by Kitty Thomas
She looked up. “I'm sorry. Please. W-why would you do this to me? Y-you can't. Please you can't.” The last part came out on a whisper.
Yesterday's Lindsay couldn't. And look what a mess of things he'd made. Today's Lindsay could and would. Every time he showed weakness, she got hurt.
If he'd taken her from the beginning Brian never would have touched her. If he had taken her at any point beyond that, she wouldn't have swallowed a bottle of pills. From now on, he was going against all his instincts—or maybe listening to them for the first time. Because everything inside him had screamed to take her. And that voice had gotten louder every time he'd been in her presence trying to shove his desires deep into his subconscious.
Maybe it hadn't just been the guilt, but the fear that he would lose control... and just take what he wanted. And how could he do that to her on top of everything else?
Now it seemed all bets were off. She'd already tried to take her own life. How much worse could it get? Was he risking she'd get more hopeless or depressed? If anything, maybe a little pain would do her some good—distract her from her self-pity... give her something new and more all-encompassing to focus on.
Like his exacting demands.
“The lines I'm now willing to cross with you, kitten, just moved so far away, they disappear behind the horizon.”
“W-why? Why now?”
“Life is short. If not now, when?”
“You're scaring me.” She'd put the desk between them. As if furniture could stop him now.
“Good. Maybe it means you want to live. Do you want to live, Shannon?”
“Y-yes. Please. Please, I don't know what I did...”
“Yes you do. You disobeyed me.”
“I'm sorry. I-I won't do it again.”
“Probably not.” He held out a hand to her. She shrank back. For a moment he was torn between hurt and offense. “I'm not Brian. Let's go.”
Chapter Three
Shannon didn't know what else to do but go with him. She didn't have the energy to run. She was making a good show of it, but after her near brush with death she felt so ambivalent that the mere act of existence, let alone fleeing to save herself, seemed foreign.
For years now, the house's attitude toward her had been almost entirely one of expedience—whatever made her easiest to deal with. Up until now, this meant placating her, throwing her some small bone of attention now and then like a neglected dog. So when Lindsay had threatened to take her to the dungeon, she'd been convinced it was all talk—something to scare her, something to make her compliant and easy to deal with.
But when he'd said it in the spa, the look in his eyes... shit he was serious. That was the moment Lindsay had gone from being weak and nonthreatening to the most frightening presence in her world. She still didn't know how that gulf had been bridged in such a short time. Or how she'd gone from sullen sarcasm to the abject terror that made her blood run like ice through her veins.
The most fucked-up part was how her body was suddenly reacting to him. She hadn't had this reaction since she'd been his patient in the city. Didn't she hate him? How could her body be betraying her like this? His hand was so large and warm and solid wrapped around hers. And all she wanted was for that hand to grab hold of other parts of her. She wanted to feel that warm solid hand between her legs or wrapped around her throat holding her in place against the wall as he fucked her.
Shannon tried to stop the thoughts, but it only made them darker and more persistent. She couldn't stop staring at the sleek muscles of his back, or the way the pajama pants he wore rode so low on his hips.
She still didn't understand what all of this was about. Was this just for tonight?
“Please, Sir, let's go upstairs. I-I'll do whatever you want.” Great, Shannon. Frame it like you're trying to save yourself. It might make the pill go down easier.
Because she absolutely could not let herself be attracted to him. If she didn't frame this like a sacrifice and convince herself completely... No. She just wouldn't go there. She was officially shutting down that part of her mind.
Don't forget he brought you here. He stole your life. He knew all about Brian. He didn't warn you. It's his fault. He took everything from you.
None of that seemed to matter now that her mind had reopened the possibility of him inside her. All the old fantasies began spinning through her mind again no matter how hard she tried to shut it down.
“I told you, I wasn't fucking you tonight.” the calm in his voice felt like a lie hiding a terrifying intensity beneath the surface.
Why did not fucking her suddenly sound like the threat?
“I hate you,” she said. She needed to hear it out loud. She needed to believe it was still true because this... this shift... had happened too quickly for her to keep up.
“You'll get over it soon enough,” he said, as he continued to guide her to her fate.
Suddenly he took your life, kept bumping up against he saved you... twice. What if she didn't want to be saved?
But what if she did?
When they reached the stairs that led down to the dungeons, all the memories started crowding into her mind. She could practically feel Brian's hot breath in her ear as he whispered the awful things he would do to her to... fix her. As if she'd been broken before he'd gotten his hands on her.
Shannon tugged back to free herself from Lindsay's grasp. She dug her heels in as if this could stop him. “Please!” It was a panicked shriek this time.
In response, the doctor scooped her up and carried her down the rest of the stairs.
“N-not Cell A. Please. Not Cell A.” Like it made any difference which room he took her to. They were all marked by Brian's violent energy.
Lindsay opened Cell C, stepped inside, and set her down on her feet. He retrieved a key from his pocket and locked them in together.
She backed away until she reached the stone wall. It felt solid against her back, so much more solid than she felt right now. “I-I think I'm having a panic attack,” she gasped. The room kept seeming to shrink and grow and change shape. The one bare bulb in the room at once seemed both two bright and too dim.
