Wilt

by Rae, Nikki

  I couldn’t hold back the sharp intake of breath or the strangled cry that came after. Master Lyon and I exchanged a glance. It lasted less than a second but it conveyed that he was just as shocked as I was that Gregor had taken things this far.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I made sure to say it loudly this time, keeping as much pain out of my voice as I could. I didn’t know whether he’d held the instrument the entire time or if he’d stuck it into me deep enough to make it stand on its own, but I could definitely feel when Gregor pulled it out.

  No one was laughing now. Silence descended upon the room like a blanket of black smoke.

  I could feel my own blood trickling down the back of my thigh and I kept each muscle taut before I forced them to relax, knowing from experience that tensing only made things worse. I waited for the next blow, but I couldn’t stop trembling, my arms no longer strong enough to hold me still.

  “Master Lyon,” Gregor said after a long time. He sounded completely sober now that he had shown everyone that he was the one in charge of Wolf Manor until his Master returned. He didn’t need to hide behind his small talk or pointless jokes. They would all take him seriously now. “I think it’s best we save the entertainment for Master Jäger. Don’t you agree?”

  I blinked a few times, convinced I’d heard him wrong. Master Lyon answered him as if he wasn’t caught off guard, but I heard him opening his cigarette case and lighting another.

  “So soon?” he asked, feigning disappointment.

  I heard silverware hit the table as if Gregor had tossed something. “You’ve traveled all day,” he replied. “I’m sure you’d like to spend one more night with the dog while she’s still yours. I have no doubt Master Jäger is giving your wife the same honor.”

  Bile rose in the back of my throat and I was more shocked that I felt the pain of his statement before the revulsion could fully form. Not only was he hurting my Owner, but he’d reminded us both that there were more people involved, dependent on our cooperation.

  “You’re too generous,” Master Lyon said, unfazed. But I did hear him push out his chair abruptly. “Doe, kneel.” He pointed to the ground.

  Up until now, each command had gotten stuck somewhere in my mind before I could execute it. However, there was no such delay now; I practically scrambled off the table so I was kneeling at his feet. I hardly felt the blood or the wound anymore.

  Master Lyon placed a gentle hand on my head. “I look forward to seeing Master Jäger tomorrow,” he said. “I am eager to show him what a true Owner can accomplish when he is persistent.

  It was a polite dismissal, but it sounded more like an insult.

  I’d been staring at the ground, but now I glimpsed up at him. Gregor had taken his seat again, and the other girls and boys on the floor stared at me as if I was the one who had spoken back to this man. He smirked and opened his mouth to respond, but Master Lyon cut him off before he could utter a syllable.

  “If you will excuse us, ladies and gentlemen.” He bowed and the others nodded in kind. “Come, Doe,” he ordered and I naturally crawled after him, terrified to stand at the same level.

  Thirteen

  The room at the top of the stairs, at the end of the hall, as too large for just the two of us. The bed was a mammoth thing , the frame carved wood in the shapes of wolves attacking little red riding hood—a classic lesson the Order repeated often; little girls who don’t listed will be devoured by the Mainworld. More statues jutted out from the walls, bright white marble a contrast to the dark wood behind it. The ceiling was made up of multiple diamond-shaped mirrors and dim sconces lit up along the walls.

  Master Lyon started a fire in the fireplace across from the bed. “Sit on the rug.” He pointed to the white fur rug in front of the fire a he shut the door behind us.

  I did as he asked. Now that most of my adrenaline had died down, I’d begun to shake and became all too aware of the wound in my backside, the wax clinging to my skin and the dried blood.

  The fire warmed my chilled skin and the rug was soft and inviting. The drug soothed my racing mind now that there was no immediate threat, and I could easily see myself falling asleep.

