Table of Contents
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Bound
A Caged Novella
D H SIDEBOTTOM
Bound, A Caged Novella
By
D H Sidebottom
Copyright © 2017
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to actual places, incidents and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 D H Sidebottom. Please do not copy, alter or redistribute this book.
Please secure author’s permission before sharing any extracts of this book.
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
One
Anderson
Spit hit my face, along with the sticky jet of blood, when the heel of my foot connected with the sharp bone protruding from his shin. The sound of his lungs emptying, and the thud as he dropped to the floor beneath me, was harmonious. Calming. Uplifting. Exhilarating.
Adrenaline raced through me, electrifying my nerve endings and lighting up the place within me that hungered for violence and bloodshed.
Every single hair on my body buzzed with energy. My lungs vibrated with the quick succession of each breath. My heart pounded with the rush of liquid power being forced around my body.
Pure, undiluted euphoria took me to the next step, and I finished him with one formidable stamp on his windpipe.
The room went wild, the screams and calls of my name filling my lungs with gratifying life. The feel of my arm being lifted high in the air took away the subdued thirst that was always fighting to be quenched.
“Good fight, Cain,” Marty shouted in my ear as he struggled to be heard over the din bouncing around the small warehouse.
Nodding, I pulled my arm free and made to exit the cage. The crowd knew not to swarm, my reputation for no shit now a well-rehearsed ritual with the bloodthirsty fuckers who paid to watch death and destruction.
“Need servicing, Anderson?” Lisa, the fight whore, grinned widely at me from the doorway of the room the fight coordinators tried to pass off as a dressing room.
Sighing when I lifted an eyebrow at her, she shrugged and nodded. “One day, you’ll give in.”
I laughed coldly and stared at her. “I don’t do tramps.”
Her eyes widened, but familiar with my cruel quips by now, she blew out a breath and walked away. The door swung closed behind her and I finally let out the breath that had been stuck in my lungs since I’d watched another soul leave its host because of me – and my sickness.
But it was only this that brought me any small piece of calm. I wasn’t proud of what I did, nor did I want to step into the cage time after time. If I lost, then Sam would be without both of his parents. And that wasn’t something I allowed myself to think about. Yet, in a way, it gave me the resolve to win every fight, the force to do what needed to be done.
Cold air hit my face when I stepped out of the metal doors, and wrapping my coat tighter to my body, I whistled into the silence. Red emerged from where she lay waiting for me behind one of the industrial bins. Although she had been out in the chilly February air, her coat was warm to touch, her soft fur warming to my cold hands. Digging my fingers into the soft place behind her ear, she snuggled into my hand and greeted me with a blink of her large grey eyes and a soft whine.
“Okay, girl. Let’s go home.”
She trotted on ahead, sniffing and exploring our usual route home. I often wondered how she found so many new smells since the last time we had walked that way was only a few days, but she did, and she enjoyed it every single time.
The canal, which was usually quiet at this time of night, was scattered with a few teenagers, their discarded cans of cider, chip wrappers and cigarette butts littering the gravel walkway. However, they paid no attention to me or Red as we passed them, their focus on a tall boy’s phone as he streamed what sounded like porn for the others to watch and jeer at.
Jessie’s car was parked on the driveway leading up to the house, and Red, as was customary, stopped to sniff each wheel as she walked by.
“Come on, girl,” I shouted over my shoulder when I slid the key in the front door and waited for her to trot in front of me.
She shook her coat as soon as we hit the heat of the house, and I slipped from mine.
“Hey, Anderson,” Jessie greeted in her characteristic cheery tone when I walked into the kitchen. “Good night at work?”
“Yeah, very productive, thank you.”
She smiled, pushing her arms through her coat and taking the cash from me as I held it out for her. “Well you know where I am when you need me next. Not a peep from Sam, as usual. He’s such a good kid.”
I grinned, nodding in agreement. “He is.”
“Oh,” she called over her shoulder. “Robbie’s here. He’s in the basement.”
“Right.”
Waiting until I heard the door close behind her, I grabbed a beer from the fridge and made my way down the wooden steps.
A shudder ripped through me with each slat my foot landed on. This place held so many memories; some good, some very bad. But all of them contained an image of Kloe. My heart ached once again and I bit my tongue to subdue each emotion that threatened to drown me. This room was full of her. Everything I touched made me feel her with me; the bed, the wall, even the floor was coated in a memory of her, some uplifting, some horrific.
“Hey.” Robbie looked up at me when he heard me walk down.
He was sat on the bed – the one I could never bear to part with – and slowly ran the leather tail of the whip through his fingers. His eyes were dark and cold on me as I walked towards him, and I swallowed at the heat that boiled in the pit of my gut.
“Thought you might need to release some of that pent-up energy.” A mischievous smirk transformed his hard stare into an excited glint as his eyes roamed down my body. “Although looking at the bruises on you, I’m not so sure I should make any more.”