Surely a panic attack would bring him back to his senses.
“It won't kill you. If you give into it every single time, it will gain more and more power over you. I made a big mess, Shannon. I'll admit that. The things I've done or failed to do where you're concerned... I don't deserve to be forgiven for it, but that method obviously didn't work. We're trying something else. Call it... exposure therapy.”
She'd never been truly scared of the doctor before. She'd hated him, but she'd never been afraid. She'd never feared anyone in this house but Brian. But now, all that was changing.
He moved to stand beside a St. Andrew's cross and pointed to it.
“Please, n-not that.”
“Was this the equipment Brian used?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Did he use any other equipment?”
“N-no, Sir.”
“Did he use anything on you besides a knife and a whip?”
“No, Sir.”
“What kind of whip?”
“S-single tail. B-bullwhip.” Could she not stop stuttering? She should remember after Brian that showing weakness was the worst thing she could do. Fear, weakness, screaming, begging, it had all been like a drug to Brian.
She couldn't stop hearing the sickening crack of the whip, or feeling the slice of the knife—somehow a thousand times worse than the whip. All that blood. So much blood. She'd thought she was going to die. Finally it stopped. Somehow she knew she'd been left to die. He was bored with her, and she was beyond fixing. She'd been moving in and out of consciousness when strong arms had wrapped around her and carried her out of the dungeon.
Lindsay.
Her last thought before she'd lost consciousness again had been, you're too late. She wasn't sure how she felt about being wrong in that prediction.
“Shannon, stay with me.”
> She looked up, trying to slam the door closed on those memories. They just kept coming back no matter what she did. No matter how she tried to coax them into staying hidden away in the dark corners where they belonged, they always slithered out to meet her.
She'd thought with time they would fade. Time didn't heal wounds. It was a lie. But she'd been sure that with time she wouldn't be so terrified of Brian. That day never came, and the nightmares had only gotten worse. Why was the doctor always just in time? Why couldn't he have been too late?
“I will never use any of those things with you,” Lindsay said.
What did he mean never? Did he plan on bringing her down here again after tonight? She didn't understand any of this. What did this mean? Did he think he was going to somehow make her want to live by pretending he wanted her?
He didn't want her. She knew he didn't. They both knew he didn't. The mangled mess Brian had made of her back, her shoulders... some marks straying around and hugging her hips and waist... nobody could ever want her after that. She'd seen it in the eyes of the trainers at the house. They didn't think she noticed, but she did.
Lindsay was no different. He'd never even pretended with her. He'd never touched her when her skin was perfect and unmarred, why would he want to start now?
Suddenly her legs didn't want to support her anymore. She slid to the ground.
“You can't do this. Y-you'll break me.”
As if he cared. Nobody needed to make money off of her so it hardly mattered if she was a functional human being. They didn't need her for the spa. Not really. They could figure something out. After all, what had their plan been before Brian had done his damage? Surely they'd had some alternate idea for how to keep the spa going. The spa had already been there, set up and ready to go when she'd arrived at the house. It wasn't as though their plans had hinged on her being there.
The doctor stared at her for a long time and sighed. “You're already broken. I tried to look the other way for so long, and I can't anymore.” He paused and looked away as if lost in his own haunted thoughts. When he turned back to her, the intensity in his eyes was even stronger than before.
He spoke more softly, “There's no other way out but through, Shannon. I think you know that.”
He was doing that thing again. That thing where he sounded so reasonable and like a doctor. Lindsay somehow managed to make everything he said sound like it was the best possible solution to anything. Even when it was the worst. Even when it was completely insane. Like coming to the house.
With that low soothing gravel-voice and the attentiveness at all the right places... The way he seemed to really listen when you talked. That was some active listening bullshit they taught them at Shrink Camp. Pretend like you give a shit—like you care about helping them. Then cash their check and drive your fancy car. Laugh all the way to the bank. Live your life of comfort and luxury on top of the ruins of the psyches you've broken with all your help.
He had always been there... pretending. Didn't shrinks always do that? Weren't they pretending? You felt like they were your friend. But they weren't. They were being paid to make you feel that way.
“Please don't pretend you care about me. I can't take it,” Shannon said. She hadn't bothered to try to get back up. Too much had happened tonight. She was so exhausted. She wanted to sleep for a hundred years.
“I do care. I stayed away because I thought it would be better for you. Now everything is so broken, I can't possibly make it worse. So I'm doing things my way. To hell with everything. I don't think I even care anymore what the right thing is where you're concerned. I just want what I want. And if you think you're going to slip through my fingers and out of this life before I've had the opportunity to...”
“To what?”
But he didn't finish the thought. She thought she knew what he'd meant to say in that empty space. It was as though the thoughts were so loud that they filled up the room between them, shouting in the stillness. She thought he was going to say he wanted to fuck her. At least he was making a good show of wanting to. She just didn't know what was real anymore. All she knew was... he couldn't really want her, not when there were so many much younger women at the house he could have his pick of.
