Beg For Mercy: A Dark Conclusion

by Lucian Bane

  “Fucking no, we’re not,” she sang lightly, shaking her head. “We are not done. We are going to regroup. We are going to refocus,” she ticked the items off on her fingers with each step she took toward him, “and we are going to re-plan. We’re getting back in the game, baby, you and me,” she wagged a finger between them. “It’s not over yet. This show is just beginning. And you knew there would be a few rough spots, I mean you know this, anything worth fighting for has them.”

  He busted out laughing. “Rough spots? Raping your ass is just a little rough spot now? Beating your patient half to death is a little rough spot?”

  “Stop it,” she said, hating how he rubbed it in. “The assplay is nothing,” she said, “once I get used to it, it won’t be like that, it’ll be smooth sailing.

  He stared at her for endless seconds. “Smooth sailing,” he mocked.

  She spun to him. “It’s just an ass! A muscle that feels good gripping your cock, I’m very much in favor of offering you this pleasure. This is not some… sacred tunnel to the third heaven that you’ve trespassed. And you’ve done worse,” she aimed her finger at him, “at that other hideout we were at?”

  “Oh, I’ve done worse! Well fuck me gently, what was I thinking?” He started clapping slowly. “Bravo, Sade. Growing by leaps and bounds.”

  She stared at him, exhaustion and depression slowly covering her until her head lowered and shoulders sagged with it. Everything was suddenly beyond her. Too big. Too much. Too heavy. Why did it have to be so complicated for him? Why couldn’t he just work with her a little more? “I just…” she barely whispered, sobs pushing at the door of her heart. “I just need you, Sade,” She shook her head, wiping the tears from her face. “Broken or whole, remember? You said that.”

  The silence that spanned between them felt bottomless and endless. “Why?” he asked.

  The eternal agony in his one word, eternal, self-hatred, choked her. Why would you ever want me for anything? She swallowed and gasped for air, not really knowing the answer, not caring if she did. “I… I just do, okay?” She swiped the tears from her face. “I do and I don’t really know why, I don’t have answers for everything, I just know… that I need you. All my life, I’ve needed you.”

  “What do you want from me?”

  He sounded so confused and she suddenly felt like a dirty criminal with needs he couldn’t meet, demands he couldn’t perform. She felt like a loser, a desperate, lonely, stupid loser. “I… don’t want anything, I just…” She swallowed and fresh tears stung her eyes. “Never mind,” she barely whispered, hurrying to leave.

  “Don’t you fucking walk out,” he gasped now.

  She froze in her steps at hearing such a deep and broken sorrow in his voice. Turning, she faced him and he looked away from her, shaking his head a little. “Do you want to know the one question I have? That… really baffles me?” he whispered, still not looking at her.

  She made her way back to the bed and sat next to him, sobbing softly at the sight of a tear rolling down his beat up face.

  “Why would God…” his voice trembled out with several gasps, “send me… an angel?” He turned to her, so confused, his bloodshot eyes, pleading for answers. “Do you think…” his voice barely whispered now, “that maybe… He made a mistake?”

  Her sobs burst out and she threw herself on his chest. “God doesn’t make mistakes baby,” she wept, her heart shattered for him. “Humans do, humans make mistakes!”

  She hugged him tight, unable to keep back the pent up sorrow for him and he embraced her back so tight, like a man hanging on for dear life. He pressed his mouth onto her head and silently cried with her.

  “Please, Sade, tell me you’ll help me, please, please, I’m begging. I’m fucking begging goddammit! Please,” she wailed.

  “Shhhh,” he whispered, stroking her head. “Don’t cry, sweet Angel. Don’t cry.

  “Help meeeeee,” she cried.

  He stroked her head and shhhh’d over and over before giving her the words she desperately needed. “I’ll help you.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sade held Mercy while they slept. He told himself it was to comfort her. That he needed to be what she deserved when he could. That he owed her that. But that didn’t erase the stain of guilt. Of having something that should never have been his. He wished he could stop the feelings but he couldn’t they were just there, like ants biting him. Felt like he was stealing from God’s tabernacle, desecrating something just being near her. And to touch her? Smell her? Taste her? The feeling that gave, said there could be no greater sin.

