Eternal Damnation Chapter 13
Title: Eternal Damnation
Chapter: 13 “Retaliation”
Author: KittyQuat
Series: Original
Themes: Yaoi, Science Fiction, Apocalyptic Setting, Adult Situations, Swearing, Violence
Rating: (This chapter) R, (Overall) R
My life in this conscious realm has required some adjustment. Actually, that’s a gross understatement. When I first met this man, Dio, I thought my life would begin to improve. After he accepted me, spoke kindly to me, and fed me wonderful food, I expected a turning point. I expected my anxiety to end after a rock crashed through the front window. After all, I haven’t been around long but even I know that that can’t be a normal occurrence. Granted, for a couple of days things seemed okay; this man took care of me, fed me, gave me clothes, and even let me sleep in his bed. For the first couple days sleep seemed unimportant, even though it’s all I wanted in the first hours of life. Although now, I anxiously count the hours and minutes each day until I can sleep for a few hours.
On the third day, he asked me to wash dishes. So I rinsed cups, utensils, and plates and began placing them in the dish washing machine. I must have been concentrating too hard because when I felt his arm slip around my waist, I was startled and lost my grip on a wine glass. Inevitably, it broke to pieces on the tile floor. That’s when the real problems began.
I cover my mouth and hold my breath as I stare at the broken glass on the floor. I feel very guilty for breaking one of his possessions. Slowly he looks up from the floor with an angry glare, locking eyes with me.
“That was real crystal. How could you be so clumsy?” he hisses.
“I-I’m sorry. It was an accident” I rely in a weak, shaky voice.
“You’re sorry? How does that make up for this?!” he shouts.
Frightened and unable to think of a suitable answer, I start to take a step back, but he grabs my wrist and yanks me toward him. I yelp and automatically raise my free hand in defense.
“That was part of a twenty piece set that cost over eight hundred dollars! That glass its self was worth at least fifty!” He shouts from a mere foot away.
“I’m sorry! If I had fifty dollars, I swear, I would replace it right now” I try to assure him as my body quickly becomes racked with fear. I feel as though he will kill me, I flatten my ears and lower my tail submissively hoping that he will show some mercy.
“Replace it?! Come here!” he bellows furiously as he drags me to the other side of the kitchen where the rest of the collection is proudly displayed in a glass cabinet. He throws the cabinet doors open grabbing a glass identical to the one I just dropped. He shows me the bottom of it demanding “Read it!”
Though I am so scared and can barely move, I obey and read the bottom of the glass. “V-V. IC 0039452-12” I stammer, voice trembling.
He swings his arm back and points to the rest of the collection with the glass still in his hand. “This whole collection has the same first seven digits. If I buy a new glass to replace that one, its number will be different! The collection will never be whole again, it’s ruined!” He screams and slams the second wine glass on the floor, scaring me so bad I could jump out of my skin. “I’ll have to replace this whole damn collect thanks to you!” he screams again as he reaches into the cabinet with one arm and, with a sweeping motion, shoves the remaining 18 pieces of the set off their shelf. They fall and shatter all over the counter, kitchen appliances, and floor. The sound is deafening.
When he finally releases his harsh grip on me is when tears start pouring out of my eyes. Gazing at him through this warped, liquid veil, I can’t believe he ever spoke to me kindly at all. He storms out of the kitchen as I stand trembling, about to collapse on the floor in a heap of sobbing regret. As I kneel on the tile, ready to lose all composure, he returns with a dust broom and a collection pan. He throws them at my feet and rips the lid off the kitchen garbage can. “Get cleaning” he demands in a huff.
Once again, he leaves the kitchen but he is not far away. Sitting in the living room he opens a book and begins to read. With my trembling hands I wipe my eyes clear and pick up the cleaning implements. I try to refrain from crying but I can’t help the hitched sobs and whimpers that come out when I begin to sweep the broken shards of crystal off the counter and into the dustpan.
Other incidents followed. That night, he found a bruise on my arm. He told me it was ugly and that I needed to take better care of my skin as I was getting dressed for bed. I looked at the hand print shaped bruise then over at him incredulously. How could he say that to me?
For the next few days, he was very cold; hardly speaking to me and never looking directly at me. He would go to work and come home. I would greet him at the door and he would reply with a simple “Hey” or even just a “Hm.” I had begun to believe that he would remain angry forever. The worst part was I couldn’t win him back no matter how much I apologized for ruining his dinnerware. No matter how hard I worked to keep the house nice and tidy from then on. No matter how careful I was. Whatever happened to only wanting my faithful companionship?