  I watched with half-opened lids, kneeling with my palms on my thighs the way I’d been taught as he paced around the room, looking behind the statues and furniture for what I guessed were cameras and recording devices. He found two electronic-looking things I didn’t recognize in the vase of red roses sitting on a bar cart lined up with expensive bottles of liquor. Then three cameras; one in the closet, one in the bathroom, and one above the bed, hanging out of the mouth of a mounted wolf’s head. I’d almost missed the dead animal trophies above me, staring down with cold eyes and snarling faces. The first time I had entered one of Jäger’s rooms, there were animal heads too. He’d told me that he specifically requested the expressions to look like they had at the exact moment they realized they were going to die. He would describe every minute detail to the taxidermist so he could admire the fear on their faces as long as he lived.

  “Seven,” he murmured when he was satisfied there were no more devices monitoring us.

  I couldn’t handle it. My arms gave out beneath me as I tried to change positions and my chin hit the floor, rattling my teeth. I stayed there, unable to gather enough strength or willpower to do try again. I didn’t care about his stupid rules. I didn’t care about listening or obeying. If he wanted to hurt me, it couldn’t be worse than my future here.

  I heard him kneel beside me; he clasped his hands between his knees as he waited for me to follow through on the order I’d been given.

  The only sounds for the longest time were the flames in the fireplace, logs popping and cracking, and my lungs as they struggled to expand.

  After I’d made no indication of another attempt, he sighed. “Are you deliberately disobeying me, Doe?”

  “Fuck you.” I wasn’t sure if I’d said it out loud until he asked me to clarify.

  “What?”

  “I said Fuck. You.” I never used language like this, and right now, it felt good.

  When I chanced looking in his direction, his eyebrows were drawn together, expression torn between confused and angry. His only response was to incline his head as he waited for me to continue.

  “You told me I was safe with you,” I said, glaring at him. “You drugged me and then gave them permission to hurt me yourself.” I wrapped my arms around my middle to help me stand my ground. “Why not just leave me here now and stop pretending you care what happens to me?”

  My entire body felt as though I was crying, but no tears came. That part of me had already shut down, the way it had when Master Jäger had first showed me who he really was. While Master Lyon would be leaving this place looking into the future, I was staring mine in the face already.

  Another sigh, but this time it seemed defeated. I looked away from his piercing eyes, scared of what he might see. I stared at the fire and wanted to join the flames. I wanted to burn until all that remained was rubble and ash.

  “Do you truly believe I don’t care about you?”

  I clenched my teeth and didn’t answer.

  Hands on his knees, he stood without another word and I could hear him walking behind me. He was doing something, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of my attention.

  The sharp sound of the metal grate in front of the fireplace as it slid across the floor made me jump. He was in front of me again and I felt like I’d only blinked. If only the chemicals in my system would fully pull me under. When I stared up at him, his shirt and jacket were nowhere to be seen. All he wore were his black shoes and trousers, chest, torso, and arms completely bare. He stoked the fire with a golden rod, each muscle in his arm and shoulders flexing under his skin where things turned black and dispersed into trees or scars.

  “Come here.” There was authority in is voice, and now he too stared at the fire.

  I crawled the short distance to his side, the heat growing on my face
in an almost uncomfortable way.

  “Give me your hand.” Before I could hesitate, he added, “No one’s going to hurt you any more tonight.”

  Still cautious, I slid my palm into his and he wrapped my fingers around he poker’s handle.

  “You want to get air to the embers underneath,” he instructed.

  I moved the logs with the tip of the poker to expose the red and orange coals.

  “You’re right,” he said after a while.

  I glanced at him in some knee-jerk reaction for approval and he nodded, gesturing for me to keep going. I looked away, pretending to concentrate on the task.

  “I hurt you. I let them hurt you and I shouldn’t have.”

  I blinked a few times in disbelief. He seldom admitted he was wrong.

  His fingers wrapped around mine and together, we lifted the poker out of the fire, tip glowing red like the embers it had touched.

  “Look at me,” he said with the utensil between us. I did so and he didn’t take his eyes off of me. Almost imperceptibly, he pulled the poker towards him, aiming it close to his chest.