  When the day stretched out and she was still asleep, he left. He couldn’t wake up with her. What if she wanted something from him that he was even more terrified to give. He’d had a long time to think as he laid with her all morning and half the day. He needed help, more than what Mercy could offer. And it hit him who might be able to. Kane.

  Tomorrow night they were due back, he hoped they were on time. Sade planned to talk to Mercy about discontinuing therapy for obvious reasons. He’d let her know his plan to talk to her father and that should be enough, that should make her feel better. He was getting the help she wanted without putting herself at risk. Everybody could be happy about that.

  Sade hated to, but he avoided her all afternoon. Or maybe she was avoiding him. God, he could hardly face her, and yet needed to. Always that war inside him to hurt and be hurt, he was so fucking sick of it. Tired of dancing with those devils, so very tired. And even still, one thought of what he’d done and his cock was hard. Burning with ache. To do it again. And again. Longer. So much longer.

  Sade groaned as he took the steps down to the basement. His body hurt like a motherfucker and the masochistic idea to work out had popped into his head. He was hoping for a two hour work out but an hour in, and his angel showed up dressed in that same cock hardening outfit from before, only white this time. So utterly perfect for her.

  “Oh, sorry,” she said at spotting him.

  “I was just done,” he gasped, dropping the two dumbbells he’d used to crucify his arms with.

  “You can stay, I’ll be using the uh, shadow boxing area.”

  She didn’t look at him and he wasn’t sure why. His own guilt said it was because of what he’d done but knowing her, it was her guilt over what she’d done. “I’m nearly healed,” he joked, his body screaming in agony at him.

  She shot a furious glance his way. “You look horrible,” she gasped.

  So it was her guilt that kept her gaze away. Figured. “Thanks.”

  “You know what I mean,” she said, still not looking at him.

  “Yeah,” he muttered, snatching the towel from the weight bar. “I was… headed for a swim. I’ll see you later?

  “Can we meet in my room at six?”

  He froze. “For what?”

  “Therapy.”

  Her confused tone said she’d expected the show to just go on. “Of course just to talk,” she added, maybe thinking he was worried she might make him do things. And he was. Not that he would but he didn’t want to be alone with her, both of them were too unpredictable. But then maybe that would be the perfect time to bring up his idea.

  “Yeah,” he said, rubbing his hand on his head. “Six. I’ll be there.” He hurried out before she could say or do anything he’d be helpless to say no to.

  “Bye,” she called, sounding offended with his quick escape.

  He felt like shit that he couldn’t stick around and be normal. Really, what the fuck was wrong with him? Why did it seem like everything was getting worse? Was it his mother back in his life? Was it because he was so close to happiness? Was it fear of losing that? Causing a war inside him with his devils?

  If he asked Mercy, she’d have some sunshine and rainbow answer for him. She always had her eyes set on the light. But Sade couldn’t take his off of the darkness, because the second he did, it would devour him, and then her.

  After power swimming for an hour, he walked out
to the beach, hoping that maybe the ocean would have something useful to impart to him. An omen maybe, confirming what he knew inside. He would ruin her. Sure as the sun rose and set everyday in the sky, he would ruin his sweet angel beyond repair. Just like he was. And she’d make excuses for him while letting him.

  I’ll help you, shhh, I’ll help you.

  Fucking dumbass. He was stupid coming and going with her, there was no winning. He grabbed his head with both hands, thinking about therapy that night. They weren’t doing anything, just talking, he reminded his fears. But he could feel his animals salivating, pushing his pussy-ass Romeo toward a corner. He needed to get his fucking head back in the game, get his shit on track. He’d done it all these years, he needed to get that fight back.

  Worst case scenario, all he had to do was last five mother fucking days with no improvement to show for shit. Then it was done. Problem was, at the rate everything was deteriorating, there wouldn’t be shit left.

