got more important shit to do. You’ll be okay.”
“Thanks,” I say, though I’m not worried about myself at the moment. “Should I still lay low for a while?”
She nods. “It looks suspicious either way, but I think so. I’m sure I’ll get interview requests tomorrow; if you were there, it would invite some obvious questions.”
“Yeah, probably. It sucks, I wish I could be there with you now.”
“I know,” Sibel sighs. “It’s too bad. I’ll be thinking of you though. In that uniform… you looked pretty fucking hot.”
I smirk. “You looked good in those chains. I think I’m going to watch the videos too.”
She winks. “Good. We’ll hook up again soon.” She pauses for a second and takes a deep breath. “Pierce, what you did today… no one has ever helped me live my dream like you have. I don’t know what I’d do without you. So I want to thank you, and to say… I love you.”
For a second, my chest feels like it’s filling up with something warm and sweet, like cotton candy. I can’t remember anything like it — I’m not sure anyone, other than my mother, has ever said that to me.
“I love you too, Sibel. It was my honor to be part of your art. I’ve never known anyone as brave as you. You’re the only person who’s given me a chance to be myself, and I can’t express what that means. I’d… do anything for you.”
She covers her heart with her hand and bats her eyes as tears begin to form. “Sorry, I’m just a little…”
“Me too,” I say, my breath ragged.
She takes a minute, collecting herself; her cheeks lose their rosy blush, and for a moment she looks very tired. “Pierce, there’s something I need to tell you, and it’s not going to be easy for me. It’s about my past.”
I shake my head. “Whatever it is, I don’t care. It won’t change how I feel about you.”
She smiles, the tears flowing more. Her phone lifts up and moves in close to her anguished face. I tense up, wanting to race to her side and comfort her, but all I can do is hold my phone up too. “Thank you for that, Pierce. It’s something I’ve made my peace with, and I trust that you… that you’re not going to judge me. But I want someone to know, and you’re the only person who would understand.”
“Okay,” I say, nodding. “Anything you need, I’m here for you.”
She wipes off her face with her sleeve. “Pierce… you know how I told you I left art school after that movie didn’t go so well?”
“I remember.” The story still smokes like an ember in my gut. Sibel’s artistic success may have shown them by now how wrong they were, but I’d still like to stick it in their faces.
“Between my experiences there, and the kinks I was discovering I had, my relationship with sex was pretty messed up,” Sibel continues, choking up. “I was in a bad place.”
I nod, waiting for her.
“I thought sex and my looks was all I was good for, so I got a job at a strip club.”
Shit. That’s it?
“Sibel, that’s nothing to be-”
“I know,” she says quickly. “Thank you. I know. But back then, I thought I may as well embrace what I had, that it would be easier to give in to fate. I was miserable, of course. I couldn’t deal with the customers. I punched every guy who tried to grab me. When my boss wouldn’t lay down the law, I punched him too. I kept getting fired, and no one would hire me. So… for a while… I worked on the streets. I was a prostitute.”
Oh.
No wonder she darkened when I grilled her on how she’d react to being called a whore.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
Shaking my head, I blush, ashamed. I’ve known so many women in Sibel’s position, and I’ve tried to help them — but did I do enough?
Chase always had a convincing argument ready — that if we didn’t manage these girls, someone else would, or if these girls weren’t working the streets, there would be others. Yet, it didn’t have to be my business — my life.
Sibel wipes away a steady flow of tears; I can’t bear to see it. The thought of her so anguished, to be tormented by so many ghastly memories — I want to put my fist through a wall.
“It was awful, so much worse than stripping. It took me a long time to realize I could be something more, that I could use my gift for a better purpose.”
A wonderful purpose, I want to say. A purpose those art school assholes should have helped you discover.
“I found my way, though,” she says, brightening slightly. “I didn’t forget my past, but I put it aside.”
I wait for a moment, just to be sure she’s finished. Then, I say what I truly believe, without a shred of hesitation: “Sibel, I’m sorry that you’ve had to carry around this pain for so long. But please know, this doesn’t change a thing. I love you, no matter what.”
Relief lights up her face like dawn over the sea. “Thank you. It means a lot that you understand.”
“Of course. Remember, I’ve worked with women in the sex trade for years — I know what they go through, the stigma they face. It’s not easy. The fact that you’ve gotten out, and risen so high, it’s a testament to your courage and hard work.”
She blinks away fresh tears — relieved tears, I think. “Pierce, I can’t tell you how much… how much peace this brings me. Like, I’ve had this buried inside for so long, and now I don’t have to carry it alone. And I don’t think I ever could have told anyone if not for the way you make me feel.”
I lay my hand over my heart and pull back my phone so she can see. “I’m glad I could help. I mean it. If I could spend the rest of my life giving you peace of mind, I’d do it gladly.”
“I’d like that,” she says, smiling so pretty I could pass out. “Again, thank you, Pierce. I feel better than I have in years. I wish I could be with you tonight.”
“Soon, pet,” I reply. “We’ll be together again soon.”