After about a week I began to believe that things would always be like this, but on the ninth day, while I was opening a wine bottle to pour him a glass, I caught him staring at me from where he was stirring a pot of French Onion Soup at the stove.
“Is something the matter Dio?” I ask cautiously.
“How’s your bruise?” He asks in return.
I look at my arm, at the mark that was only slightly visible by then. “It will be gone soon it looks like.”
He approaches me and asks to see for himself. He is insistent. With a sigh I hold out my arm for him to see. He stares at it for a long moment, and when he meets my gaze again, he is smiling. He leans down and presses his lips to mine. It shocks me, but I don’t dare move. With a little popping sound our lips separate. “Your lips are so soft. I’ve been anxious to do that for a while.”
“I-uh… What-I-I mean…Wh-um…” I have a question in mind but I fail to successfully articulate it. I don’t even remember what I was trying to say. My mind is cluttered with confusing thoughts, all trying to be communicated at the same time. He doesn’t acknowledge my muddled speech, he just opens the cabinet and takes out two wine glasses. He then takes the bottle and fills each glass half way, offering one to me.
“I-I don’t know if I should drink this.”
“Why? Afraid of getting a little tipsy?”
“Well, I…”
He rolls his eyes and places the glass in my hand. “Relax” he tells me, “It’s one glass, you’ll barely feel a thing.”
Taking the second glass, he taps it against mine before taking a sip. Not wanting to disappoint him I lift the glass to my mouth and taste a little of it. I wince; it is not what I was expecting. It’s bitter and burns my throat. I don’t want to insult him and his taste so I smile and take another sip.
“Let’s eat in the living room so we can watch a movie together” He says while taking his wine with him as he returned to the stove to stir the soup.
Now, regardless of having to drink this wine, I can only be happy. Perhaps he has finally forgiven me. If I am careful in the future, I can avoid more problems such as this.
At least, that’s what I thought. For about a half hour things were fine too. We ate our soup with a salad and French bread while we enjoyed and action film. It was when the romantic scene began that things got… uncomfortable.
The kissing was fine, the hugging was fine too, but before long, they were undressing, panting, and moaning. At the current moment the protagonist, a detective, and his partner, a male fox eared hybrid, are continuing their aggressive love making in bed. It’s so graphic it could pass as pornographic, if not for the sheets covering them. I can feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment. I feel like I’m doing something wrong by watching this.
I look to my right, at Dio. His eyes glance over when he notices I have turned my attention toward him. He chuckles. “You’re so cute right now.”
Feeling even more embarrassed now, I quickly avert my gaze. He chuckles again, scooting closer to me. He snakes an arm around me and cups my chin with his other hand. “Don’t be so shy” he murmurs as he leans down toward me. He kisses my lips once again. His hand slides down my neck, then my chest with soothing caresses. I can feel his tongue nudge between my lips slightly. I’m a little unnerved but I open my mouth nonetheless. Several deep kisses later, a strange tingling sensation is beginning to creep up my spine. It gives me goose bumps. His hand slides further, to my stomach, my hip, my upper thigh. He rests it there with his thumb pressing down into the junction of my thigh and groin. It’s a very sensitive area, as I now realize. I feel light headed and feverish, overwhelmed and panicky.
Yanking myself away from him, I scoot to the far left side of the sofa to catch my breath and try to get a hold of myself. This feeling doesn’t dissipate quickly. I’m rattled; every nerve in my body is hypersensitive, and my heart beat is pounding in my ears. He is scooting closer again, hovering over me. I press the palm of my hand to his chest, shaking my head as I try to push him away. I can’t find my voice right now to tell him I want to stop.
“What are you doing?” he asks with a mildly irritated tone.
I swallow and continue my panting before I’m able to speak. “I’m-I’m sorry. I’m just really nervous. I don’t think I’m ready for this” I manage.
He stares at me with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not ready?”
I shake my head again. “I’m sorry. Can we just ease into this a little more gradually.” Having made my point effectively, I lower my shaking hand from his chest as I close my eyes and continue trying to catch my breath. I’m interrupted by the feeling of someone grabbing my knees and pulling me back toward the middle of the sofa, then the dipping of the cushion around me. When I open my eyes again, he is propped up on his knees above me with one leg on either side of my waist. Shocked I try to get away but he is too quick. He grabs both my wrists and holds them down firmly at either side of my head.
“You’ve got some balls telling me to back off like that. Don’t you understand your position? I’m the master and you are my hybrid. The operative word here is ‘my’ hybrid. I bought you. That means I owned you. You have no rights and, there for, no say in the matter.”