I gritted my teeth at the way my cock throbbed with the promise of pain he could give me. “I’m always up for more, you know that.”
Taking the hem of my t-shirt, I lifted it over my head and threw it to the floor. Then, submitting completely, I lowered myself to my knees before him.
His hand on the top of my head made me jerk away, and he sighed, as if my reaction to his touch hurt him.
“It always amazes me how tenderness shocks you. Yet the bite of pain doesn’t.”
“It’s always been the way,” I answered, locking my eyes on the cold concrete floor before me.
“Hmm,” he mused. “Not always though, eh?”
“Not now, Rob.”
He shrugged when I flicked my eyes upwards and scowled at him in warning. “When then, Anderson? When are you going to deal with the grief? It’s been two fucking years.”
His sudden anger surprised me, yet, strangely, I had expected it. My mind was torn two ways. Open up to my best friend and allow him to take the crushing weight of my shattered soul, or keep it within me and keep her memory sacred.
“One day.” It was a vague answer, and Robbie knew that, but he let
it ride, his touch on my head almost loving. Our relationship wasn’t one of sentimentality. It was raw and harsh, cruel and depraved. Except I couldn’t stop myself from craving the sting of agony he gave me.
The truth was that, with Sam, I could deal with the grief. Kloe lived on in the happy and gentle soul of our son. I saw her in him every day. Every time his eyes lit up when I walked into the room, each laugh that burst from him, and the simple way he slept with his hands tucked under his cheek, reminded me of Kloe. I could cope with her death when I took him in my arms, or bathed him, or played with him. He allowed my heart to keep beating, and without him I wasn’t sure where life would have taken me after I lost her.
“Bend over the bed.” Robbie’s voice brought me back to the present and I did as he asked immediately.
I hated that I submitted to him so easily. My personality was demanding and domineering. However, most of my early years had been oppressing and intimidating, and it was too late to change that now. My body, and my spirit, craved it. Pain and authority were the only things that settled the unremitting hunger inside me.
Robbie’s hands slipped around my waist and I sucked in a long breath when his fingers snapped at the button of my jeans. My cock strained, the denim constricting and causing me to release a groan of virtual agony.
“Breathe, Anderson.” His growl in my ear triggered a shiver to travel along my bones, the need in me growing stronger by the second.
He moved back and my body instinctively stiffened in preparation for the coming strike of pain. And he didn’t disappoint.
Adrenaline and endorphins shot into every nerve ending when the lash of pain numbed my mind and allowed my body to feel. Sweet, euphoric agony dug deep, blinding the pain of life and liberating the pain of suffering.
Not many would understand my need for pain, my need for the freedom to ride in my veins, yet, it was all I’d had for so many years of my life. It had been the only thing I had felt, the only sensation and stimulation my sorry life had contained. It was an addiction. My senses dependant on the only stimulus that had ever touched my body and given it some sort of purpose.
More thrashes across my back brought more and more shots of ecstasy, each one building me higher and higher until I thought my cock was going to burst.
Reading me perfectly, Robbie reached around and freed me from the confines of my jeans, my cock throbbing so hard it was almost as if it was begging him for release.
“Take yourself,” he growled, as desperate as I was for some relief.
Wrapping my fingers around my cock, I squeezed hard and started to slide my hand up and down. Robbie pulled his cock free and matched my own movement, until both of us were in sync, our wanking one of rhythm, and eagerness. Our grunts mingled together, the sound erotic and loud when we came simultaneously, arcs of cum hitting the other as we let go and gave in to the pleasure.
Our panting was heavy and fast, and Robbie, tucking himself back into his jeans, grinned at me. “Always hit the spot.” Reaching out he drew his thumb across my jaw and wiped away a tiny amount of cum.
Nodding, I chuckled and left him behind, and went to grab a much-needed shower.
The sting of hot water on my back made me wince, the open wounds both invigorating and soothing to my senses, the contradiction giving my lungs a fight to breathe in and out.
The house was silent when I slipped into some shorts and went to check on Sam.
Jessie had left his nightlight on, the faint glow lighting one corner of the room and giving it a cosy effect. The smell of his unique smell settled the bubbling volcano in my soul and I took a deep breath of him. Quietly making my way over to his small bed, I knelt beside my beautiful son and gently stroked the round of his chubby cheek with my thumb.
My breath caught and my hand shook when the heat of his glowing skin scorched the tips of my fingers. His loose brown curls were plastered to his damp forehead but his body trembled as if he was cold.
“Sam?”
His tiny body lay limp and unresponsive when I slightly shook him, his eyes closed like he was having a restful sleep.
“Sam?”
Pulling him towards me, his body slumped against me and his arms dropped by his sides when I lifted him. My heart raged in my chest, panic making every bone in my body tremble with fear. I couldn’t seem to breathe, my lungs squeezing tight as the horror in my mind sent my body into shock.
“SAM!”
My legs wobbled, causing me to stumble as I raced from the room. Robbie, hearing my calls, met me at the top of the stairs. He, instinctively, took Sam from me and ran down the stairs.