  He should just leave. Right now. He scanned the beach, his heart hammering with the urge to run, run as fast and as far away from her as he could. She’d get over it. She’d have to.

  His mother. That would mean leaving her. Fuck, he needed a plan to protect Mercy better. The only thing going for him at the moment was her losing. Fair and square. Fuck, he’d come full circle. Back to throwing the fight. His devils stirred, back to loving that idea. They’d get to play their dark game one last time. Their prize? Him. Utterly broken and useless. It would be the greatest masochistic pleasure he’d ever felt since his mother’s supposed death.

  Sade finally headed back and spotted purple color at the grassy bank near the wood pier leading to the beach house. He walked over to inspect, finding flowers. He stared down at them, feeling like he should pick them.

  Back at the house, he found a glass to put the bouquet of soft purple flowers in then snuck them into her room. He spotted her desk and walked them over. As he stared down at it, pain stole his breath at feeling like the flowers were for their grave.

  His ears picked up the sound of her shower and before he could act on any stupid urges, he hurried to his own bathroom to get ready. Therapy was in forty-five minutes. He’d eat after, to avoid throwing up. He was a fucking wreck inside. He knew they weren’t attempting anything sexual, but that didn’t stop him from craving it. The things she’d done before he’d lost his mind were….wow… fucking phenomenal.

  And he wanted it again. More.

  ****

  Mercy sat behind the desk this time. It had taken her longer to figure out what to wear than what to do. Pathetic. She went back and forth between regular Mercy attire to, no, she needed to get back in the game, attire. Not to mention why waste the closet full of gorgeous clothes Sade’s mother had stocked for her?

  After round ten in the clothing debate, she settled for back in the game, wearing an elegant, cream colored pants suit with a light purple silk blouse. It matched the flowers she suspected—hoped rather—that Sade had gotten her. She leaned and smelled them for the tenth time. Who else would put them there? There was a slim possibility that Liberty might have, despite it being a very anti-Liberty thing, so she wouldn’t assume openly.

  And dear God, another point of huge debate was what to talk about? The emotional side of therapy seemed a prudent way to help him maintain that anti-physical position. Not that she needed him to, but she could see he needed it. The debate ended up being settled at play it by ear.

  She rapped her pen lightly on the desk, looking at the small jeweled watch on her wrist. Five more minutes. Should she be waiting or be busy?

  A soft knock sounded on the door and the violent jerk in her stomach made her gasp. Jesus. “It’s open,” she called firmly.

  He walked in, dressed in raggedy jeans and a tattered black t-shirt. Despite the shabby appearance, he looked delicious, as long as she didn’t look at his face and get nauseated. The swelling was down, and all that was left was the black, blue and purple. “Have a seat,” she said stupidly as he sat. “Nice shirt,” she went on. “Is that like your lucky shirt from that one gunfight?” She laughed too loud at her own joke while he slid a thumb along his nose without a reply or even looking at her.

  Okay, awkward. She took a breath, moving along. “I feel overdressed now, but really I do it because I’m very serious about this.” The second it came out, she realized the insult.

  She waited for him to defend himself and say he did care but it didn’t happen. Moving along again.

  Her pulse beat like a snare drum when he finally looked at her. “Your dad is supposed to come back tomorrow night.”

  “Right,” she said, nervous about what he was getting at.

  “So, I was thinking.”

  Uh oh. She swallowed, trying to maintain a confident look.

  “I need all the help I can get and your father… he helped you, right?”

  Excitement roared through her at what he seemed to be suggesting. “Right, yes, he did.” She didn’t want to jump the gun, she’d make sure that’s where he was headed.

  “And…” he shrugged, looking out the balcony doors that she’d left open, “was thinking of asking if he could help me.”

  “Oh my God, yes! Of course he would, I know he would. Between him and I, imagine the progress!” The lines on his lowered forehead furrowed, slowly stealing her joy. “Unless you had other ideas,” she said.