I pause and stare at him in disbelief a cold, sinking feeling taking control over me. He holds both my wrists together in one hand, removing his necktie with the other. I begin to snap out of my daze only to realize what he is about to do. I begin to struggle, pulling against his grip and trying to kick at his back. “Please stop!”
He wraps the tie around my wrists tightly, freeing up both of his hands. “You still don’t seem to get it. Let me give you a little advice in regards to being a good companion. Ready? Always do as you’re told and never talk back. Don’t tell me you’re not ready, don’t tell me to slow down, and don’t tell me you’re scared, because I don’t give a shit! If I’m in the mood to fuck, you better believe it’s gonna happen!”
Before I can react to his vicious verbal assault he grabs my upper arm and roughly flips me onto my stomach. I scream when I feel his hand underneath me, unbuttoning my pants. “No!!! Please don’t!” I try to grip the arm of the sofa to pull myself away from him, but at the slightest hint of movement, he slams the palm of his hand down into the small of my back, and that’s the end of my feeble escape attempt. All I can do now is cry and continue to scream, hoping I can get someone’s attention. Maybe one of the neighbors will call the police.
Eventually, one of the neighbors did call the police and when they rang the doorbell, Dio unleashed a tirade of obscenities, dragging me to the door, and threw it open. My spirits were lifted upon seeing the men in uniform standing on the porch, even though the only thing I was wearing was my shirt, and it barely covered what I needed it to. I felt certain they would help me as soon as they realized what was going on, but the officers hardly glanced at me. Instead they told Dio that I was disturbing the peace and if he couldn’t get me to quiet down, he would be fined.
What? That’s all that came to my mind at that time. What was going on? I stood there, staring in disbelief at the two men. They weren’t there to help at all. How? How could they look at this situation, and do nothing to stop it? A moment later, they left, Dio closed the door, and my heart sank. With tears rolling down my cheeks I froze in the entryway, staring blankly at the door.
I was shocked and devastated. The police didn’t save me, so that must mean that Dio wasn’t doing anything wrong. How can that be? It isn’t fair… Is it? He had his way that night, and all I could do was grit my teeth and endure the pain. That’s all I was entitled to. That was the worst night of my week long life and I was forced to change the way I perceived our relationship after that. I used to think that he wanted me to be his companion, but now I know that I’m just his slave.
He attempted having sex with me again the night after. That time, I didn’t fight. I just closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself in peace, the way I was before my life began. To my surprise, he actually stopped that time and when I opened my eyes, he was fixated on my wrists. They were both bruised from being tied so tightly the night before. “You bruise too easily” he told me before rolling over to the other side of the bed, facing away from me. Then it clicked. When he ignored me before, it wasn’t because he was still angry about the dishware; it was because of the bruise. He only showed interest in me again when the bruise had almost disappeared. He ignored me for the same reason he blew up over the broken wine glass. Little imperfections drive him crazy. The idea of having an incomplete set of dishes or a slave with unsightly marks is beyond his level of tolerance.
The shallow truth made me want to cry. When I look decent, he forces me to have sex with him, and when I don’t look decent, by his standards, he ridicules me and ignores me. I couldn’t win but I could use his compulsiveness to my advantage. I made a drastic decision. From that point on, I purposely hurt myself, while he was out of the house, to bruise my arms and legs. It wasn’t difficult. In fact, I found that I could bruise my knees just kneeling with them against the floor for a few minutes. In the days that followed, he ignored me a lot, and I was very lonely. That was the downside but, in retrospect, a small price to pay. A couple days ago, I let the bruises heal. I felt like I could handle being intimate by then. After all, if I don’t give him what he wants sometimes, things will only become worse. I don’t think I will ever enjoy sleeping with him though. How can I enjoy doing something when I know my enjoyment is unnecessary to him?
As the bruises heal I think long and hard about the situation. I’m failing to see the positive anymore. What good are food and shelter when you can’t enjoy the company? I’ve noticed a change in my character; I lack the enthusiasm and resilience I had only weeks ago. The truth came with a feeling of hopelessness that I couldn’t escape, even while asleep. Not being able to use sleep as a means of escape has brought depression into my life.
This morning, while we lay in bed, he asks me to smile, but I can’t. He heaves an irritated sigh. “I never thought you’d be a worse pet than Mickī” he mumbles and throws the covers to the side, rotating his body to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m not an idiot, you know; I’m aware that you’ve been bruising yourself on purpose. You do it because you know I can’t stand imperfection.”