He moved closer until he loomed over her. He bent and pulled her up to stand, and he just held her for a minute. It was an awkward embrace. At least it started out that way. But then he relaxed, and somehow she relaxed, and their bodies seemed to fold into one another.
She wanted to hate him. Maybe she just didn't have the will or energy to hate anything or anyone anymore. She comforted herself with the idea that if she had the energy she'd hate him. Maybe tomorrow. After she'd slept. It would be easier then.
Tomorrow felt so distant and impossible, like it would never exist anyway, so what did it matter what happened between them in this unreal space in the middle of the night?
He led her to the far corner of the room to a large leather table with various rings attached around it for tying people down in various inventive ways.
“Take off the robe and lie on your stomach.”
“No. I-I can't do this with you. Please.” She wasn't sure if she couldn't do it because she hated him too much or because she wanted him too much—because she was afraid it would mean everything to her and nothing to him and that in the end, him pretending with her would be worse even than what Brian had done.
Brian had scarred her flesh. Lindsay could scar her soul. She couldn't let him. She couldn't let herself... want him. Not again. She'd had the stupidest crush on him when she'd first come to his office.
He backed her up against the leather table. Nowhere to run. Her heart pounded so hard in her chest she could practically hear it. She couldn't think straight. She hated him. No... he was scaring her. No... God, why did he smell so fucking good? And the lack of a shirt... it was doing things to her.
He usually wore a suit. Business attire. Professional Shrink Wear. It covered up the physique he'd obviously worked hard for. She'd seen him in the gym on days off, or late in the evenings. Brian had the reputation for being the fitness buff, but Lindsay put in the time quietly without drawing much attention.
As recently as that morning, the doctor had just been there—someone she despised, but otherwise nothing special. She hadn't seen him this way since before the house. Shannon wanted to keep the more confusing hatred. This... yearning was more than she could stand.
“Why can't you do this with me?” he said with that professional practiced interest he was so skilled at.
“Because I fucking hate you.”
His hand moved to the back of her neck, threading through her hair, cradling her. He pulled her to him, his mouth covering hers in a kiss far more gentle than the danger in his eyes.
Against every normal instinct, she sighed and sort of... melted... against him. She missed this, so much. It had been so long since she'd been kissed like this—by anyone. It had been long before the house even. The last man who'd kissed her this way had been her last master. And he'd tossed her aside without a thought in the end.
You couldn't trust a kiss like this. It was a lie to lower your defenses. A trap. It could never mean all the things it promised. But she wanted to believe it. She wanted to fall into it and pretend and believe just for a little while. Would that be so wrong?
Shannon pulled away from him, and then, as if to put extra punctuation on it, she put her hands on his chest and pushed him away. “This isn't real. I don't want your pity.”
He gripped her chin and forced her to look up at him. He was so tall. Had he always been this tall? “Hear me. I want you. So get this pity nonsense out of your head. I want you. I've always wanted you. From the first moment you walked into my office. Now disrobe and get on the table like I told you to.”
The way he looked at her caused a nervous flutter to skate across her skin. Her hands shook as she removed the sweatpants and t-shirt and climbed up on the table.
Maybe this wasn't really happeni
ng. Maybe she was dead. Maybe this was hell. He would tease her and lie to her and pretend and give her the echo of something then snatch it away. Then it would play all over again. On a loop. Forever.
This couldn't be actually happening. Or maybe she was dreaming.
His hand stroking her back felt real enough. She flinched as his fingers trailed over the scars. Then he threaded ropes through the metal rings, and tied her down spread-eagled on her stomach to the table.
She watched as he went to the other end of the cell and rummaged through a big black box of punishment tools. Brian's punishment tools. It didn't even matter that the bastard wasn't down here wielding them. It felt as though a part of him clung to everything in this room. Why would Lindsay do this to her? He probably wasn't even properly licensed to practice psychiatry.
Shannon whimpered when she saw what he took out of the box. It was only one item but it was the most terrifying thing he could have chosen outside of a bullwhip or knife.
A long, flexible bamboo cane. It was sealed in plastic. Lindsay took it out of the wrapping.
“Brian keeps dozens of these. They can't be fully sterilized so it isn't safe to use the same one on many different girls. This one will be yours. We'll even put your name on it.”
“Please...”
Lindsay closed the lid of the box and returned to her with the cane. “Please what?”
“I'm sorry. Please.”
“You disobeyed me, kitten. I don't think you take me very seriously, and I can't have that.”
Half an hour ago? No, she hadn't taken him seriously at all. Now? Definitely. In another time and place, another world a lifetime removed from her now, she would have wanted this. She would have known real consequences meant she was ensconced inside the safety of an ordered world. No one else had to understand it, as long as they did.
It was what had drawn her to all of this to begin with: the sense of safety and order in a world gone mad. Knowing there was only one person you had to worry about, and everything else could fall away. It seemed to Shannon that the peculiarity that was the BDSM craving was a thing that could only fully manifest in a world that already made no sense. Stepping back from it, it all seemed so absurd, but in the middle of it, it felt like the only thing that was real—like a break from everything else.
