by T. J. Hamel
“You’re afraid of the dark,” Nathan says, not because it’s a question, but because it just needs to be confirmed.
“Y-yes, sir. I’m so sorry.”
Nathan has to bite his tongue to keep from telling the boy he doesn’t have to apologize. “Will you feel better if I turn the light by the door on low?”
The boy nods rapidly against his chest. “Yes. Yes, sir, please. Please do that, sir.”
“Okay. Go to your side of the bed, and you can hold my hand if you need to until the light is fixed, okay?”
The boy cries again, but this time it’s not sad or panicked. It’s relieved. He holds onto Nathan’s hand and slides back to his spot. Nathan reaches over and slides the fingers of his free hand across the panel again. Just the small blue light from it is enough to have Carter relaxing his hold on him. When Nathan turns the light by the door on to 1, Carter’s hand leaves. Nathan aches with the loss.
“Better?”
“Yes, sir. Th-thank you so much, sir.”
Nathan lays back on the bed, fighting the urge to hold the boy again. Carter doesn’t want to be touched. The only reason he did was because his fear of the dark outweighed his fear of Nathan. Nathan’s no idiot. Now that the dark has been conquered, Nathan is the reigning monster again.
It hurts in a way that Nathan refuses to think about.
Chapter Six
Carter spends the night wide awake, lying stock-still as he stares up at the crystal chandelier above the bed through the dim lighting. He wonders what it would feel like for the chandelier to fall on him. For it to shatter, cutting his skin. For it to crush the life from his lungs. He wonders if death would be worth the pain.
Carter doesn’t look away from the chandelier. He can’t. It feels like the room is closing in, the chandelier the one thing that’s staying a safe distance away. Everything else is slowly encroaching on him.
Especially sir.
He’s convinced that sir keeps getting closer, despite the fact that every time he forces himself to look over, he sees sir in the exact same position, all the way on the opposite side of the massive bed. It doesn’t matter, though. Unlike the crystal chandelier, he knows sir will eventually come for him. He’ll cut him. Crush him. Do whatever he pleases with him. Carter’s not an idiot. They’re both naked, and this man owns him. It’s only a matter of time before sir decides to rape him again.
The thought makes Carter sick. Truly sick. He slides off the bed and stumbles to the bathroom, trying to be as quiet as possible when he shuts the door and locks it. Even though sir told him to keep the door open before, he didn’t technically make it a rule. Carter is willing to risk it. If the door is closed, the bedroom can’t cave in on him.
Carter immediately flips on the lights before panic can envelop him once again. Then he hurries across the small room, barely making it to the toilet in time to empty his stomach. His body purges everything it has, and then some, until he’s reduced to nothing but dry heaves.
When it seems that his body has finally given up, Carter pushes to his feet on trembling legs and goes to the sink. He rinses his mouth with mouthwash before splashing some water on his face. The sight of himself in the mirror when he looks up at his reflection catches him by surprise. He looks… different. His face is hollow. The bags under his eyes are heavy and dark. His stomach is caved in.
His throat is wrapped with an industrial looking collar that has a loop on the front for a leash. Carter brings his finger up to touch the collar, pulling away quickly as if it burned him.
No longer able to look at his own twisted image, Carter turns his back to the mirror and wraps his arms around his torso as tightly as he can. That’s when he sees it.
A window.
In the corner, above the whirlpool tub that’s made of shiny black and gold marble, is a window. Large. 4 panes. A switch to the left of the frame to frost it over for privacy. Carter rushes over, climbing up the three stairs required to even enter the oversized tub before scrambling inside of it. He props himself up on the bench inside the basin and flips the switch. He gasps.
Outside.
Night-time. Dark. Star-filled. He presses his hand and forehead against the cool glass, wanting to be as close to it all as possible.
God, he never thought he’d see the night sky again. The stars. He remembers wasting away in the dark, thinking he’d die without ever getting the chance. He forgot how beautiful it is.