My eyes dart in his direction. Instinctively, I’m surprised, even though, logically, I know I couldn’t have fooled him for long. He keeps his back to me while he sits at the edge of the bed and stares across the room.
“You’d better watch it. Bruises heal without leaving any marks but other injuries aren’t as forgiving. It was because of an ugly and permanent scar that I gave up my last pet. It’s such a pity. He was charming, obedient, useful, and eager to please.”
“What?” I utter in a quiet, sleep rusted voice. I clear my throat. “You said he died.”
He turns halfway around and shrugs. “Does it matter? He’s no good as a companion anymore; he might as well be dead.”
A negative feeling I’ve never felt before begins to grow in the pit of my stomach as I look down at the sheets, gaze narrowing into a glare. “What really happened?”
“Beats me. The last time I saw him was a few hours before you arrived at the house. That bleeding heart Nero er Namo, I can’t remember his name, anyway he was supposed to meet me in town and take Mickī home with him but he was late and I couldn’t stick around or I might not be home when the scientists came to the door.”
“So where ever you were, you just left him and came home? And if that guy came and got him, great, if he didn’t, oh well?”
He slowly scoots back, toward me, and brushes a few messy strands of hair out of my face. He smiles and says, “That’s why you’d better watch it.” His warning, with its threatening undertone, is not easy to dismiss. Regardless, he stands up, walks into the hall, and leaves me lying on the bed, alone; just to give his threat unnecessary credibility. Slowly I roll onto my side as I begin to shake, gritting my teeth as a dull ache begins to grow in my chest. To be told, in such a way that I have so little value to him that he would have no problem dropping me without a second though… I can’t even begin to describe my pain. I can’t cry though. I can’t cry because the reflex in not present at the moment. The other negative emotion is suppressing it somehow, and all I want to do is hurt him back.
The morning drags on but the feeling never goes away completely. Every little thing he says and does makes me angry again. I try to ignore him and avoid him but the house just isn’t big enough to put a comfortable distance between us, besides he keeps approaching me and speaking to me as though he’s forgotten all about this morning. Does he really think he can threaten me one moment and then tell me that I’m cute the next? The thing that irritates me the most is that, in this conscious world, this is okay. If he abandons me, it’s okay. If he yells at me, treats me like a lesser being and breaks my heart, that’s okay. If he rapes and abuses me, that’s okay too.
At lunch time, while we are preparing sandwiches, I can tell he is aware of my mood. He tries to strike up friendly conversations, which I must say, I find very awkward. No matter what he tries I don’t respond. This dignity, that I’m apparently not supposed to have, won’t allow me to give him the satisfaction. However, I do notice that he is becoming frustrated; slamming condiments around and flinging his butter knife onto the counter with a loud clang. I sit down at the table and begin to eat while he finishes preparing his meal. He finally comes out of the kitchen with two glasses of water. He sets them down and returns to the kitchen for his lunch. As he takes his seat I lift my glass for a drink. But I stop short. I catch a whiff of something malodorous and a very unsettling thought begins to emerge.
I look at him only to catch the tail end of his expectant stare before he shifts his eyes quickly back to his food. He quickly takes an over sized bite of his sandwich, trying to act… natural, I suppose. I can’t believe it.
I stand up abruptly, the chair screeches over the tile as it is shoved back about two feet. He looked stunned for a mere second, and then I threw the water out of my glass and into his face. Between the anger and devastation, it felt like an automatic reaction. He now grits his teeth and glares up at me. Stepping back I’m able to avoid being slapped as he stands up and reaches across the table. I know he will not stop untill he has put me in my place though. I take to the kitchen and pull the large chopping blade from the knife block. With my trembling hands, I point the tip right at him.
“Tēquin, What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Put that down, now!”
“Why, so I’ll have no way to defend myself when you attack me? Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you put something in my drink? I may have been created in a lab but that doesn’t mean you can treat me like your slave and then do away with me whenever you want. You might have the whole world backing you logic, but that doesn’t mean you’re right.”
He points his index finger at me nervously. “You’re way out of line” he utters in both fear and rage.
“As long as you take me seriously, I don’t care” I growl with the knife still pointed firmly in his direction. I then command him to move. He stumbles back awkwardly and I walk past him. “I know you’re going to call the cops now so I’ll just leave.
“Leave? You can’t just leave.”
“Watch me.” I open and back out the front door. Only when I’ve cleared the threshold do I drop the knife and start to run. I have no idea where I’m going. All I know is I can’t stay.
