MK Ultra (Chapter Thirteen/?)
Confidence was a virtue that Matthew knew he would never get back. It had been ripped out of him the day that his family had rejected him and cast him out. It had taken a lot of confidence for Dominic to say what he had said, and he respected that, but he could not answer Dominic's silent pleas shot at him from his grey eyes. He could not just expose his feelings to the blonde. Dominic had spoken first, leaving himself open to harm, and he had never harmed Matthew emotionally in any way; yet, Matthew just could not push past the barriers he had constructed around his feelings to protect himself. He swallowed, his throat dry, and opened his mouth to speak, his eyes darting around the room and avoiding settling on his anxious boy, fidgeting in his seat and appearing to be close to panic. An invisible force seemed to pulling at him, tugging him towards the sofa where Dominic sat, most of his body covered by his blanket. He found himself falling down gracefully onto the plump cushion; he had to resist the urge to wrap his arm around Dominic’s shoulders and pull the blonde closer to him.
Matthew was not an evil man. He was not heartless; he was not cold hearted. He was not a monster. He still felt. He cared for Dominic; he had fallen in love with him. He had not always been this way, and he didn’t want to be like this. He longed for the day when he could just open his mouth and tell Dominic how he felt, and not feel the need to protect himself from any potential harm by building mental barriers around his mind. These barriers kept his thoughts and feelings in, and new people out. It was a challenge for him to unlock the cage and allow Dominic in. Every time he thought about telling Dom, his mouth would become dry and the words would stick in his throat, as if his body was joining the fight to remain silent.
Steeling himself, he allowed himself to listen to his natural instincts; he slipped his arm around Dominic, sliding him closer. The blonde felt tense and stiff under his arm, not permitting his body to relax into the embrace. Matthew knew that it was a defence mechanism; Matthew found that, if he held his body stiffly, it would aid him in blocking his mind off. He knew this, but it still hurt him. It hurt him that Dominic had to employ this technique in the first place; it hurt him even more to know that he was the first cause of this. Dominic was a fighter: he had fought through his capture; he had survived the journey; he had been lucky, in some respects, at the auction. If Matthew had not bought Dominic, if he had given in and let the white haired man claim the blonde, Dominic’s life would have been different. It would have been a life of prostitution or sexual abuse. Matthew did not try to deny to himself that he had sexually abused Dominic, that he had broken Dominic; however, he knew that, had he allowed someone else to buy Dominic, the boy’s life would have been very different to what it was with him. However, that was no excuse for his behaviour.
The wound that he had opened from the pain that he had caused Dominic throbbed painfully as his boy shook under his arm.
‘Matthew…’ he breathed, shutting his eyes to block off the scene; he could imagine that it was Christmas again, that he was curled up under Matthew’s arm with all of Matthew’s friend there. It was probably the closest to being happy with his owner that he would ever get.
‘Why? Why do you... you know,’ Matthew said, before Dominic could gather the courage to continue.
‘I don’t know,’ was the whispered reply, falling from tear-wet lips, Dominic’s head hanging so his face couldn’t be seen. Matthew felt the knife in his chest twist. Dominic sounded so ashamed of his love. It shouldn’t be like that. He deserved someone who could make him feel happy and secure, not someone who made him feel dirty and used, and ashamed for feeling something that was completely natural. He had exposed himself to Matthew in the most intimate of ways, and was most likely shouting at himself for doing something so stupid. He needed to hear the same thing from Matthew, both to remove the fear of rejection, and to redeem Matthew. This was the brunette’s chance to show to Dominic that he was not completely bad, that he was human and that there was hope; hope for them both. But Matthew knew that he couldn’t do it. It took so much strength and courage to say those three words together, especially for the first time. Although Dominic had spoken first, that did not confirm that he was being truthful. He could just be lying to hurt Matthew; he could be trying to show Matthew how much he was hurting. If that was the case, then there was no need. Matthew was hurting already.
He took his time, drawing in deep breaths and sneaking quick glances to his left and the blonde under his arm, careful not to meet soulful grey eyes. He prepared himself mentally, planning how he would say the words.