The full moon illuminates the yard, if the stretch of seemingly never-ending grass and garden and trees can be considered a yard.
It’s high. At least three stories, though possibly more. From the size of the yard, along with the winding driveway off to the side, and the edge of what he thinks might be a pool around the corner, Carter thinks he might be in some sort of mansion. He supposes that makes sense. The man did spend 2 million dollars on him after all. Carter would scoff at the absurdity of it if he wasn’t so fucking terrified.
It’s too high to jump. Even if it wasn’t, there doesn’t seem to be any latches to open the window anyway. Hell, even if it was lower, and there were latches, he has no delusion that he would be able to make it anywhere before someone caught him. There’s nothing but trees as far as his eyes can see. Unless there’s unexpectedly a city on the opposite side of the mansion, he’d be fucked no matter what.
He is fucked no matter what.
Carter climbs out of the tub in defeat. The moment his feet touch the bathroom floor, his emotions unlock. They bubble up and over his self-control until he’s choking on a sob. Carter drops to the floor and curls in on himself as tightly as he can, burying his face in his hands to muffle the wrecked sounds escaping him.
How is this his life? What the fuck happened?
How does Maison fit into all of this?
Is this all Maison’s fault?
Does Maison know he’s gone yet? If so, is Maison trying to get him back?
Does Maison even have the kind of resources it would take to attempt to get him back? Will it be too late by then?
Is sir going to kill Carter once he’s bored with him? How long will that take? A week? A month? Years?
Carter doesn’t know if he can survive years.
But Carter doesn’t want to die.
He’s too young to die.
There are so many things left to do. So much left for him to learn and see.
He’s not finished.
Carter remains on the floor and cries his way through a myriad of overwhelming thoughts until he feels nothing but raw and empty. He lays there for a while after, just listening to the sound of his breathing. Then he forces himself to get up.
Returning to the bed with sir is one of the last things he wants to do, but Carter doesn’t want to get in trouble. Things are bad enough when he’s being good. Carter doesn’t want to find out what a punishment would be like.
After quietly cleaning up the bathroom, Carter turns off the light and unlocks the door. It makes a clicking sound that has Carter flinching, but it at least doesn’t creak when he opens it.
When Carter gets to his side of the bed, he freezes.
His heart stops.
Sir is awake.
The man is lying on his side, facing Carter’s empty space on the bed. Or, more accurately, facing the bathroom that Carter had just snuck out of. He doesn’t look sleepy, which means he’s probably been awake for a while.
Carter stands completely still, curling his hands into fists at his sides to hide that they’re shaking. Sir’s eyes flit over him. They linger on his collar. Then the man looks at Carter’s eyes.
“All done now?” sir asks softly, tilting his head.
Feeling on the verge of tears again, Carter clamps down on his bottom lip and slowly nods.
Sir sighs. Then he curls a finger. “Come here, sweetheart.”
Feeling sick to his stomach again, Carter climbs onto the bed and settles himself on his silky black and gold striped pillow. He lies on his side to face sir. When he sees
his stuffed moose is between them, he hurries to grab it, holding it tight to his chest like it can protect him somehow. It’s the most absurd, childish thing, but it makes him feel better. That’s worth it to him.
Carter gasps when sir suddenly reaches an arm out and grabs him. The man tugs Carter across the silky sheets easily, not stopping until Carter’s head is tucked beneath sir’s chin. He smells good, hints of scotch overlaying something fresh and spicy beneath.
Carter’s fear melts away as he realizes the man isn’t going to hurt him or use him. He’s just… holding him.
Sir begins tracing the curve of Carter’s spine. It’s soothing, which blows Carter’s mind. He doesn’t understand this man.
He doesn’t understand anything anymore.
“I own you,” sir whispers in his ear. The words aren’t said cruelly. It’s just the man stating a fact. “You’ve lost all control. You exist for me now, sweetheart. That’s your purpose. There’s no reason to worry. No reason to lie awake all night afraid. You can’t control what happens to you anymore. You’re mine now. All mine. And I’m going to take care of you, I promise.”