Chapter: 13 “Retaliation”
Author: KittyQuat
Series: Original
Themes: Yaoi, Science Fiction, Apocalyptic Setting, Adult Situations, Swearing, Violence
Rating: (This chapter) R, (Overall) R
My life in this conscious realm has required some adjustment. Actually, that’s a gross understatement. When I first met this man, Dio, I thought my life would begin to improve. After he accepted me, spoke kindly to me, and fed me wonderful food, I expected a turning point. I expected my anxiety to end after a rock crashed through the front window. After all, I haven’t been around long but even I know that that can’t be a normal occurrence. Granted, for a couple of days things seemed okay; this man took care of me, fed me, gave me clothes, and even let me sleep in his bed. For the first couple days sleep seemed unimportant, even though it’s all I wanted in the first hours of life. Although now, I anxiously count the hours and minutes each day until I can sleep for a few hours.
On the third day, he asked me to wash dishes. So I rinsed cups, utensils, and plates and began placing them in the dish washing machine. I must have been concentrating too hard because when I felt his arm slip around my waist, I was startled and lost my grip on a wine glass. Inevitably, it broke to pieces on the tile floor. That’s when the real problems began.
I cover my mouth and hold my breath as I stare at the broken glass on the floor. I feel very guilty for breaking one of his possessions. Slowly he looks up from the floor with an angry glare, locking eyes with me.
“That was real crystal. How could you be so clumsy?” he hisses.
“I-I’m sorry. It was an accident” I rely in a weak, shaky voice.
“You’re sorry? How does that make up for this?!” he shouts.
Frightened and unable to think of a suitable answer, I start to take a step back, but he grabs my wrist and yanks me toward him. I yelp and automatically raise my free hand in defense.
“That was part of a twenty piece set that cost over eight hundred dollars! That glass its self was worth at least fifty!” He shouts from a mere foot away.
“I’m sorry! If I had fifty dollars, I swear, I would replace it right now” I try to assure him as my body quickly becomes racked with fear. I feel as though he will kill me, I flatten my ears and lower my tail submissively hoping that he will show some mercy.
“Replace it?! Come here!” he bellows furiously as he drags me to the other side of the kitchen where the rest of the collection is proudly displayed in a glass cabinet. He throws the cabinet doors open grabbing a glass identical to the one I just dropped. He shows me the bottom of it demanding “Read it!”
Though I am so scared and can barely move, I obey and read the bottom of the glass. “V-V. IC 0039452-12” I stammer, voice trembling.
He swings his arm back and points to the rest of the collection with the glass still in his hand. “This whole collection has the same first seven digits. If I buy a new glass to replace that one, its number will be different! The collection will never be whole again, it’s ruined!” He screams and slams the second wine glass on the floor, scaring me so bad I could jump out of my skin. “I’ll have to replace this whole damn collect thanks to you!” he screams again as he reaches into the cabinet with one arm and, with a sweeping motion, shoves the remaining 18 pieces of the set off their shelf. They fall and shatter all over the counter, kitchen appliances, and floor. The sound is deafening.
When he finally releases his harsh grip on me is when tears start pouring out of my eyes. Gazing at him through this warped, liquid veil, I can’t believe he ever spoke to me kindly at all. He storms out of the kitchen as I stand trembling, about to collapse on the floor in a heap of sobbing regret. As I kneel on the tile, ready to lose all composure, he returns with a dust broom and a collection pan. He throws them at my feet and rips the lid off the kitchen garbage can. “Get cleaning” he demands in a huff.
Once again, he leaves the kitchen but he is not far away. Sitting in the living room he opens a book and begins to read. With my trembling hands I wipe my eyes clear and pick up the cleaning implements. I try to refrain from crying but I can’t help the hitched sobs and whimpers that come out when I begin to sweep the broken shards of crystal off the counter and into the dustpan.
Other incidents followed. That night, he found a bruise on my arm. He told me it was ugly and that I needed to take better care of my skin as I was getting dressed for bed. I looked at the hand print shaped bruise then over at him incredulously. How could he say that to me?
For the next few days, he was very cold; hardly speaking to me and never looking directly at me. He would go to work and come home. I would greet him at the door and he would reply with a simple “Hey” or even just a “Hm.” I had begun to believe that he would remain angry forever. The worst part was I couldn’t win him back no matter how much I apologized for ruining his dinnerware. No matter how hard I worked to keep the house nice and tidy from then on. No matter how careful I was. Whatever happened to only wanting my faithful companionship?
