by Cerys du Lys
I am never nervous. I do not know how to be nervous. My stomach hurts. Maybe I am hungry? Maybe I should have breakfast foods brought to me, regardless of the time. If I...
No, Angeline, I tell myself. I stare at my hands and I wonder what it would be like if Noah touched them softly like I am touching them now. He would not do that, though. Would he? I do not know. I do not think so. Can I ask him? No, no I cannot. That is not a question I can discuss with him. It is out of the question.
And yet...
No. Yes. No. Maybe. No. No.
My stomach still hurts and my breath quickens. I need to take medicine. I do not want to take medicine. My stomach never hurts. My breath is never this fast. It is a strange, unknown feeling and I do not know how to handle it.
I like it.
I want to. No, this is a bad idea. Why is it a bad idea? Because, Angeline. Because why? Because I said so. Because it is. That is why.
But what if it isn’t? What if it wasn’t? What then?
It is, though. It always will be. It is too soon. It is not the time. It is...
For the first time in as long as I can remember, I ignore myself. I stand up and excuse myself from the table politely. No one is here with me except myself, but it is good to remain conscious of proper etiquette. You never know who is watching you. You never know what they may think of you. This is one thing I know very much about. It is one thing I am good at. I am good at many things, though.
Right now I am going to pretend I am not good at anything. I am going to do something that I know I should not do. I smile. I think maybe I am happy. A little bit, though; only for a second.
A second is a very long time for me.
*** Noah
My fingers hurt and I’m sitting in this fucking room again, chained to the bed. At least I don’t have to put up with psycho bitch Angeline’s bullshit right now, though. I’m getting tired of it. I’m not even getting tired, I’m already tired of it. I was tired of it a long time ago.
There’s something seriously wrong with her. I don’t understand it. She’s so fucking deranged it’s ridiculous. I’m one to talk, aren’t I? How long have I been here? I think it’s been a little less than a week. I’m sitting here calling Angeline deranged, and yet just about a week ago I was on the verge of raping Chastity White. I had my fingers inside of her. I can still remember it like it was yesterday. I was getting ready to shove my raging hard-on deep in her fucking cunt and humiliate and embarrass her just to teach her a lesson.
What the fuck lesson was I teaching her, though? Now’s not the time for this existential bullshit, but seriously. What’s all of this for? I know what it’s for, alright. I fucking agreed to do this shit, and I’ve done it for a long time. It’s good. It works out. Yeah, so it’s kind of fucking depressing sometimes, but what am I going to do about it? Everything’s depressing. Life is fucking depressing.
If you go into work at some shitty office job, what do you do all day? Get orders from some asshole of a boss, type shit on a computer, do your damn job as good as you can. You think you’re doing great, too, until one day you get called into the big man’s office and he gives you the talk. Oh, it’s not you, Tom. You’re a great worker. I’ll give you a good recommendation when you apply for a new job, but...
Fuck that. I’m not one of those people. Tom can go fuck himself. I’ve never been Tom, I’ll never be Tom, and I don’t want to even think about giving a damn about someone named Tom. Tom should jump over that fucking desk, strangle his boss, slam the fucking asshole’s head against the desktop, then staple the fucker’s ear to his tie. Every Tom around the world needs to stop being such a fucking pushover and grow the fuck up.
Life is hard, Tom. Yeah, it sucks, but it only sucks because you let people walk all over you.
I don’t know why I’m having an imaginary conversation with some asshole named Tom that I made up in my head. Tom really pisses me off, though.
That’s one thing I can respect about Angeline. There’s not a lot I can respect about her, because first off she’s crazy, and insane, then she’s psychotic. She’s a huge fucking bitch. She doesn’t have a soul and there’s nothing in her eyes, but for whatever fucking reason when she’s sucking the blood from my finger she looks like she’s in love with me or some shit. It’s not even that. I know it isn’t. She has some fucking fetish obsession with blood, though. It’s creepy.