  He rubbed his hand over his lowered head. “Actually, I was thinking of one on one. Me and him for a while.”

  Keep a positive attitude. Smile. “Okay,” she said softly. “Do you mind if I at least finish my five days?”

  He looked at her and her heart fell a little more. “I was thinking it would be a good idea to do them separately.”

  “Okay,” she said. Final test. “So we’ll renegotiate the contract. Move the date up? How long would you like?” At his long hesitation, she said, “So you would prefer to not do therapy with me at all if I’m reading between the lines correctly?

  “No, we can renegotiate the contract,” he said. “I just don’t have a time.”

  She sat there, scribbling on the paper blindly, trying to get at his real angle. To get out of therapy with her. But why? She suddenly realized tonight might be their last session unless she convinced him she could do him any good.

  “Thank you for the flowers by the way. Assuming you gave them.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  She waited for more, particularly why he did it. “It’s my favorite color,” she said.

  He nodded a little. “I didn’t know.”

  “You just… felt in the mood to pick me flowers? I’m just wondering why you did, no big deal.”

  He shrugged, leaning back with one leg out. “I guess to say thank you,” he looked around the room.

  “Well, it was sweet.”

  She scanned through the dozen ideas in her head that she’d contemplated to help connect him with his emotions. “I want you to know that I’m so glad you’ll talk to dad.” She made sure to leave out the my part. How great it would be if he would make new emotional ties to her father. He was the perfect man for that.

  “Me too. Figured if anybody could help me, he could.” His gaze flitted over her again. He wasn’t into looking at her tonight. Probably scared to scare her. Felt more like he was scared of her.

  “He’s such an amazing father. I think you will both get along, I hope you and he get some father son time together,” she joked, laughing a little.

  “Nah, don’t need a father.”

  Pain stabbed her at hearing that. “No harm in having a father figure in your life.”

  He shook his head. “Never had a father,” he said casually, eying her now. “Learned to live without one.” He shrugged, glancing toward the balcony again.

  She got curious then. “Did your father have a relationship with his father?”

  Another shrug. “No idea. If he did, he never talked about it.”

  “Makes me wonder what kind of li
fe leads a man to become what he did.”

  “The selfish bastard kind,” he muttered.

  “Usually it’s either taught directly or picked up indirectly.”

  “Or forced.”

  Her stomach knotted at hearing the massive amount of issues hiding behind those words. “I have to believe that… somewhere in the minds of sick parents… there exists a bond or connection, even if it’s buried way deep.”

  He rolled his eyes up to her. “If there is, it’s a sick one.”

  She leaned back, looking at him. “Some people have a hard time expressing love, they express it in ways—“

  “My father was an animal,” he cut in, his words hard.

  “I know, I know,” she said. “And animals begat animals.” She realized she was categorizing him into that but she’d meant his father’s father.

  “Living proof of that one, doc.”

  Shit. “Do you think your dad has any good in him? The way you have in you, despite what he’s taught you?”

  He gave a soft dry laugh. “What are you doing, doc?” he gazed right at her. “You want to talk about my father? You can. But I’m not going to stick around for it.”

  “Okay, I’m sorry.” She cleared her throat, feeling like her chance to gain ground was slowly slipping away. She thought of his mother and the guilt she dealt with over leaving him to fend for himself. She wondered why he only let her call him by his Christian name. “Can I ask you a question?”

  He put both elbows on his legs and leaned forward, raking his fingers through his short dark hair. “Shoot, doc.”

  “Why can’t I call you Johnathon?”

  His fingers stopped midway in his hair. “Rather not say,” he said lightly.

  “Can I call you Johnathon outside of therapy?”

  “No,” he said.

  “Well, just an fyi, I really like the name.”

  “Well, just an fyi,I don’t give a fuck if you do like it. Don’t use it. Not now, not ever, and especially not in clever passing therapeutic questioning, are we clear?”

  At hitting the ugly snake pit, she considered her words carefully. “Very clear,” she said, nodding. “I’m sorry, I was just trying to help.”