Sir presses a kiss to his temple. It’s nice.
Carter hates that it’s nice.
“Just let go, sweetheart. Let everything go. Give it all to me.”
Carter closes his eyes, letting the words sink in. Sir is right. All of this worry and overanalyzing is stupid. It’s just Carter torturing himself. If Maison is going to save him, there’s nothing Carter can do to help. If sir is going to use him, there’s nothing Carter can do to stop it. Maybe in the future, the circumstances will change, but not right now. Now is the time to give into sir.
Keep calm. Breathe. Pay attention. Wait for your moment.
“That’s it,” sir coos, running a hand through Carter’s hair before returning to the bare skin of his back. “Good boy. Just relax, now. Give into it.”
With a full body shiver, Carter obeys. He releases everything and allows himself to relax for the first time in… a very long time. His body seems to thank him for it. It’s as if by letting go, he’s slammed straight into a wall. The exhaustion overtakes him, despite all the sleep he’s already gotten. He falls asleep to sir stroking his back, whispering things like, “Good boy,” and, “That’s it, sweetheart.”
It’s nice.
Pretend, of course.
Just an illusion.
A moment of peace before the storm.
But nice, all the same.
Chapter Seven
Nathan wakes up slowly the morning after the auction, reality taking a moment to settle in. For just a second, he’s surprised that there’s someone wrapped in his arms.
Then it all comes rushing back.
Carter had gotten sick last night. He had hidden in the bathroom and emptied himself of everything from vomit to sobs. When he had come back to bed, Nathan had tried to do what he thought was best. He had tried to strip Carter of the person he was so he could just fucking relax and give in for a while. Miraculously, Carter had listened to him. He had fallen asleep. Right there in Nathan’s arms.
Now, here the boy is, still wrapped around Nathan, using his chest as a pillow as Nathan lies on his back, a leg thrown over one of Nathan’s like he couldn’t get close enough, that damn moose trapped between his stomach and Nathan’s side.
Nathan has to piss, but he refuses to wake the poor boy up just yet. Instead, he lets himself relax in the bed, studying Carter’s sleeping form. He’s peaceful like this. He looks his age.
He looks beautiful.
The boy is all messy dark brown hair and long lashes kissing pale skin. The elegant slope of his nose begs Nathan’s finger to run along it. His cheekbones are even sharper than his old pictures, exaggerated by his hunger. The small freckle on the corner of his jaw would be the perfect place for Nathan to press a soft kiss. His lips, chapped and scabbed, are impossibly full. Once they’re taken care of, Nathan bets they’ll be so very warm and soft. They’ll look fantastic wrapped around Nathan’s-
Nathan closes his eyes, exhaling slowly through his nose. He can’t fantasize about things like that. Just because he’s going to get to fuck this boy’s mouth and ass doesn’t mean he should allow himself to revel in it. It’s rape. He’ll never be lucky enough for it to be anything but rape.
If this were another bed, another place, if Nathan was another person - if Nathan was allowed to be Travis – this morning would be a good one. He can just picture it. Him waking up in Carter’s off-campus apartment just like this, the boy in his arms. They’d have sleepy morning sex, Carter giggling – Nathan has no idea if Carter is a giggler, but he likes the idea of the boy being happy enough to giggle – as he tries to convince him to skip class and stay naked in bed all day. Carter would go to class anyway – Maison says he’s an excellent student. He would pout, but he’d kiss Carter goodbye anyway, proud as fuck of his boy. Maybe he would even have school of his own. Art school, like he always dreamed before realizing someone aged out of the foster system didn’t have a chance in hell at something like that and went and joined the Army instead. He’d spend his day covered in chalk and paint. When Carter got home later that night, they would cook dinner in the small kitchen together. They’d eat. Talk. Then cuddle up on the couch, Carter doing his homework with his head in his lap. He’d play with the boy’s soft hair with his left hand and sketch with his right. Carter would hum and smile, telling him it feels nice. Eventually they’d go to bed, neither of them obligated, no one guilty, no one staying awake all night crying. They’d make love – or maybe fuck hard, depending on how Carter wants it that night – before falling asleep tangled together beneath the sheets. Then they’d wake up and do it all over again.