Yeah. That’s all the bad parts about Angeline, which is most of it. The good part is she’s not Tom, though. Or whatever the fuck the female version of Tom is. Thomasina? What a terrible fucking name. I hope no one names their kid that. I’d feel sorry for the poor bastard. That’s probably worse than Tom. If anyone hires me to kidnap and train some bitch named Thomasina, I will tell them to go fucking die. No way. Fuck you.
I don’t have anything to do here except lay in bed and think. It’s getting dark outside, too. Soon I won’t even be able to see anything. I’ll be laying here in the fucking dark, fucking thinking, about fucking things. I can go to sleep, I guess. I feel like that’s the worst option, though. The sooner I sleep, the sooner I wake up, and then the sooner I get tortured again by that bitch, Angeline.
On the plus side, I’ve only got four fingernails left. One is my other thumb, which I’m not looking forward to. That really fucking hurt. I can’t even begin to describe how fucking painful that was.
And after, when she was sucking on it, her eyes...
Fuck Angeline. Fuck her pretty eyes. Fuck everything about her.
I fucking hate her.
Someone knocks on my door. Did I eat tonight? Did they bring me a meal? I can’t remember. Everything’s a blur and it’s all her damn fault.
“Noah?” she says through the door.
It’s her damn fault and she’s here to torture me some more. What the fuck did I do in life to deserve this? That’s a rhetorical fucking question if there ever was one. I don’t want an answer to that. I’ve done a whole lot to deserve this. Who’s going to make sure Angeline gets what she deserves, though? This karma system is bullshit.
She opens the door a crack and peers inside. It’s dark in the room, but the lights are on in the hallway. I can see her staring in at me. She looks strange. She always looks strange, though. It’s not like this is a new thing. This isn’t interesting or exciting. It’s just the way she fucking is.
“Noah, are you awake?” she asks.
She’s looking in on me. I am sitting at the end of my bed, staring at her staring at me. How the fuck could I be asleep? Please, Angeline, tell me? How? Fuck off.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m awake.”
“Can I come in?” she asks.
What the fuck drugs is she on? I’m chained to the bed. She chained me here. This is her damn house.
“Are you seriously fucking asking me that, love?” I say.
I’m not trying to be an asshole, but seriously, it’s her damn house, and she’s kidnapped me. She ripped out six of my fucking fingernails already. Why is she asking me shit like this?
She opens the door and steps inside. After she turns the light switch on near the doorway, she closes the door and goes to sit on the chair near the desk. It’s a nice desk. If I weren’t chained to the bed, and I was anywhere else but here, I might like to use the desk. As it is, it’s a stupid fucking desk. It’s useless to me.
She stares at me. I stare at her. We’re not having some blinking contest, because both of us are blinking fine, but I don’t know what she’s doing. I’ve never known what she’s doing, though, so it’s not like this comes as any great surprise.
“I have decided something,” she says.
“Yeah?” I say. What the fuck else do I say to that?
“Earlier, during our discussion, you--”
I interrupt her, because I’m an asshole. “We had a discussion?”
“Yes,” she says. “Noah, earlier when we were conversate...” She pauses, stammering and stuttering on the word. “We... we were communicate... discou
rse was... discussion...”
“Talking?” I offer. This is really fucking strange. What’s her issue?
“Yes,” she says, breathing a sigh of relief.
I know something’s wrong now. I don’t know what it is, but something is seriously wrong. I’m almost certain it’s going to end with me losing the rest of my fingernails, and maybe some of my toenails, too. How the fuck does that work? I don’t know, and I don’t want to know, but I think I’m going to end up finding out eventually.
“Earlier during our talking,” she says, and I ignore the fact that this sounds weird, “you mentioned that we both know that creating an arbitrary ruleset which is impossible or unlikely to be followed is the most appropriate way to train and punish.”
I stare at her. I’m fucking stupefied. “Wait, so you think we were having a nice chat back then? A friendly conversation? I was fucking yelling at you, love. I was telling you how stupid you were.”