‘I- I lo-’ he forced out, almost choking on the sounds. He tried again: ‘I-’
He could feel his hands trembling and his heart fluttering. He suddenly noticed that he was bouncing his left leg, his right crossed tightly over the top. His breath was coming in short pants, and the adrenaline sprinting through his veins, readying him for either a battle or a flight, was making his stomach turn, butterflies battering the sides. He felt sick and he was beginning to sweat, the cool sheen making him shiver. He shook his head, eyes shut tightly.
‘I- I ca-’
He couldn't even say ‘I can’t.’
He heard his mother's voice in his head: ‘can’t is not a word!’ He swore quietly, wanting nothing more in that moment than for the memory to disappear, to be cleansed from his brain. He wanted to stand, to stride out of his living room and down his hallway and out of his door, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Dominic to suffer that pain again.
‘Look,’ he muttered, feeling grey eyes upon him as he stared at the wall ahead of him. ‘I want to say it, but I can’t, Dominic. Do you understand?’
He felt Dominic nod and, out of the corner of his eyes, saw another tear slide down a tanned cheek.
‘Don’t cry,’ he murmured, almost desperately. ‘Please don’t cry, Dominic, please.’
He begged because he could not handle seeing the pain that his inadequacy caused the blonde. He did not deserve Dominic. Dominic did not deserve to have to put up with him. He deserved someone much, much better, but it was too late to change that now.
‘I want... I want... I don’t know,’ Dominic whispered, burying his face in Matthew’s shoulder to breath in his scent, the smell calming. ‘I just... want you to love me.’
The knife was ripped out of Matthew’s chest painfully. He was struggling for air, choking; it was as if someone had drained the oxygen from the room. He battled with the monster in his chest, forcing it down; there was no room for the monster in his life now. He wanted so much to say ‘I love you, Dominic, so much,’ but the words were trapped, and he couldn’t free them. He wanted to tell Dominic that he did love him, more than people would think an evil person like him was capable of.
Instead, all he could say was ‘I know.’
His eyes slid shut. He was disgusted with himself. He was so weak; he couldn’t even say ‘I love you’ to the boy - the man who he knew loved him. The man who wasn’t deserving of this life. The man who wasn’t deserving of his love. Where Dominic’s love was untainted by the horrors of what he had been through, Matthew’s love was far from pure, but he would give it regardless; that was what Dominic wanted.
Matthew slipped his arm from Dominic’s shoulders, sliding forwards so he was sitting on the edge of the sofa cushions. He rested his elbows on his legs and pinched the bridge of his nose with the tips of his long fingers, his eyes screwed shut and his breaths long and deep, trying to calm his heart. He glanced over his shoulder, at the man waiting for him, grey eyes soft and loving; they could not hide the pain that they contained. Matthew sighed and stood up.
‘I’m going for a shower. Do whatever.’ He waved his hand through the air, gesturing at the television and swinging it around to point towards the kitchen. Dominic nodded and Matthew walked quickly to the bathroom. He washed his hair and his body, then stood under the hot water for a while, feeling drops of water run down his back. His mind began to block out what had happened, building a new wall around the memory. Matthew didn’t try to stop it: he knew now how to break his walls, and confining it to one place meant that he could concentrate on other things until he wanted to think about it. He sighed, exhausted, and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up on end before pressing the button and turning the shower off. Leaning against the wall, he stood in the cubicle of warm air for a minute, revelling in the last bit of warmth before he opened the door of the shower and the cold invaded, unwanted and unwelcome. Grabbing his towel, he dried himself quickly and dressed, pyjama bottoms and a hoodie engulfing him. He folded his towel and left it on the rack to dry, unlocking the door and stepping out onto the carpet. He started to look for Dominic, walking through their empty bedroom and to the short hallway. He glanced into the small room on his left, the room he had abused Dominic in for the second time. He shuddered at the memory, striding past the door and banishing the thoughts that arose. He checked the kitchen, and he was there, leaning on the counter, staring out of the window at the dark landscape. The street lights that worked were dim, and barely illuminated the pavement with their synthetic orange glow. His hair was messy, his t-shirt crumpled: it looked like he needed a shower and a change of clothes.
‘Dominic,’ Matthew said quietly, afraid of frightening the blonde. If he’d surprised Dominic, he showed no sign of it as he turned around to face Matthew. The atmosphere was tense and awkward, their eyes both longing to meet and straining to avoid each other. Matthew coughed uncomfortably.