That’d be their life. Simple. Easy. Happy.
It’s a nice fantasy. More than nice, even.
But it’s just that – a fantasy.
Nathan gave up the possibility of a life like that the day he became Nathan. That kind of life – that kind of happiness - was for Travis. For almost a decade now, he’s known he’ll never have that. He’ll never be Travis again. There’s no going back. No off-campus apartments. No lazy morning sex. Even when this operation is over, there will be other things to do. Hell, even once he retires, he’d never take the chance of falling in love. Ghosts will haunt him until he dies. That’s just what happens when you sign up for this job.
Look at Maison. Carter is right here because of him. Nathan hates to say that, he really does, but it’s the truth. Maison has family. Maison has people to lose. It makes him vulnerable. It puts the people he loves in danger. Nathan will never take that chance.
If Nathan were to have a magic button, though… if he were able to become Travis even just for a day, he’d want to start that day exactly like this. Carter in his arms. Sleepy. Safe. Not afraid of him. Not obligated to be with him.
Nathan carefully extracts himself from Carter and heads to the bathroom. He takes a long shower, trying to wash away all of the doubts and stress of the past 24 hours so he can successfully pull this shit off today. In order to do what he’s been able to do over the better part of this past decade, Nathan has built himself into a ruthless, evil man. He’s become a fucking monster.
Being kind to Carter in front of Benny was fine, Benny is his partner in the operation after all, but the rest of his men won’t accept that. He has to figure out where to draw the line. There’s wiggle room with Carter because he was so expensive, because he’s seen as something valuable. Maison was right about him being a trophy, even if the concept is fucked up. Nathan can use that. He can say he doesn’t want to break his trophy.
But he has to be careful. Every kindness he shows Carter, every reprieve he hands him, has to look selfish. If Nathan’s men ever figure out that it’s Carter he’s doing things for, it’s all over. Nathan has no fucking idea how he’s going to pull it off.
Nathan knows one thing for sure though.
He’s going to fight like hell to not be Carter’s mo
nster.
◆◆◆
Carter startles awake when he feels someone touching his body. He gasps, trying to pull out of the person’s hold as his arm swings wildly. Faster than his sleepy brain can process, his wrists are pinned above his head and a hand is holding his jaw in a firm grip. Carter freezes, looking up at sir with wide eyes.
He just threw a punch at sir.
Oh god, he’s going to get punished.
“Don’t fight me,” sir orders, his brown eyes flashing dangerously. “You can’t fight me. That’s not okay. Do you understand?”
Carter nods rapidly, blinking away tears. “Yes, sir. I – I didn’t mean to, sir.”
“I know.” Sir releases his jaw and takes a step back, standing beside the bed as he watches Carter. He’s freshly showered, his hands tucked in the pockets of his navy blue suit pants, an expensive watch flashing on his wrist, every part of him perfectly in place and controlled despite them fighting just moments before. “It’ll get easier. Your mind will leave fight or flight mode eventually. Once you accept this. Once you accept me.”
Maybe sir means that to be comforting, but it’s not. It terrifies Carter that he might become complacent like that. He doesn’t want to break. He doesn’t want to accept this.
With a deep sigh, sir gestures towards the bathroom. “Go use the toilet, take a shower, clean yourself. Thoroughly,” he specifies, eyes narrowing at Carter to make it clear what he means. “Then come back in here and kneel at the foot of the bed.”
Carter nods, moving off the bed cautiously in case it’s the wrong thing to do. When he isn’t stopped, he picks up the pace and hurries to the bathroom. Sir stops him before he can shut the door, his hand grasping the edge of it in a tight grip like he had with Carter’s throat.