Prompt Fill 17: Recovery (Part 2)
"Hey, Baby..."
I hated when he called me that. It was weird. It was sick. It was...it was wrong.
"Baby, you're burning up." He placed his hand to my forehead, wincing slightly. "Oh..." I felt lips touch where his hand used to be.
Like I fucking cared about having a fever. I didn't even care about being cold. What did it matter when my back was still stinging and sticky with blood? I didn't even want to roll over, which meant I could have turned away from him. Too many times I had done that, and my back had peeled away from the streets like melted gum to a wrapper. And it hurt like a bitch.
He came down onto the bed, wrapping his arms around me. I looked away, and that seemed to make him more desperate because he kissed me. I was tired. Sick and tired of all of this bullshit.
I honestly wished he'd just kill me. Several times he'd come pretty close. I guess he didn't understand that it would take several times for a guy to hold still while you're trying to do them up the ass. It's just too bad he was so much bigger than me. And stronger.
"You know that I love you," he said in this really weird quiet voice. The same kind of voice my dad used to use when I was, like, five. I felt his fingers trace my lip, pressing against the lipring. "Harry, tell me you love me."
Normally, I would have said 'Fuck off' instead, or something. I had, in fact, several times, done so, but after being whipped and drowned...well, it just becomes easier to play along.
"Love you..." I mumbled back, swallowing hard as he moved his head into a better position to kiss me.
It wasn't fair. I was cold. I was bleeding. I was miserable. And he was just kissing me like it was the sweetest thing in the world. I guess it was, for him.
It was pouring rain outside, and while his lip-locking assault became more brutal-he got to his knees and climbed on top of me, forcing me all the way onto my back, I wondered what Perry was doing.
I had started to pretend, several weeks before, that Perry was minutes away from finding me. It kept me going, you know? I mean, when you're chained up and bawling like a little baby while somebody flogs you with a whip, it helps.
"Let's do it right now," he said, his voice like some horny dude on his wedding night-ready to skip all of the foreplay. "Tell me you love me, Harry."
"I-I just did..." I closed my eyes. Couldn't he just let me sleep for ten minutes? That's all I really wanted. Ten minutes without being fucked. It wasn't too much to ask.
"Harry!" He struck me across the face. And then, for good measure, did it again.
"I love you," I said, trying not to sigh in exasperation. "I love you, Ken."
This seemed to really make him happy because his eyes lit up like I really meant it. He started laughing, and wiped at his eyes. I wondered if his medicine cabinet was filled with crazy people medicine. He certainly seemed to fit that category.
"Remember when we first made love?" He asked, slipping his hand down my sweats and making circles between my legs.
I wanted to say no, because we never have, but I didn't have the energy to argue. The sooner we got this over with, the sooner I could sleep. I could feel myself starting to get nausceous, but I didn't say anything.
"You don't know how much I love you," he said, starting to breath like some kind of animal. He slid down and rested his head between my navel and groin. "I've waited for you for such a long time."
He actually did finish pretty fast, and once he pulled out, I was ready to pass out. He collapsed down beside me. I wished he'd just leave me alone.
"You need a tattoo," he cooed. "Some more piercings..."
What I need, I thought, is sleep. I rubbed at my eyes. He stared up at the ceiling. "We're going to move out of Los Angeles, you know."
Whatever. Let me sleep, you shitfuckit.
"Maybe somewhere far away like Canada." He kissed my forehead. "Somewhere the cops won't be looking." I felt him tense, and that made me tense because I knew he was about to go into psycho-mode.
"Why are the fucking cops still looking?!" He demanded, sitting up.
I sat up too, wincing as I felt the sheets cling to my drying back. I actually had to pull them away from the blood lines. Ken didn't seem to take notice. He was a million miles away in his own crazy thoughts-this bizarre inner crusade.
"They should stop looking for you!" He snapped. "You're mine now!" He looked at me. "Say it!"
I said nothing. Sometimes he really didn't expect me to answer.
"Say it, you little piece of shit whore!" He backhanded me.
"I'm yours," I said simply.
"Damn straight." He kissed me. "Harry, you know what I need right now, Baby?"
Oh God. Again?
"Go to the wall, Baby."
I felt even sicker. "No, Ken..." I started to stutter like crazy. "I-I love you..." Just to show him how much, I tried to kiss him, but he pulled back.
"No, Baby, I have to." He ran a few fingers through my hair. "You know I don't like to." He patted my shoulder. "Go."
"What if I do something else?" I had never really tried this hard not to go to the wall, but I felt so awful already. My head was so heavy I thought it would split open. I was achey. I was freezing.
"GO!" He slapped me again.