After about a week I began to believe that things would always be like this, but on the ninth day, while I was opening a wine bottle to pour him a glass, I caught him staring at me from where he was stirring a pot of French Onion Soup at the stove.
“Is something the matter Dio?” I ask cautiously.
“How’s your bruise?” He asks in return.
I look at my arm, at the mark that was only slightly visible by then. “It will be gone soon it looks like.”
He approaches me and asks to see for himself. He is insistent. With a sigh I hold out my arm for him to see. He stares at it for a long moment, and when he meets my gaze again, he is smiling. He leans down and presses his lips to mine. It shocks me, but I don’t dare move. With a little popping sound our lips separate. “Your lips are so soft. I’ve been anxious to do that for a while.”
“I-uh… What-I-I mean…Wh-um…” I have a question in mind but I fail to successfully articulate it. I don’t even remember what I was trying to say. My mind is cluttered with confusing thoughts, all trying to be communicated at the same time. He doesn’t acknowledge my muddled speech, he just opens the cabinet and takes out two wine glasses. He then takes the bottle and fills each glass half way, offering one to me.
“I-I don’t know if I should drink this.”
“Why? Afraid of getting a little tipsy?”
“Well, I…”
He rolls his eyes and places the glass in my hand. “Relax” he tells me, “It’s one glass, you’ll barely feel a thing.”
Taking the second glass, he taps it against mine before taking a sip. Not wanting to disappoint him I lift the glass to my mouth and taste a little of it. I wince; it is not what I was expecting. It’s bitter and burns my throat. I don’t want to insult him and his taste so I smile and take another sip.
“Let’s eat in the living room so we can watch a movie together” He says while taking his wine with him as he returned to the stove to stir the soup.
Now, regardless of having to drink this wine, I can only be happy. Perhaps he has finally forgiven me. If I am careful in the future, I can avoid more problems such as this.
At least, that’s what I thought. For about a half hour things were fine too. We ate our soup with a salad and French bread while we enjoyed and action film. It was when the romantic scene began that things got… uncomfortable.
The kissing was fine, the hugging was fine too, but before long, they were undressing, panting, and moaning. At the current moment the protagonist, a detective, and his partner, a male fox eared hybrid, are continuing their aggressive love making in bed. It’s so graphic it could pass as pornographic, if not for the sheets covering them. I can feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment. I feel like I’m doing something wrong by watching this.
I look to my right, at Dio. His eyes glance over when he notices I have turned my attention toward him. He chuckles. “You’re so cute right now.”
Feeling even more embarrassed now, I quickly avert my gaze. He chuckles again, scooting closer to me. He snakes an arm around me and cups my chin with his other hand. “Don’t be so shy” he murmurs as he leans down toward me. He kisses my lips once again. His hand slides down my neck, then my chest with soothing caresses. I can feel his tongue nudge between my lips slightly. I’m a little unnerved but I open my mouth nonetheless. Several deep kisses later, a strange tingling sensation is beginning to creep up my spine. It gives me goose bumps. His hand slides further, to my stomach, my hip, my upper thigh. He rests it there with his thumb pressing down into the junction of my thigh and groin. It’s a very sensitive area, as I now realize. I feel light headed and feverish, overwhelmed and panicky.
Yanking myself away from him, I scoot to the far left side of the sofa to catch my breath and try to get a hold of myself. This feeling doesn’t dissipate quickly. I’m rattled; every nerve in my body is hypersensitive, and my heart beat is pounding in my ears. He is scooting closer again, hovering over me. I press the palm of my hand to his chest, shaking my head as I try to push him away. I can’t find my voice right now to tell him I want to stop.
“What are you doing?” he asks with a mildly irritated tone.
I swallow and continue my panting before I’m able to speak. “I’m-I’m sorry. I’m just really nervous. I don’t think I’m ready for this” I manage.
He stares at me with a raised eyebrow. “You’re not ready?”
I shake my head again. “I’m sorry. Can we just ease into this a little more gradually.” Having made my point effectively, I lower my shaking hand from his chest as I close my eyes and continue trying to catch my breath. I’m interrupted by the feeling of someone grabbing my knees and pulling me back toward the middle of the sofa, then the dipping of the cushion around me. When I open my eyes again, he is propped up on his knees above me with one leg on either side of my waist. Shocked I try to get away but he is too quick. He grabs both my wrists and holds them down firmly at either side of my head.
“You’ve got some balls telling me to back off like that. Don’t you understand your position? I’m the master and you are my hybrid. The operative word here is ‘my’ hybrid. I bought you. That means I owned you. You have no rights and, there for, no say in the matter.”