“Good. I’ve got to go, okay? I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Okay, Sibel. Have a good night.”
When we hang up, I close my eyes so I can picture her on my phone. I hear the conversation, as well as her voice. Every turn of her lips, each twinkle in her eyes. Of all the moments we’ve recorded to keep forever, that’s the one I would have wanted most.
“Are you fucking serious?”
Chase stands in my bedroom door, wearing nothing but boxers. Smelling of sex and gin, he sneers at me with contempt.
“Goddamnit, Chase, were you eavesdropping?”
His scowl twists into a grin. “I told you she was a fucking whore.”
I’ve got my hands around this throat so fast, he can’t even get his arms up to defend himself. “Call her that again, I’ll cut off your dick and make you fuck yourself with it, do you understand me?”
“Oh look at you!” he taunts with a raspy laugh. “Let go, loverboy. Give me a fucking break.”
I release my hands from his throat, but not without holding a fist to his face for a minute. The urge to deck him is overwhelming.
“Pierce, you’re thinking with your dick. In all the years you’ve been a pimp and a pornographer, what the fuck have you seen that could possibly make you believe in love?”
Not this shit again.
I’m sick of his cynical, self-defeating bitterness. Normally I’d probably just tell him to shove it, but this time something new occurs to me.
“Nothing,” I admit. “It was all just sex. So, you’re right. Nothing. But what Sibel and I have isn’t business. It’s something very, very real.”
Chase rolls his eyes but wisely keeps his mouth shut.
“I’m sorry you’ve never really experienced love or romance. It’s fucked up, and it shouldn’t happen to anybody. But you have no right to act like it’s all delusion and fantasy. It’s not.”
Chase rubs his palm across his forehead in frustration. “Someday this is gonna come apart, and you’ll see I was right. Love is just a high. You’ll come down from it. The sex won’t get boring very fast, you’ve got that going for you — but it won’t be enough. One day, one of you will be gone. And I’ll say-”
“That’s enough,” I snap. “I’ve heard it all before, Chase, so save it. This is your last warning, okay? Don’t make me choose between being your friend and loving Sibel. I promise you won’t like how that goes.”
Chase grunts a sick laugh. “You’d really do that? You know how it would end, right? What I would do, without you in my way?”
I stare at him like a bull facing a matador. “I won’t ignore my responsibilities. I’d make the necessary arrangements.”
“What does that mean?”
“Depends on you.”
We stay locked on each other for a minute; he breaks the gaze first, turning and storming away without a word. I get up and shut the door behind him.
Fucking hell.
From my nightstand, I take out a bottle of Jim Beam and a tumbler. I pour a double and open up my laptop to watch footage from “Milgram.” Sibel wasn’t kidding: the search results go on and on. I add several to my watch list and set them to play.
However, I can’t concentrate. As much as I love watching Sibel squirm, my thoughts flow back to Chase. I talked the talk with him, but what can I really do? I’m stuck in it now — I have been for years. Of course, it was my own doing.
When I think about what happened the night of Chase’s party, I realize how much luck played a role. If we did it over and over, Chase probably goes to jail ninety-nine times out of a hundred. Half the time, I’d join him. And, in a few cases, somebod
y probably wouldn’t have lived.
Would the last few years have been easier for me if the odds hadn’t lined up so well, and Chase went back to prison? I don’t know. At least I wouldn’t be facing another decision like the one I am right now. There’s probably not a one-in-a-hundred outcome to be had this time.
I sip my bourbon and shut the laptop. I’ll watch the videos later. I have some time until I see Sibel. With any luck, when that day comes, I’ll know what to do. Just like I miraculously knew what to do back then.
“Chase… what did you do?” I ask, wishing for the scene before me to not be real.
He laughs, picking up a half-finished bottle of champagne and taking a swig. “Well, first I got drunk. Then I met Tammy here and took her home.”
“Took her,” I repeat slowly, looking down at the petite brunette lying down on Chase’s coffee table.
She stares back at me, her eyes wild with terror, struggling against the ropes binding her arms and legs. A thick cloth is stuffed in her mouth and covered by a clear length of tape that winds around her face and neck. Her limbs are spread apart, offering an unobstructed view of her naked body. Makeup runs down her face in paths left by her tears, and her forehead shines with a sheen of cold sweat.
I’m ashamed to realize my cock has gone hard as cement staring at her. When she sees it, she moans and cries, most likely thinking her hope for deliverance has been nothing but a flight of fancy.
“Welcome to the party, man!” Chase says, spotting my erection. “How’d I do with tying her up? I know that’s your thing.”
I don’t know what to say — his bondage technique is the last thing on my mind.
“You wanna go first or what?” he asks. “Wait, did you bring the camera? Did I forget about that? Ahh, shit.”
Stay calm, I tell myself. Don’t escalate the situation.
“Listen, Chase,” I start. “Have you done anything to her? Besides tying her up?”
He shakes his head with a proud smile. “Nah, I was waiting for you! After all you’ve done for me, I wanted to, uh, pay it up. Pay it forward.”