“Yes, I understand,” she says. “You are exceptionally skilled at being stubborn and rude, Noah.”
“Look, Ange. You fucking kidnapped me. I’m chained to a damn bed. I only have four fingernails, and you broke my finger. What the fuck do you want from me?”
She ignores me. She’s looking at me. It’s a really fucking disturbing look. I don’t know what kind of look this is.
“Do you wish to know what it is that I have decided?” she asks. “Or do you prefer to continue being obstinate?”
“Fuck you,” I say. After a second, I add, “You decided to let me go?”
She looks at me for a second like I’m a fucking idiot and she’s dumbfounded at my stupidity. Why the fuck am I the idiot now? I’m not the idiot here.
“No,” she says.
“Why the fuck should I care what you’ve decided, then? You’re just going to do what the fuck ever you want, anyways.”
“No,” she says.
“What the fuck do you mean, no?” I ask.
“I have decided,” she says, “I do not enjoy punishing you needlessly, Noah. Please understand that.”
“You sure seem like you enjoy punishing me needlessly,” I say. “You seem like you enjoy it a whole fucking lot.”
I say that, except I’m surprised our conversation has continued this long. I can’t help myself here. I have this urge to be an asshole because I’ve been an asshole for so long. It’s familiar and comfortable. It’s not like I’m always an asshole. I’m mostly an asshole, but if I go to the grocery store for food and I see some old woman struggling to put a cart full of grocery bags into her car by herself, I’ll help. I’m not going to try and say that helping some old lady with her groceries makes up for kidnapping and breaking girls until they submit to me completely. I’m just not always an asshole, alright? I’m mostly an asshole. I think there’s a difference there somewhere.
Probably not, but whatever helps me sleep at night, right? I’ve never had problems sleeping, though. Maybe some day.
Anyways, the point here is that I’m being a huge asshole and Angeline hasn’t picked up her chair and slammed it into my head, knocked me out, and dragged me into some torture room again.
Yet.
I’m pretty sure it’s coming soon.
She stares at me and I stare at her. I don’t want to give in, but she looks like she wants to talk. I can understand that. It’s hard to fucking talk in this business. Who the fuck do you talk to? Fuck if I know.
“What have you decided?” I ask, trying to be slightly less of an asshole. I don’t know why the fuck I should bother, but there it is. I did it. Someone give me a fucking award.
“You may have this room,” she says. “I will have rules outside of this room. Inside of your room, you may break the rules to some degree. If you wish, you may also create some new rules. Do you have food preferences, Noah? I will make sure your meals are to your express satisfaction, if you like?”
“What the fuck?”
She stares at me. “What?”
“I don’t get it,” I say. “What the fuck are you doing?”
“I heavily dislike your constant use of curse words and I do not enjoy the way in which you disregard my requests, but I am giving you this room and if you wish to spew obscenity and reference me as something other than Mistress Angeline, I will accept that within the confines of this area.”
“So I can tell you to fuck off and call you a whore?” I ask.
She’s fucking fast and she slaps me across the face.
“What the fuck!” I shout. “You said it’s my fucking room!”
“I am a person deserving of respect, Noah. I do not have to tolerate being berated. A slap is an extremely mild form of punishment most often used to display displeasure between one individual and another. I did not slap you because you are currently in my possession. I slapped you because you were rude to me as a person.”
“Why the fuck do you deserve respect?” I ask.
“I gave you a room,” she says, as simple as that.
Well, fuck. That’s that. She did give me a room. What the fuck do I say to that? Fuck you, I don’t want your room? I don’t want the room, I want to get the fuck out of here. If she’s giving me a place where I can swear and be mostly an asshole with some freedom, I think I should take it, though. I get that it’s a really fucking bad habit, but how do you stop? Fuck if I know.
“I’ll take it,” I say. “I didn’t mean it before, either.”
“Is that an apology?” she asks.
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Noah...” she says, but she stops.
“What, love?”
“I know this is a strange request, but I would like it if you watched a movie with me. I know that you enjoy them.”
