You want to curl on your bed and cry, but you’re still bound. You resort to cry and tremble, to piss on your bed as the only feeble attempt to rebel. The wounds sting, but not as much as your pride.
“Don’t move!” Cassie asks as she cleans the bleeding ones; you’re surprised she knows how to dress them, but aren’t eager to ask. You appreciate the ointment on the bruises as well. “You’re gonna stain the sheets!”
You whimper, and though you can’t see her, you can feel how Cassie’s torn. “Mom’s taking it too far. I heard Barbie telling her she didn’t even care about Trevor, so she didn’t get why you had to be driven into this.”
“She’s doing this to spite me.” You finally gather the courage to speak, swallowing your tears – and the disgusting taste on your throat. You’re not sure how long you've been imprisoned, but you’ve been kept awake for longer ever since Tessa made her decision. You must endure the pain of each session for hours, only alleviated by Cassie’s attentions; you barely sleep, torn by pain and disgust.
You’re also no longer on that dark room. You’re someplace else, rotated between three different rooms where even sunlight doesn’t shine. You’re often left in the dark, alone with your thoughts, until Cassie arrives.
“I agree, bestie.” It’s shocking – and endearing – how Cassie immediately declared herself your best friend (and you hers) after so little. But there is a hint of truth to her claim. She has proven to be your only friend in this hell.
It’s not just the wound dressing. She helps you eat, and not the slop that even prisoners and pigs would reject. It’s quite fancy, with salads and wraps and even dessert. It may be hell, but you’re not denied a slice of cheesecake. (Cassie even brought you a burger, fries and a shake from a fast food, and you could swear it was the best one you’ve had in years.)
“I mean – I'd have thought you’d be on her good graces, but she must’ve loved Trev a lot or must really hate you. But I recall you told me she was really good at bed!”
“Guess she must get high on hatefucking me.”
That musters a loud laugh from Cassie, which makes your wound sting. “Oh, God! That’d make so much sense!”
“For your information...” You flinch as you hear Tessa’s voice. You never heard when she opened the door, or how much she heard, but she definitely heard the last bit. “I genuinely enjoyed the intimate moment with our guest.”
“Well, Dickie here isn’t happy.”
“No one said their punishment would be light.” She observes your wounds and Cassie’s work. “You finished?”
“Only a couple more, Mom.”
“Good. I’ll let you finish – our guest and I have something important to talk about.” To your surprise, she leaves, letting Cassie finish her job, and you to think what must be so important to come here personally.
--
You turn your cheek away from the pill Tessa’s offering you. You can hear her sigh of frustration. “You think I want to drug you as well?”
“You said I needed to suffer the pain to, uh, ‘expiate’ my sin or something like that.”
“Perhaps, but that last man was unnecessarily rough.” You still deny her offer, perhaps out of pride rather than fear. “And for your information, I bought these on the nearest pharmacy.”
“Let me guess. The one Barbara works in?”
She snorts. “No. It would be dangerous and unwise to visit her on her job. I did consult what to give you, and she tells me that acetaminophen or ibuprofen would be enough.”
You recognize the words, and as you turn around to see her, you notice the bottle of Motrin in her hands. “You think that’s gonna work?”
“She said it was more than enough. I was wondering if you should get something stronger, but she advised not to.” She pushed the pills closer, nudging you to take them. “I want your mind to be clear, my dear – why would I give you that crap?”
“Probably because it makes it easier to keep me here?” You close your eyes, cursing the quickness of your tongue. “Sorry.”
“No need to apologize.” You look at her, and you see she’s genuinely concerned. “I’d be worried if you weren’t angry.”
“You don’t want me to be angry at you.”
“I resent disrespect, dear. That’s not the same as letting you vent.”
“You’re the reason I need to vent,” you tell her. “You’re keeping me here against my will, to twist my dad’s arm so he works for you, and then you...” You clench your teeth and whine. “You sell me to those fuckers! How am I supposed to respect you when you treat me like a sex doll?”
“Maybe because I take care of you?”
“You’re not letting me die. That’s different.”
“If I did, I wouldn’t pamper you.”
“If I were a soldier, I’d bet this’d be illegal under the Geneva Convention or something.”