‘Shower’s free. I can get you some new clothes out, if you want.’
Dominic nodded, walking towards Matthew but pausing when he reached Matthew’s collection of recipe books. He took one of the books down and handed it to Matthew before walking out, blue eyes following him in confusion. He looked down at the book in his hands, and his heart skipped a beat. Dominic had not picked out a recipe book, he had picked out the photo album placed in their midst. His heart began to speed up, racing and hammering against his ribs. A silent request for Matthew to tell Dominic about his past. He had to close his eyes and remind himself to breath, concentrating on the rush of air into and out of his lungs. He opened his eyes and placed the book down on the counter top, his shaking hands wrapping around the edge of the cool marble counter and his eyes slamming shut again.
He had never really understood the human need for romantic relationships. He had always been quite solitary, even as a child. He hadn’t understood the point of a relationship. What did people do in a relationship, if they weren’t doing physical things, like having sex? Why did people need companionship? He had been happy on his own, with the occasional one night stand to satisfy his sexual needs. He had never felt the craving for companionship beyond that of his friends; he hadn’t understood loneliness from lack of a romantic partner, until he had fallen for Dominic. He couldn’t imagine living without the blonde, as cliché as that sounded. He could only hope that Dominic felt the same way about him, but at the same time, the thought that Dominic might need him in the way that he needed his boy sickened him; Dominic shouldn’t have to rely on Matthew.
He reopened his eyes and looked down at the book, lying on the counter, looking harmless. The book contained his whole life history, from his birth to present day. The photos it contained where the only thing from his old life that he had kept; sometimes, he liked to flick through the picture album and imagine that he was still there; that his family still loved him. Those were the days that the dark thoughts took over; the days that he would be driven to commit acts like the ones he had forced on Dominic, yet he did not want to throw the book away. It held precious memories that Matthew still cherished, memories that would have been banished long ago had the book not existed. It also served to remind Matthew of what his parents had done to him. In the times that he hoped with all his being that he could change from what he was now, it reminded him that he had not always been like this. He had the capacity to change, and maybe Dominic was the factor that would fuel this change.
He flipped the cover of the book open, his fingertips skating over the soft paper of the inside of the cover. He heard the shower shut off and swallowed, feeling far less nervous than he had anticipated. There’s still time, he reminded himself, but the possibility that telling Dominic about his past would be far easier than he had thought it may be made him feel better about revealing his past to Dominic. Maybe, if he could do this, it would lead to him being able to speak to Dominic about his feelings for his boy.
Matthew was not an evil man. He was not heartless; he was not cold hearted. He was not a monster. He still felt. He cared for Dominic; he had fallen in love with him. He had not always been this way, and he didn’t want to be like this. He longed for the day when he could just open his mouth and tell Dominic how he felt, and not feel the need to protect himself from any potential harm by building mental barriers around his mind. These barriers kept his thoughts and feelings in, and new people out. It was a challenge for him to unlock the cage and allow Dominic in. Every time he thought about telling Dom, his mouth would become dry and the words would stick in his throat, as if his body was joining the fight to remain silent.
Steeling himself, he allowed himself to listen to his natural instincts; he slipped his arm around Dominic, sliding him closer. The blonde felt tense and stiff under his arm, not permitting his body to relax into the embrace. Matthew knew that it was a defence mechanism; Matthew found that, if he held his body stiffly, it would aid him in blocking his mind off. He knew this, but it still hurt him. It hurt him that Dominic had to employ this technique in the first place; it hurt him even more to know that he was the first cause of this. Dominic was a fighter: he had fought through his capture; he had survived the journey; he had been lucky, in some respects, at the auction. If Matthew had not bought Dominic, if he had given in and let the white haired man claim the blonde, Dominic’s life would have been different. It would have been a life of prostitution or sexual abuse. Matthew did not try to deny to himself that he had sexually abused Dominic, that he had broken Dominic; however, he knew that, had he allowed someone else to buy Dominic, the boy’s life would have been very different to what it was with him. However, that was no excuse for his behaviour.
The wound that he had opened from the pain that he had caused Dominic throbbed painfully as his boy shook under his arm.