  I tried to let go, but his hands were over mine, pinning it in place.

  I heard it before it completely registered what he was doing. The poker singed his flesh ad I fought even harder to break free of his hold.

  “Stop,” I cried and he met me with his mildly strained expression.

  Breaking out in a sweat, I still shivered. Even as nausea hit me over the growing burn on his chest, a force came over me I couldn’t control and before I knew what I was doing, I’d kicked him in the abdomen as hard as I could.

  In an instant, he flew backwards, caught unaware long enough to let me go. I scrambled to my feet, twisting my ankle in the heels as I watched him sit up and pry the metal away from his skin.

  “What’s wrong with you?” I couldn’t speak above a whisper.

  He grimaced as the deep red burn shifted when he braced his arms behind him to help him stand.

  “I hurt you,” he said simply; like this explained everything.

  “So you automatically think I want to hurt you back?”

  This seemed to jolt him out of a daze and he blinked. “You don’t?”

  For a moment, all I could give him as an answer was an exasperated exhale. “No.” I might have been angry, but I didn’t want to hurt him. Part of me wished I did. That way, at least I would have somewhere to funnel all this nervous, uncertain energy.

  “Why not?” He was genuinely curious, yet the way he kept his eyes trained on the abandoned poker told me that he was also frustrated—maybe even disappointed—that this act hadn’t resolved anything.

  “Because it doesn’t work that way,” I blurted. “You can’t just make things better by making me do what you did to me.”

  He sank to his knees, staring up at me with his palms on his thighs. “I thought it was only fair.” He sounded like a child; I saw how desperate he was behind those brown eyes. “I…don’t understand.”

  The way he clenched his jaw, how his fingers curled in confusion made me kneel in front of him so we were once again on the same level. It was as if I had to get a closer look at him to make sure this wasn’t some trick. It was rare, but he’d shown me weakness before. However, it had always been through a practiced, stoic façade. He had never been so undone. He was a raw nerve, and I was afraid if I touched him I would destroy something important.

  Finally, he spoke. “What is it that you want?” he whispered. “I should be…punished in some way.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was saying, but I was sure of where he was coming from. Everyone brought up in the Order had trouble adjusting to Mainworld life. I’d learned the first time I escaped.

  “When you make a mistake,” I said, calmer now, “you’re supposed to say you’re sorry.”

  Though I could already see his hard shell slipping back into place, I didn’t miss his mildly bewildered expression. It was like he’d been taught this concept long ago and had forgotten. What I expected was for him to immediately hand over the apology like it was a key that would unlock some magical safe which held every answer he sought. However, I was grateful that didn’t happen; he returned to watching me and I him.

  “Master Lyon raised me to always apologize, even when I hadn’t done something wrong.”

  The words were scarce against the crackling flames and if I didn’t listen carefully, I could miss them altogether. This wasn’t uncommon. The limited time I’d spent at the Safehouse allowed me to gather information not only about how the real world worked, but they opened a window into what other girls and boys had gone through. One of them was trained to only say ‘yes, sir’ and ‘I’m sorry’ and nothing else. She told me it took her more than a year to break the habit, and at age fifteen, she still couldn’t shake the guilt she often associated with these phrases.

  Master Lyon had adjusted well—or at least he was good at pretending he had—but I wondered if he’d been conditioned the same way as the girl from the Safehouse.

  He’d looked away from me, but then his eyes met mine dead on like I could finish his confession for him.

  “But if you made yourself apologize now,” I cupped his cheek and he didn’t shy away or reprimand me, “would you mean it? Would you truly feel sorry?”

  It wasn’t what I’d planned to say but now it hung in the limited space between us.

  Slowly, he nodded. I wanted to hear the words out loud, but he held them back. Instead, the mask fully returned as he grasped my hand and together we stood.

  “I need to clean that wound,” he said as he brought me into the attached bathroom, which was just as obnoxiously ostentatious as the rest of Wolf Manor. In the glow of a candle and nothing else, I could make out the black and gold foil wallpaper surrounding us, another bastardized statue of David standing tall above the tub with a snarling Wolf head.