“Good that you aren’t a prisoner of war – just a prisoner. No need to be so soft.” Maybe Tessa doesn’t like any one disrespecting her, but judging by her cackle, she certainly doesn’t respect you. “Now, now – prisoners are meant to pay for their crimes! Not to be treated like they’re in a hotel!”
You give her a very hard stare, and only very late you realize you shouldn’t. But, to your surprise, she doesn’t take it against you. “Yes, yes... I am using you. You are being abused.”
You sniff and challenge her. “Even that sounds nice.” You shiver as you recall the twisted fantasies of your last “client”. “Look at me. I’m underage.”
“Well, I recall your father said so.”
“I appear as someone younger than I’m supposed to! And you know what that man told me?”
“He wanted you to call him ‘daddy’.” That silences you, though it doesn’t do anything to quell your wrath. She points at a corner of the room, and you can see the gleam of a lens. “I saw everything. I saw all that he did.”
“And you allowed it!?”
“Yes. Because he paid.” You sniff and cower. “That shows you the depths of wickedness a man can reach.”
Yet, as she touches you, you feel a strange warmth coming from her hand. “But he is also guilty. Unlike Trevor, that pig does lust for nubile women.”
“Then why am I suffering while he lives his life as if nothing happened?” You gather the strength to defy your captor by challenging what Barbara swore was one of her traits. “Where’s the justice in that? Or is it that you love seeing how the innocent suffer--!”
You have done it. You feel how her hand crushes your throat, how she clenches her teeth as she looks at you with red-hot eyes. “Where is the innocence in your murder, kid? Self-defense? No, because he did nothing to you! What you did was to take undue justice in your hands – to think you could do better than someone who spent their entire lifetime serving it!”
“W...” You try to breathe, but she impedes you. Yet, you swallow as much air as you can and confront her. “What d’you mean...?”
She looks at you, then releases you. “That I once served justice. But the government couldn’t comprehend my brand of justice. I was to broker lasting peace in this city – to make it the safest, forever.”
“You’re mad.”
“If brokering peace between all gangs though judicious dispensation is madness, then I am irredeemably mad. But if that madness was to make Tyneside the safest city in America? Then perhaps it wasn’t madness at all.”
“So I killed someone because I thought it was the right thing, and now I have to suffer while some asshole used me and wanted to treat me like his--!”
Tessa covers your mouth, leaving you only to sob. “You lack the clarity of age, my dear. You only worry in your suffering, without seeing the big picture.”
You mumble, your mouth sealed by her hand, but you convey your point as she answers. “You must pay for your crime, young man. I lost a servant. So now, you must serve me. Once you understand that, you will notice that what I allowed him to do was to fall into his own trap.”
You mumble again, and she responds. “He is also guilty. Paying money to satisfy his own dark urges. I allow him to fulfill them – for now. But soon, he will have to pay. An eye for an eye. Perhaps as a nubile young woman, while his victim becomes his tormentor.”
You open your eyes and gasp. “Surprised, my dear? I want you to remember all this suffering. Soon, the time shall come. And when it does, the tables shall turn, and you shall visit upon him all the suffering he visited you. Prison is too kind for him. No. He must experience what it is to be... tasted, my dear. Perhaps, by one wearing his own face.”
“So you’re gonna make me be him?” you ask after she finally releases you from her grip.
“That is a small goal, my dear. When I asked if he was satisfied, he said this experience was the greatest since he used my services. You have truly given life to my girls. There is still time you must serve as your punishment – but as you open your eyes, you will see how, as you embrace that suffering and turn it into strength, that ‘punishment’ becomes a lesson. And in time? Into wisdom.”
She's a lunatic, you realize. No one talks about justice in such a way. “So... you want me to suffer, but to make him suffer eventually. Just like everyone that offends you.”
“That is but one of the things I offer you, my dear.”
“And what about my dad? What’s his punishment?”
“He’s not the one punished. He has been rewarded. Your mother is the one punished – and once they rekindle their love, I shall release her from her prison.”
“Then why are you making him work for you?”
“For gratitude. As you shall.” You see her stand, moving until she stands before you. “And because you have gained wisdom...”
You see her dig her face into the labia of the girl you are wearing. You feel her growl as she tells you.
“You deserve a reward.”
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