‘Matthew…’ he breathed, shutting his eyes to block off the scene; he could imagine that it was Christmas again, that he was curled up under Matthew’s arm with all of Matthew’s friend there. It was probably the closest to being happy with his owner that he would ever get.
‘Why? Why do you... you know,’ Matthew said, before Dominic could gather the courage to continue.
‘I don’t know,’ was the whispered reply, falling from tear-wet lips, Dominic’s head hanging so his face couldn’t be seen. Matthew felt the knife in his chest twist. Dominic sounded so ashamed of his love. It shouldn’t be like that. He deserved someone who could make him feel happy and secure, not someone who made him feel dirty and used, and ashamed for feeling something that was completely natural. He had exposed himself to Matthew in the most intimate of ways, and was most likely shouting at himself for doing something so stupid. He needed to hear the same thing from Matthew, both to remove the fear of rejection, and to redeem Matthew. This was the brunette’s chance to show to Dominic that he was not completely bad, that he was human and that there was hope; hope for them both. But Matthew knew that he couldn’t do it. It took so much strength and courage to say those three words together, especially for the first time. Although Dominic had spoken first, that did not confirm that he was being truthful. He could just be lying to hurt Matthew; he could be trying to show Matthew how much he was hurting. If that was the case, then there was no need. Matthew was hurting already.
He took his time, drawing in deep breaths and sneaking quick glances to his left and the blonde under his arm, careful not to meet soulful grey eyes. He prepared himself mentally, planning how he would say the words.
‘I- I lo-’ he forced out, almost choking on the sounds. He tried again: ‘I-’
He could feel his hands trembling and his heart fluttering. He suddenly noticed that he was bouncing his left leg, his right crossed tightly over the top. His breath was coming in short pants, and the adrenaline sprinting through his veins, readying him for either a battle or a flight, was making his stomach turn, butterflies battering the sides. He felt sick and he was beginning to sweat, the cool sheen making him shiver. He shook his head, eyes shut tightly.
‘I- I ca-’
He couldn't even say ‘I can’t.’
He heard his mother's voice in his head: ‘can’t is not a word!’ He swore quietly, wanting nothing more in that moment than for the memory to disappear, to be cleansed from his brain. He wanted to stand, to stride out of his living room and down his hallway and out of his door, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t leave Dominic to suffer that pain again.
‘Look,’ he muttered, feeling grey eyes upon him as he stared at the wall ahead of him. ‘I want to say it, but I can’t, Dominic. Do you understand?’
He felt Dominic nod and, out of the corner of his eyes, saw another tear slide down a tanned cheek.
‘Don’t cry,’ he murmured, almost desperately. ‘Please don’t cry, Dominic, please.’
He begged because he could not handle seeing the pain that his inadequacy caused the blonde. He did not deserve Dominic. Dominic did not deserve to have to put up with him. He deserved someone much, much better, but it was too late to change that now.
‘I want... I want... I don’t know,’ Dominic whispered, burying his face in Matthew’s shoulder to breath in his scent, the smell calming. ‘I just... want you to love me.’
The knife was ripped out of Matthew’s chest painfully. He was struggling for air, choking; it was as if someone had drained the oxygen from the room. He battled with the monster in his chest, forcing it down; there was no room for the monster in his life now. He wanted so much to say ‘I love you, Dominic, so much,’ but the words were trapped, and he couldn’t free them. He wanted to tell Dominic that he did love him, more than people would think an evil person like him was capable of.
Instead, all he could say was ‘I know.’
His eyes slid shut. He was disgusted with himself. He was so weak; he couldn’t even say ‘I love you’ to the boy - the man who he knew loved him. The man who wasn’t deserving of this life. The man who wasn’t deserving of his love. Where Dominic’s love was untainted by the horrors of what he had been through, Matthew’s love was far from pure, but he would give it regardless; that was what Dominic wanted.
Matthew slipped his arm from Dominic’s shoulders, sliding forwards so he was sitting on the edge of the sofa cushions. He rested his elbows on his legs and pinched the bridge of his nose with the tips of his long fingers, his eyes screwed shut and his breaths long and deep, trying to calm his heart. He glanced over his shoulder, at the man waiting for him, grey eyes soft and loving; they could not hide the pain that they contained. Matthew sighed and stood up.