“The fuck?”
“I did not do that correctly,” she says. “Would you like to watch a movie with me, Noah?”
“The fuck?” Seriously, what the fuck?
“There is a superhero movie playing shortly on one of the premium channels. You had it marked as a favorite on one of your online wishlists. I do not remember which one, but I remember that it was there.”
“You know what movies I wanted to watch?” I ask. “How the fuck did you find that out?”
“Would you like to watch a movie with me or not, Noah?”
“Superhero movie?” I ask.
“Yes,” she says and nods.
“Good one?”
“I do not know. I have heard it has acquired favorable reviews at many places.”
“With you? How the fuck are we going to watch this? You going to unchain me or what?”
“No,” she says. I figured as much.
She opens one of the desk drawers and pulls out a remote. Angeline pushes a button and a panel in the wall near the foot of the bed opens up, revealing a TV. Looks nice. Not the best TV ever, but it’ll do.
“It is not as high quality as your most recent purchase, but it is a good television.”
“What the fuck, were you stalking me before you grabbed me?”
“Yes,” she says. “That is how it always works, is it not?”
She makes a good point. I did the same to Chastity White. I sure as fuck wouldn’t be asking Chastity to watch a movie with me, though. I wouldn’t give her a room, either. I don’t know what’s up with Angeline, but there’s something wrong here. Maybe I should be thankful, but I’m really fucking suspicious.
“Do you want popcorn?” she asks.
“...Yeah?” Fuck yeah! Popcorn for a superhero movie? What the fuck movie is it? I like all that shit, though. Good stuff.
“What kind?”
“Caramel?”
“That is difficult,” she says. “I shall send someone to retrieve it. I would like that, too.”
Angeline fucking sends someone to the store to get us caramel popcorn for the movie. What the fuck is this? I don’t know. Who cares? Shit. This is great.
I feel like that’s how she’s going to get me. Ripping my fingernails off didn’t work, so n
ow she’s going to bludgeon me with kindness. That shit won’t work, either. If she gives me an inch, I’ll take a mile, then strangle the fuck out of her with the extra.
After the movie, of course. I don’t want to fucking ruin it.
*** Noah
I’m sitting on the bed watching superheroes being fucking badasses with Angeline. It’s not so bad. She’s quiet and I’m quiet. She’s sitting in the chair at the desk, but she brought it closer to the bed so we can share a bowl of caramel popcorn. The only time I remember this is the most abnormal fucking situation in the entire world is when I reach for more popcorn. My fingers throb with dull pain and it almost hurts to grab a handful. It only lasts for a second, then it’s gone.
It’s enough, though. I can’t forget this. I’ll never forget it. I’m still chained here and trapped. I don’t know what the fuck she’s going to do to me. Maybe this is my last meal. I’m useless to her because I’m too damn stubborn and I know exactly what she’s about. Tomorrow, she’ll kill me. Maybe she’s killing me now with this popcorn. She’s eating it too, so probably not. Fuck if I know, though. Maybe she’s immune to poison. I wouldn’t put it past her.
I go to grab more popcorn and she does, too. Our hands touch. She snaps hers away like I’m five hundred degrees hot and burned her. I look over at her and laugh, then throw a piece of popcorn at her. It’s the stupidest fucking thing and I realize it afterwards. Why the fuck am I laughing and playing around with Angeline? Fuck, I’m an idiot. This is worse than the time I enjoyed kissing her.
I turn back to the movie. As soon as I turn away, a piece of popcorn hits my ear. I jerk my head to the side and stare at her. She’s looking at the TV, acting all fucking coy and innocent. Fuck you, Angeline. You’re the only other person in the damn room!
I throw more popcorn at her, which makes her throw more at me, and now we’re having a popcorn war. I don’t know how the fuck this started and I sure as fuck don’t know how it’s going to end.
“Truce! Truce!” I say.
She throws one more piece at me. She almost laughs when she does it. She’s smiling and it’s fucking adorable. I wish she’d laugh. I want to hear it.