I pause and stare at him in disbelief a cold, sinking feeling taking control over me. He holds both my wrists together in one hand, removing his necktie with the other. I begin to snap out of my daze only to realize what he is about to do. I begin to struggle, pulling against his grip and trying to kick at his back. “Please stop!”
He wraps the tie around my wrists tightly, freeing up both of his hands. “You still don’t seem to get it. Let me give you a little advice in regards to being a good companion. Ready? Always do as you’re told and never talk back. Don’t tell me you’re not ready, don’t tell me to slow down, and don’t tell me you’re scared, because I don’t give a shit! If I’m in the mood to fuck, you better believe it’s gonna happen!”
Before I can react to his vicious verbal assault he grabs my upper arm and roughly flips me onto my stomach. I scream when I feel his hand underneath me, unbuttoning my pants. “No!!! Please don’t!” I try to grip the arm of the sofa to pull myself away from him, but at the slightest hint of movement, he slams the palm of his hand down into the small of my back, and that’s the end of my feeble escape attempt. All I can do now is cry and continue to scream, hoping I can get someone’s attention. Maybe one of the neighbors will call the police.
Eventually, one of the neighbors did call the police and when they rang the doorbell, Dio unleashed a tirade of obscenities, dragging me to the door, and threw it open. My spirits were lifted upon seeing the men in uniform standing on the porch, even though the only thing I was wearing was my shirt, and it barely covered what I needed it to. I felt certain they would help me as soon as they realized what was going on, but the officers hardly glanced at me. Instead they told Dio that I was disturbing the peace and if he couldn’t get me to quiet down, he would be fined.
What? That’s all that came to my mind at that time. What was going on? I stood there, staring in disbelief at the two men. They weren’t there to help at all. How? How could they look at this situation, and do nothing to stop it? A moment later, they left, Dio closed the door, and my heart sank. With tears rolling down my cheeks I froze in the entryway, staring blankly at the door.
I was shocked and devastated. The police didn’t save me, so that must mean that Dio wasn’t doing anything wrong. How can that be? It isn’t fair… Is it? He had his way that night, and all I could do was grit my teeth and endure the pain. That’s all I was entitled to. That was the worst night of my week long life and I was forced to change the way I perceived our relationship after that. I used to think that he wanted me to be his companion, but now I know that I’m just his slave.
He attempted having sex with me again the night after. That time, I didn’t fight. I just closed my eyes and tried to imagine myself in peace, the way I was before my life began. To my surprise, he actually stopped that time and when I opened my eyes, he was fixated on my wrists. They were both bruised from being tied so tightly the night before. “You bruise too easily” he told me before rolling over to the other side of the bed, facing away from me. Then it clicked. When he ignored me before, it wasn’t because he was still angry about the dishware; it was because of the bruise. He only showed interest in me again when the bruise had almost disappeared. He ignored me for the same reason he blew up over the broken wine glass. Little imperfections drive him crazy. The idea of having an incomplete set of dishes or a slave with unsightly marks is beyond his level of tolerance.
The shallow truth made me want to cry. When I look decent, he forces me to have sex with him, and when I don’t look decent, by his standards, he ridicules me and ignores me. I couldn’t win but I could use his compulsiveness to my advantage. I made a drastic decision. From that point on, I purposely hurt myself, while he was out of the house, to bruise my arms and legs. It wasn’t difficult. In fact, I found that I could bruise my knees just kneeling with them against the floor for a few minutes. In the days that followed, he ignored me a lot, and I was very lonely. That was the downside but, in retrospect, a small price to pay. A couple days ago, I let the bruises heal. I felt like I could handle being intimate by then. After all, if I don’t give him what he wants sometimes, things will only become worse. I don’t think I will ever enjoy sleeping with him though. How can I enjoy doing something when I know my enjoyment is unnecessary to him?
As the bruises heal I think long and hard about the situation. I’m failing to see the positive anymore. What good are food and shelter when you can’t enjoy the company? I’ve noticed a change in my character; I lack the enthusiasm and resilience I had only weeks ago. The truth came with a feeling of hopelessness that I couldn’t escape, even while asleep. Not being able to use sleep as a means of escape has brought depression into my life.
This morning, while we lay in bed, he asks me to smile, but I can’t. He heaves an irritated sigh. “I never thought you’d be a worse pet than Mickī” he mumbles and throws the covers to the side, rotating his body to sit on the edge of the bed. “I’m not an idiot, you know; I’m aware that you’ve been bruising yourself on purpose. You do it because you know I can’t stand imperfection.”