‘I’m going for a shower. Do whatever.’ He waved his hand through the air, gesturing at the television and swinging it around to point towards the kitchen. Dominic nodded and Matthew walked quickly to the bathroom. He washed his hair and his body, then stood under the hot water for a while, feeling drops of water run down his back. His mind began to block out what had happened, building a new wall around the memory. Matthew didn’t try to stop it: he knew now how to break his walls, and confining it to one place meant that he could concentrate on other things until he wanted to think about it. He sighed, exhausted, and ran his hands through his hair, making it stand up on end before pressing the button and turning the shower off. Leaning against the wall, he stood in the cubicle of warm air for a minute, revelling in the last bit of warmth before he opened the door of the shower and the cold invaded, unwanted and unwelcome. Grabbing his towel, he dried himself quickly and dressed, pyjama bottoms and a hoodie engulfing him. He folded his towel and left it on the rack to dry, unlocking the door and stepping out onto the carpet. He started to look for Dominic, walking through their empty bedroom and to the short hallway. He glanced into the small room on his left, the room he had abused Dominic in for the second time. He shuddered at the memory, striding past the door and banishing the thoughts that arose. He checked the kitchen, and he was there, leaning on the counter, staring out of the window at the dark landscape. The street lights that worked were dim, and barely illuminated the pavement with their synthetic orange glow. His hair was messy, his t-shirt crumpled: it looked like he needed a shower and a change of clothes.
‘Dominic,’ Matthew said quietly, afraid of frightening the blonde. If he’d surprised Dominic, he showed no sign of it as he turned around to face Matthew. The atmosphere was tense and awkward, their eyes both longing to meet and straining to avoid each other. Matthew coughed uncomfortably.
‘Shower’s free. I can get you some new clothes out, if you want.’
Dominic nodded, walking towards Matthew but pausing when he reached Matthew’s collection of recipe books. He took one of the books down and handed it to Matthew before walking out, blue eyes following him in confusion. He looked down at the book in his hands, and his heart skipped a beat. Dominic had not picked out a recipe book, he had picked out the photo album placed in their midst. His heart began to speed up, racing and hammering against his ribs. A silent request for Matthew to tell Dominic about his past. He had to close his eyes and remind himself to breath, concentrating on the rush of air into and out of his lungs. He opened his eyes and placed the book down on the counter top, his shaking hands wrapping around the edge of the cool marble counter and his eyes slamming shut again.
He had never really understood the human need for romantic relationships. He had always been quite solitary, even as a child. He hadn’t understood the point of a relationship. What did people do in a relationship, if they weren’t doing physical things, like having sex? Why did people need companionship? He had been happy on his own, with the occasional one night stand to satisfy his sexual needs. He had never felt the craving for companionship beyond that of his friends; he hadn’t understood loneliness from lack of a romantic partner, until he had fallen for Dominic. He couldn’t imagine living without the blonde, as cliché as that sounded. He could only hope that Dominic felt the same way about him, but at the same time, the thought that Dominic might need him in the way that he needed his boy sickened him; Dominic shouldn’t have to rely on Matthew.
He reopened his eyes and looked down at the book, lying on the counter, looking harmless. The book contained his whole life history, from his birth to present day. The photos it contained where the only thing from his old life that he had kept; sometimes, he liked to flick through the picture album and imagine that he was still there; that his family still loved him. Those were the days that the dark thoughts took over; the days that he would be driven to commit acts like the ones he had forced on Dominic, yet he did not want to throw the book away. It held precious memories that Matthew still cherished, memories that would have been banished long ago had the book not existed. It also served to remind Matthew of what his parents had done to him. In the times that he hoped with all his being that he could change from what he was now, it reminded him that he had not always been like this. He had the capacity to change, and maybe Dominic was the factor that would fuel this change.
He flipped the cover of the book open, his fingertips skating over the soft paper of the inside of the cover. He heard the shower shut off and swallowed, feeling far less nervous than he had anticipated. There’s still time, he reminded himself, but the possibility that telling Dominic about his past would be far easier than he had thought it may be made him feel better about revealing his past to Dominic. Maybe, if he could do this, it would lead to him being able to speak to Dominic about his feelings for his boy.