“Call an ambulance, Anderson!”
I couldn’t move, my eyes following him and my son, but every part of me locked down in dread. The world felt weighted, terror pressing down on me and fusing my feet to the floor.
“No. Not again. Please, God, not again. I can’t lose him too.”
But I figured God didn’t particularly like me.
When Robbie started to press the heel of his hands into Sammy’s tiny chest, his faint voice counting each compression as he fought to bring my son back to life, the world went black and I sunk into the pits of hell.
Two
Anderson
Pressing the heel of each hand to my eyes, I fought with the blur in my vision and tried to focus on the numbers assigned to the regular black coffee option on the old vending machine that catered to the entire paediatric ward.
“God damn!”
Squeezing my eyes closed in another lame attempt to relieve the soreness, I let out a loud frustrated groan and attempted to calm the twist in my stomach.
“What are you after?”
My eyes snapped open and I stared mutely at the woman smiling softly at me. She wore a nurse’s outfit but the shock of flame red hair that cascaded over her shoulders and rested against the swell of her hips pulled my stare away from her uniform. Her eyes were the brightest blue I’d ever seen, but the smattering of freckles over her pale skin once again drew my attention.
Her smile widened and she gestured towards the coffee machine. “Coffee. Which one are you after?”
“Uhh, regular, black.”
She pressed the corresponding buttons, and then handed me a plastic cup full of something that resembled thick tar.
“It’s actually better than it looks,” she offered with another smile, inserting a coin in the machine and picking out her own choice of drink.
I took a tentative sip, and agreeing with her, nodded. “Yeah. Thank you.”
“Anytime.” She gave me another smile and drifted off down the corridor.
Her shoes squeaked on the floor and my eyes dropped to watch each step she took. The faint sound, and light way she walked – if one can describe a walk as ‘light’ – mesmerised me, my tired and addled brain desperate for something to concentrate on other than the terror living in my thoughts. She wore dark blue work trousers that looked like they would fall off her hips any minute, and lifting my eyes, I noticed a small hole in the hem of her coat.
“Mr Cain?”
The sound of my name jerked me from my thoughts and I turned to find Dr Gillespie staring at me.
“We’ve managed to stabilise Sam. You can see him now.”
“Have you determined what’s wrong?” I asked as I followed him briskly down the corridor towards a set of double doors. We both moved to the side when a team flew through the doors pushing a small plastic crib. Nurses were running behind them, holding up bags of fluids. A doctor stood on one of the side rails, pressing his hand into the chest of a tiny infant. My heart lurched, memories of Robbie bent over Sam not eight hours ago.
“At the moment we’re still unsure. The LP ruled out meningitis but we’re quite positive it’s a virus.”
The long sigh of relief that left me caught his attention, and he stopped. The grim look on his face turned the short-lived relief to a deep anxiousness.
“Mr Cain, I need to make you aware that Sam is a very poorl
y boy. Although we’ve stabilised him, he is still struggling to breathe on his own.”
His words made my skin shrink back to my bones, and the blood that ran through me chilled with dread.
“Medication has brought his fever down a little, but his tiny body is battling against whatever this is, and we’re having to do most of the work for him.”
I nodded, unable to speak with the tightness in my chest. My hands formed fists and I wrestled with the urge to rip his fucking tongue from his mouth. His words weren’t meant to instil fear, only caution, but instinct – the visceral force that I always fought to compress – was to hurt those who hurt me.
“Rest assured, Mr Cain, that we’re doing everything we can to determine what’s causing this. Then we will have a better idea of how to treat Sam.”
Nodding again, I swallowed the lump in my throat and took a deep breath.
Sam’s bed was situated in the middle of a group of three, each one occupied by three tiny children. Monitors beeped constantly, the noise almost deafening to unaccustomed ears.
Bile stung my throat when I was guided over to Sam. Tubes pierced his little body, wires were stuck to his sickly grey skin with different coloured tape, and a large fan was whirring steadily in attempt to cool down his raging fever.
Visions of another time, another person who held my heart, assaulted my mind and I grabbed hold of a high-backed chair and dropped into it.
Dr Gillespie squeezed my shoulder then walked away.
Words stuck in my throat, in my heart. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. My eyes drifted to the overhead monitors, the ones recording every aspect of my son’s life. A shudder ripped through me when each zig-zagged line, each number and each blinking coloured light morphed into different ones, ones from two years ago, that had recorded the end of my wife’s life.
‘The machines continued to beep, the lights continued to flash, and my wife continued to lay silent and still.’
Forcing myself to move, I leaned forwards and took Sam’s tiny hand in mine. His skin was hot, but so soft. For the first time, his little fingers didn’t curl around my own. Guiding them myself with my other hand, I held them tight to my palm. Perhaps I squeezed too tight, perhaps I didn’t clasp them hard enough. Maybe he could feel me holding on as tight as I could. Maybe he thought I wasn’t holding on hard enough.
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