My eyes dart in his direction. Instinctively, I’m surprised, even though, logically, I know I couldn’t have fooled him for long. He keeps his back to me while he sits at the edge of the bed and stares across the room.
“You’d better watch it. Bruises heal without leaving any marks but other injuries aren’t as forgiving. It was because of an ugly and permanent scar that I gave up my last pet. It’s such a pity. He was charming, obedient, useful, and eager to please.”
“What?” I utter in a quiet, sleep rusted voice. I clear my throat. “You said he died.”
He turns halfway around and shrugs. “Does it matter? He’s no good as a companion anymore; he might as well be dead.”
A negative feeling I’ve never felt before begins to grow in the pit of my stomach as I look down at the sheets, gaze narrowing into a glare. “What really happened?”
“Beats me. The last time I saw him was a few hours before you arrived at the house. That bleeding heart Nero er Namo, I can’t remember his name, anyway he was supposed to meet me in town and take Mickī home with him but he was late and I couldn’t stick around or I might not be home when the scientists came to the door.”
“So where ever you were, you just left him and came home? And if that guy came and got him, great, if he didn’t, oh well?”
He slowly scoots back, toward me, and brushes a few messy strands of hair out of my face. He smiles and says, “That’s why you’d better watch it.” His warning, with its threatening undertone, is not easy to dismiss. Regardless, he stands up, walks into the hall, and leaves me lying on the bed, alone; just to give his threat unnecessary credibility. Slowly I roll onto my side as I begin to shake, gritting my teeth as a dull ache begins to grow in my chest. To be told, in such a way that I have so little value to him that he would have no problem dropping me without a second though… I can’t even begin to describe my pain. I can’t cry though. I can’t cry because the reflex in not present at the moment. The other negative emotion is suppressing it somehow, and all I want to do is hurt him back.
The morning drags on but the feeling never goes away completely. Every little thing he says and does makes me angry again. I try to ignore him and avoid him but the house just isn’t big enough to put a comfortable distance between us, besides he keeps approaching me and speaking to me as though he’s forgotten all about this morning. Does he really think he can threaten me one moment and then tell me that I’m cute the next? The thing that irritates me the most is that, in this conscious world, this is okay. If he abandons me, it’s okay. If he yells at me, treats me like a lesser being and breaks my heart, that’s okay. If he rapes and abuses me, that’s okay too.
At lunch time, while we are preparing sandwiches, I can tell he is aware of my mood. He tries to strike up friendly conversations, which I must say, I find very awkward. No matter what he tries I don’t respond. This dignity, that I’m apparently not supposed to have, won’t allow me to give him the satisfaction. However, I do notice that he is becoming frustrated; slamming condiments around and flinging his butter knife onto the counter with a loud clang. I sit down at the table and begin to eat while he finishes preparing his meal. He finally comes out of the kitchen with two glasses of water. He sets them down and returns to the kitchen for his lunch. As he takes his seat I lift my glass for a drink. But I stop short. I catch a whiff of something malodorous and a very unsettling thought begins to emerge.
I look at him only to catch the tail end of his expectant stare before he shifts his eyes quickly back to his food. He quickly takes an over sized bite of his sandwich, trying to act… natural, I suppose. I can’t believe it.
I stand up abruptly, the chair screeches over the tile as it is shoved back about two feet. He looked stunned for a mere second, and then I threw the water out of my glass and into his face. Between the anger and devastation, it felt like an automatic reaction. He now grits his teeth and glares up at me. Stepping back I’m able to avoid being slapped as he stands up and reaches across the table. I know he will not stop untill he has put me in my place though. I take to the kitchen and pull the large chopping blade from the knife block. With my trembling hands, I point the tip right at him.
“Tēquin, What the fuck do you think you’re doing?! Put that down, now!”
“Why, so I’ll have no way to defend myself when you attack me? Did you think I wouldn’t notice that you put something in my drink? I may have been created in a lab but that doesn’t mean you can treat me like your slave and then do away with me whenever you want. You might have the whole world backing you logic, but that doesn’t mean you’re right.”
He points his index finger at me nervously. “You’re way out of line” he utters in both fear and rage.
“As long as you take me seriously, I don’t care” I growl with the knife still pointed firmly in his direction. I then command him to move. He stumbles back awkwardly and I walk past him. “I know you’re going to call the cops now so I’ll just leave.
“Leave? You can’t just leave.”
“Watch me.” I open and back out the front door. Only when I’ve cleared the threshold do I drop the knife and start to run. I have no idea where I’m going. All I know is I can’t stay.