  He leaned me against the matching black sink as he opened a medicine cabinet and it was jarring how prepared the room was for injuries.

  “This will sting,” he warned as the smell of rubbing alcohol filled the air. A second later, I sucked in a sharp breath as he applied it to my skin.

  “Okay?” he asked.

  I nodded as the initial pain wore off and we didn’t speak again until he’d smoothed a bandage over the wound and then used more alcohol soaked cotton to wipe away any remaining blood on my legs. As an afterthought, He took my hand so my arm extended and he cleaned up the older dried blood from where he’d drugged me before.

  When he helped me straighten, the candlelight caught the angry red skin in the center of his chest. It was now I realized he’d positioned it so the scar it would eventually turn into would blend into the one already running lengthwise down his abdomen.

  “What about yours?” The ‘sir’ died in my throat and he let it stay there.

  He glanced at the spot before motioning with his head that I follow him back into the bedroom. Once there, he lifted a fur throw from the end of the bed and wrapped it around my shoulders. He bent wordlessly to unbuckle and help me out of my shoes, and I felt so much shorter, smaller when he stood.

  “Are you thirsty?” he asked, striding over to the golden bar cart across the room.

  Without waiting for my answer, he filled two glasses with ice and a deep brown liquid. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do, but my legs were still too weak to wait while I figured it out so I sat again on the rug by the fire.

  He walked back to me, sitting cross-legged on the rug before me without comment.

  I took the drink from him. “What is this?”

  He sipped his own before he answered. “Something that will help you sleep.” He smiled a little.

  I watched him as I took a swig and nearly choked. I swallowed through the fiery burn, coughing once it was out of my mouth. He laughed softly, no malice behind it.

  Unable to take my eyes off the blistering burn on his chest, and I knelt closer to hold my cold glass up to the area.

  H
e winced, but didn’t move otherwise. “What are you doing, Doe?”

  I shrugged. “Cold things help.”

  Master Lyon’s hand wrapped around my wrist, pausing a moment before he gently pushed me away.

  “Doesn’t it hurt, sir?”

  He nursed his drink, sipping and savoring the burn whereas I wanted to get it over with as soon as possible as I drank mine. “I want it to hurt, ma petit.”

  I opened my mouth to tell him that wasn’t necessary—that it wasn’t what I wanted—but he didn’t give me the chance.

  “I need the pain right now,” he said softly. “Please, let me have this.”

  My Owner made it sound like I was the one who could make this decision for him, and that was when I understood something I hadn’t before: Just like I needed an apology for what he’d allowed tonight, he needed to atone for it. It would be crueler to help him now, so I let him be, sitting and drinking with him in companionable silence.

  The flames played on the silky surface of his scars and for the first time I wondered whether they’d all been left by his Master alone.

  He let me stay close, combing his fingers through my hair. I had stopped drinking, and when neither of us had spoken in quite some time, Master Lyon tipped the glass to my lips, making sure I finished its contents like I was taking medicine.

  “I have something to tell you.” He reached over to the bar cart, retrieving an ashtray and then setting to work opening his cigarette case and lighting one.

  When he blew out the smoke, he opened his mouth as if about to say something but I held up a hand and stopped him.

  I didn’t know why I did it, but without asking, I took the cigarette from him. He let me, curious eyes watching as I brought it to my lips. Though I only managed to inhale a small amount, I coughed it all out immediately, using the fur throw against my arm to muffle the sound. This started to make sense in a different way as well. My Owner didn’t smoke to relieve stress, but to punish himself in some way. Apart from the obvious future repercussions from smoking, the smoke coated my lungs and made my stomach hurt. I tasted it long after it had gone, and the air around us smelled of the tobacco. I could only imagine it was the same for Master Lyon, and whether he knew it or not, he used this vice as a way to remind himself that he wasn’t worthy of comfort.