I climbed off of the bed and moved over to the far wall, turning to face it, getting to my knees. I pressed my hands to the cold surface and closed my eyes.
"Now, Harry..." I heard Ken digging around in the closet. "You know I only do this...why?"
"Because you love me." I really wish I hadn't started to cry. The fucker really got off on it. But in my defense, I wasn't exactly in a composed state of mind.
"Because I love you," he repeated. "I love you so much."
And to prove it, I felt the whip come down on me, the soft spot between my neck and shoulder blade. Normally, it would have just stung and bled, but I guess because I was really sick, It knocked me to the floor.
"Get up, you little bitch!" He ordered. "Hold the wall!"
"Ken..." I was bawling like a fucking baby. Blood dripped down from the fresh mark. "I'll do anything else. Anything, I swear...just please...not right now..."
"Harry...!" He said my name as he grabbed my arm like a parent to a toddler throwing a fit in a grocery store. "Face the wall. NOW."
I did so. I mean, hell, I tried. I closed my eyes and gritted my teeth as the whip came down on me. Again and again. It hit spots that were still raw from that morning. I cried out, but I really did try not to. I knew that's what he wanted to hear.
When he was finished, he breathed like he'd just released a demon from himself. Like an exercism or some weird shit. He tossed the whip onto the floor and then knelt down to me. I looked at him. He wiped some tears away, and then kissed me.
"I love you," he said.
I could barely find my voice. It was scary. More and more, it was becoming more difficult to speak. And I'm a guy that loves to talk.
"Harry, I said I love you." He kissed me again.
Talk, God damn it. "Love you, Ken."
-------
Harry was squirming uncomfortably in his sleep. I hadn't really even drifted, too afraid not to watch him. He'd done this several times during the night, and I knew with the markings on him, there were bound to be nightmares.
"Love you too, Ken..." he mumbled.
Ken?
"Harry..." I shook him once he started to cry. I was really starting to get scared. "Harry...!"
He opened his eyes and looked at me. For a very fleeting moment, I thought he recognized me, but I could have been wrong. He sat up and went for my mouth. I backed up so fast my head banged against the headboard.
"Harry, no-" I pushed him off.
He stared at me. He looked so hurt and confused it made me sick. I sighed and wondered what to do. What could I do? I knew so little, and he wouldn't speak a word about it. About anything.
"Fuck...Harry... " I murmered, looking away. "I wish you would talk to me."
When I looked back at him, he was still just staring. I reached over-just as an experiment, and held my hand towards his face. He took it in both of his, and brought my fingers to his mouth. He looked at me the whole time he sucked on them, and when I pulled away, he moved closer. He tried to kiss me again.
"What did they do to you?" I asked quietly, keeping him at bay.
--------
"Ken?" Police Guy repeated over the phone. "No...it was Frank. Frank Davenport."
"Harry was having night terrors last night and he said, 'I love you, Ken'," I told him.
"Well, it has to be a different Ken because his captor was Frank Davenport," he replied. "And besides, why would he say 'I love you' to some sick fuck who beat and starved him half to death?"
"Stockholm Syndrome?" I guessed aloud. "Listen, we can't close this case. I'm not going to be able to help Harry in any way unless I find out who did what to him."
"Perry, the man is dead," he sighed. "There is no case. He was psycho. He was on antidepressants. Regularly attended support groups. Had issues with his family..." he sighed again. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"
I chewed on my bottom lip. "It wasn't him."
"Excuse me?" I heared the annoyance in his voice. He hated being contridicted.
"How in the hell do you regulary attend support groups and then go home and torture somebody locked in your basement?"
"No basement," Police Guy told me. "And he's psychotic, Perry. There is no madness to his method. Just...well, madness..."
I heard noises behind me and turned around to see Harry enter the office. He was blinking heavily and scratching his chest under his shirt. I cleared my throat and said, "Call you right back."
"Good morning," I greeted, turning all of my attention to who needed it most.
Harry opened his mouth and my heart caught in my throat. He was going to talk. He closed it again, bit his bottom lip, and tried again. I could see him getting frustrated, and I waited very patiently.
"Can you write it?" I finally asked, once his eyes became wet.
He looked at me and nodded. I dug around my desk and retrieved a pad and pen. I handed it to him. He took the items from me and wrote something down-his hands shaking. He then stuck out his arm, handing it back to me.
I couldn't help but smile.
Good morning
"Are you hungry?" I asked, still smiling. It was good to communicate with him, even in writing.
He nodded, smiling too. I had to ask.
"Do you know who I am?" I spoke quietly, less sure of myself than I'd ever sounded.
He shook his head.
If any blow could hurt worse, I never wanted to feel it.
Onto Part 3: http://kikamontanez.livejournal.com/27745.html
To Be Continued...